Shakespeare Greenheart
By Raven Mack
()
About this ebook
Shakespeare Greenheart is book one in Raven Mack's freestyle sonnets project - to write over a thousand sonnets spontaneously, woven into heroic crowns. With the heroic crown, sets of fourteen sonnets are connected by the last line of one becoming the first line of the next. Additionally, the last line of all fourteen compose a heroic crown sonnet, so it's super-nerdy mathematical poesy nonsense. Shakespeare Greenheart is his first shots fired at Shakespeare's dusty crown as King of the Sonnet. All of these were written in "freestyle" mode, meaning more gut and heart than brain thought, skip conscious mind as much as possible, with minimal editing mostly done just to fit the strict mathematical form of the project. Themes explored mostly revolve around mankind's self-destructive reliance upon technology and brain knowledge, but in honoring the freestyle mode of writing, Shakespeare Greenheart shoots word arrows in all eight directions.
Raven Mack
Raven Mack writes. Sometimes it is carved into metal along railroad tracks, sometimes it is etched into 0s and 1s for new-fangled cyber-devices, and sometimes it is spoken unto the wind. But that is what he does. He has been involved in self-publishing through zines, blogs, printing presses, pamphlets, smoke signals, street art, oral tradition, and astral projection for a couple of decades human time. But let's be honest, he's been doing this forever, or at least since the T'ang Dynasty.
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Shakespeare Greenheart - Raven Mack
Shakespeare Greenheart
By Raven Mack
Copyright Charles Raven McMillian 2015
Published by Workingman Books at Smashwords (Workingman Books #005)
Hey you, this ebook is supposed to be licensed for personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or re-distributed. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy, or direct them to www.rojonekku.com. If you’re digging on this book but did not purchase it, please try to do something to support the author. They tell you to do these little disclaimers in the beginning, but look, let’s be real, times is hard and people are struggling. If you’re truly in the struggle, hit me up – I’ll probably give you a copy. If you just took it to be taking it, whatever man. If I could make a dollar off my writing, I’d be stoked, but honestly I’d be even more stoked if we just smashed this whole bullshit system to pieces. So if you stole this but you’re not actively working towards smashing the whole bullshit system to pieces and just trying to get cool stuff for free, you are perpetuating the problem, not changing a damn thing.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all the wild style writers who respect history’s all-time greats, but ain’t afraid of stepping to them either, and trying to grab their own shine.
Introduction
About two years ago, I started dabbling in writing sonnets utilizing accepted Shakespearean rhyme scheme. I found quickly that ten syllables per line didn’t feel right, due to freestyle MC hip hop background from my youth. So I ended up going with twelve syllables per line, and trying to see how fast I could freestyle
sonnets, without too much thought and tinkering and traditional serious
poet wrestling with every word. It became a little too easy once I unlocked it, so I decided to complicate matters by writing heroic crowns where fourteen sonnets connected through last-first lines into a circular crown, but also the last line of each also composed a separate crowning sonnet. This became an obsessive habit. This is the first of four collections from that Freestyle Sonnets project, after which when I’m done, I can only assume I will have usurped Shakespeare’s spot on the sonnet tradition pedestal.
Heroic Crown #01
Heroic Crown #02
Heroic Crown #03
Heroic Crown #04
Heroic Crown #05
Heroic Crown #06
Heroic Crown #07
Heroic Crown #08
Heroic Crown #09
Heroic Crown #10
Heroic Crown #11
Heroic Crown #12
Heroic Crown #13
Heroic Crown #14
Heroic Crown #15
Heroic Crown #16
Heroic Crown #17
Heroic Crown #18
Heroic Crown #19
(This particular heroic crown was written on my computerized desktop at work, with daily opening of a notepad file, never saving, trying to chip a couple out each day during the painfully boring monotony of what entails having a bureaucratic day-to-day to keep collecting paychecks week-to-week to try and keep from drowning financially year-to-year. I have a strange job where I simultaneously file a lot of papers, which is more a digital process than not nowadays, except so much of the bureaucracy is built on actual paperwork being guaranteed to exist so as to cover asses in possible instances of liability that a lot of the digital shit is doubled up with physical copies as well. On top of this, with my work history in a lab environment, and lack of squeamishness with regards to science’s nonsense, means I get to look after something called a head lab. It is exactly what it sounds like, as docs get themselves familiar with the process of cutting through skulls and accessing brains. As a young stoner metalhead, if you had told me I would have a job with actual heads involved, I would’ve thought that was pretty great. Oddly enough, it just feels like a mundane job. It has been interesting to note first hand how the human body loses a certain energy after death – the specimens are strangely empty. Even stranger about specimens is they have more meaning to those of us still living, so you have to respect that, and honor the living by honoring the dead, who don’t care. This particular heroic crown is brushed heavy with that work hate, as well as some scientific perspective. Having seen behind the façade, I don’t trust science completely, but everything is sketchy as fuck behind its façade. That’s human nature. But being situated at a desk where there’s a computer connected to the civilized world wirelessly pointed straight at my brain, and then I get to see post-living brain encasing heads, I don’t know… it kind of puts all this shit into weird perspective. Seems like too much we try to squeeze out of life has very little to do with enjoying the actual life and more with adorning it unnecessarily with a bunch of nonsense, which is why I write nonsense gibberish
all the time – to fight the endless tide of consumeristic ridiculousness with mystic mythologies, from the unconscious mind.)
#001
I miss when words flowed wild from my mind with no thought,
no responsible distractions commandeering
muses into cubicle panel feedlot, wrought
with wireless technology, buzz behind hearing,
fed fog beyond sight, trying to fight for vision,
trying to still feel my natural urges, still
feel unstifled notions, no conscious decision
necessary to trigger action, sub-brain will
to resist increased domestication of men,
women, children, cyborgs into mechanisms
for more industrious productivity when
there’s so much more to be done as organisms
upon Gaia Earth, theoretics born from smarts;
fuck brains, I want stupid flows to feed human hearts.
#002
Fuck brains, I want stupid flows to feed human hearts;
fuck thinking, I want ignorant ass excitement
exploding from thoughtless, unseen, unexplained parts
of the mind where ancient ways without indictment
reside wildly, wilding through ungridded terrain
beneath your overtly self-conscious, sad ego
bullshit, fuck consciousness, fuck having to explain
each and every action through one and zero
shared code social codification group cuddle
creating muddled sense of self since nets entered
entrap attention spans pretending to huddle
by the light of right/just-ness, accept thoughts splintered
as brilliance, as intelligence, as what is best;
except those thoughts ain’t your own – beware your source guest.
#003
Except those thoughts ain’t your own, beware your source guest,
infiltration of spirit occurs when light wanes
at edges of what we know where the past can rest –
caveman molecules on DNA windowpanes,
scrawled with bazillions of years of existences
accumulated one at a time by matter
preciously shared organic over distances
of great chronology, human pitter patter
of steps across history’s timeline unrefined
where raw mind of matter intertwines with thoughts forced
to the surface by whatever bubbles behind
by the twin orbs of clouded vision, with outsourced
judgments cultivated by seeds planted in parts,
piecemealed together as where real world wisdom starts.
#004
Piecemealed together as where real world wisdom starts,
academic infatuations pretending
to be love of knowledge, pushing library carts
onto elevated access, special lending
of secretive collections, secreted by minds
intertwined with ivy, blue of blood plus bred pure,
raised most unferal behind stone walls where one finds
shelter from low-rank stank masses, where wealth can cure
into a pleasant sausage, blood invisible,
absorbed by the process of weeding out dandy
lion-hearts, common souls who’re ineligible
to be cultivated, curated, left standing
outside western culture’s brickwork considered best,
for betterment of man, unavailed to the rest.
#005
For betterment of man, unavailed to the rest,
theories put to test, replicated precisely
so as to exact pre-planned results because best
funded research confirms expectations nicely,
neatly, so discretely behind secured white walls
of gangsta scientifics – give thanks what you got
was even data snapshot quick mentions news scrawl
pointing at power displays crafted with robot
brains designed to intertwine new findings with tracts
calculated by social architects; bitches
behind scenes be manufacturing strong arm facts
to match directions desired by those with riches
to build realized world results from a masterplan –
dumbass slaves pushing stones en masse, fast as they can.
#006
Dumbass slaves pushing stones en masse, fast as they can;
look at my bitch ass, donkey head carrot chasing
tryna taste implanted desires like any man
raised amidst smokescreens with adrenaline racing
through fight-or-flight thinking, balled fists gripped tight at lies
disguised as unrealized potential to achieve
by climbing bootstrap ladders, to taste slice of pies
baked amazingly graceful; but the myths they weave
with historical white wools cover twin windows
into my internal universe – eyes glistened
with sparkle lust for shine promise, yet time follows
diff’rent paths than dreams travel; I never listened
to the master within, fearing whips external,
not realizing suffering remains eternal.
#007
Not realizing suffering remains eternal,
people chase momentary tastes planted within
tastebuds which blossom into corn syrup kernel
of nutritionless truth, then hunger will begin
to become a constant presence where gut level
congresses attempt to legislate true action
in life from safe space of wholeness, not god/devil
dichotomy psychology splintered fraction
where factions argue black-or-white until greying
all matter with undeserved contrast, implying
fissures in issues without much thought, cray-craying
life’s rich tapestry with crayon marks denying
existence of seams found throughout since time began,
unable to take non-dominion of each man.
#008
Unable to take non-dominion of each man,
political class oppresses prisoner class
for stepping out of line of overarching plan
from the master’s degrees, angels skewed through stained glass
and ivied walls, from which behind the on-high learn
to more easily implement foolish toolish
working class asses to labor without concern
for the masses, but the overlords with ghoulish
iron-fisted ways, plus endless means gilded gold,
never feeling guilty, even slightly unless
token act of ceremony if truths unfold
the harsh nature of social architecture’s mess
of men’s laws, delaying overthrows infernal,
left unwritten in the human spirit’s journal.
#009
Left unwritten in the human spirit’s journal
are the constant flows too fast for scribbling fingers
to keep up, swept up behind rapid, internal
consciousness streams, lunatic creation lingers
in rippling memories as the neurons process
what’s been thought, been lost, been forgot, been left behind;
our endeavors never match what our souls possess;
but then again does soul mean heart, or gut, or mind,
or all of it intertwined – no one fucking knows,
not religion, not science, not a goddamned thing
can answer that question, hence poetry and prose
exist to expose beauty question marks life brings,
with sexy curves of confusion, straight sensations
with periods of unplanned, lost exclamations.
#010
With periods of unplanned, lost exclamations,
I exhale poison dioxide from darkened lungs,
looking through ache-eyes at painful light sensations,
attempting to feel anything, hearing forked tongues
speak of lizard realities where children dream
of attaining their wildest wishes through hard work
and perseverance of spirit, getting that C.R.E.A.M.
and eating it too; Lady Liberty’s ass twerk
vibrating liberty throughout circles sheltered
in the heavenly light of privilege, ordained
towards successes, while the rest of us sweltered
in manmade hell, lacking bootstraps, four limbs constrained
by bullshit promises spake from prop mountain tops,
chasing false representations until time stops.
#011
Chasing false representations until time stops,
tick tock sands fall through too short, stained-as-fuck hourglass,
then years pass without thoughtful glance as nonsense slops
sludge upon slow death souls