Cyber Narcissism (rev)

Formerly: And Cyber Narcissism

The question remains; how many aliases
per dysfunctional sentient are needed to
survive in narcissistic, pathological space?

Those irresistible urges to spawn again and
again, birthing figments of fantasy in a nest
of intrigue, where false identities & specious
claims seem de rigueur – are symptoms and
finite details of a real disease.

Cyber narcissists stalk ersatz fame with an
unhinged and insane energy, gathering cults
of transient, disposable fans as insects to light,
burning brighter each melodramatic iteration.

Somatic and cerebral alike prey in rich waters
unmediated, feeding in epicentres tailor-made
for stalkers, erotomaniacs, denigrators and
plain nuts, sustaining grandiose fantasies,
inflating self-images.

Cinctures of normative behaviour do not apply;
cyber narcissists are addicts of their own provincial
delusion and, where unsatisfied, beware, become
disruptive influences – blaming some other as the
guilty one, as a racist son-of-shaitan.

Addicted or reformed you remain in thrall when
you seek gratification in those hallowed halls...
© 6 December 2007, I. D. Carswell

Plastic Truth

How many hits you had today?
Enough to make your ego take
a bow? Oh, come on now, blush
or sigh or humbly say, oh well –
I’ve earned it anyway!

It’s not as if you haven’t done
the work to win a major prize,
you penned a million sweetish
lies disguised as laudatory
praise – words that had to pay

in time, or raise an eyebrow
here and there on how you’ve
made a vital play on who and
where you placed your name –
staked a claim to vapid fame!

But sadly see esteem decline
by better words than yours
maligned in mad pursuit of
plastic truth – forsooth not
every word you wrote eludes

a critic’s eye for long. Shit is
shit no matter where its writ.
It clings to pages ever yet, &
truth be said, best left unread
than thrown at your vanity.

And there it rests. You say if not
a poets’ ass then please be kind
tell me why the case for rhyme
excites a reader’s geste but
blinds a critic’s unmoved eye!
© 22 May 2008, I. D. Carswell

.

.

Mediocrity

Wondered how to pave the way
to walk on paths of gold inlay? ‘Tis
easy see – woo paparazzi of poetry.

There’s no such thing, you blithely
say, although intrigued, knowing
poets are not news commodities.

Think again. To be celebrity you play
the game. Take a stance and run for
every chance exposure you can get.

Remember – though a dose of scandal
always sells, it rarely pays the fees; a
tainted rep that says you pee in taxis

won’t dismiss a truth, especially if it’s
true and you’re incontinent indeed in
words as well as deeds unsavoury.

Proof’s in what you say and who reads
who. Believe in free society if you must,
but heed a coterie of dimwit fans who

sound your bell. You pull the rope, they
tinkle free and, well, other dopes come
flock along to see the hell what’s goin’ on.

Don’t matter you can’t write or spell. The
wealth is in stupidity, a commonwealth
that binds you cheek to cheek.

And the meek shall inherit – mediocrity!
© 5 March 2008, I. D. Carswell

What Hope Is There

I am appalled this so-called ‘Poet of Note’
writes like a nine year old, delighting in the
use of abusive language; it isn’t as though
the smutty innuendo has redeeming grace,
the rhyme is haphazard in rhythms that
break pace like wind erupting indecently
from distended half-baked beans tins.
Was there a smell I’m sure it was foul.

Yes I agree, I don’t have to read and be
offended, I can choose from 16,000 or
more members. So the fault is mine. But
there lies the rub – in one fell swoop I’ve
denigrated this mug of a ‘Poet of Note’,
so what hope is there for the rest of us?
© 2 March 2008, I. D. Carswell

Pity is this bloke's an Australian - (and not me!)

Changelings Are Afoot Again

Changelings are afoot again –
maimed, ephemeral figments of
manic imagination, the untamed
and fragmented crazy personalities
named facetiously, homunculi who
appear and disappear within obscure
poetic discontinuities.

We must bear their opprobrium,
wear their eccentricity as a right
to be different while they range
free to plagiarise and condemn,
perpetrate mayhem for uncertain
ends – unafraid of convention’s stays
or caring for their fellow man.

Sneers which were original would
pave way for some leniency but
there is no room for crass imitators
and blatant word thieves. Beware,
cheap copies of reused toilet tissue,
the next sound you hear could be
the terminal flush of poetic History.
© 1 March 2008, I. D. Carswell

We live in an age where cyber narcissim is
rampant - for some I am sure it is as near
as they get to 'having a life'!

Remind Me Again I’m Here

The bored pseudo-whores,
the intra-cranially
eclectic forae fledglings
court self-delusion
again and again –
selling themselves as
distressed offerings
to y’all, the soap on
a rope a dope invitations
saying tacitly, please
return the favour friends,
poets, and dumbass
journeymen, lend
me your tears.

I’m not doing this for
your entertainment,
or sanity, or
to find a cure
for insomnia, nor
is anything for free.

Try and believe
in greater complexity
than any one god could
possibly be responsible for
and, please, please,
remind me, again,
I’m here...
© 26 February 2008, I. D. Carswell

And Cyber Narcissism

The question remains; how many aliases
per dysfunctional sentient are needed
in narcissistic, pathological space?

Those irresistible urges to spawn again
and again, birthing figments of fantasy
in an internet nest of intrigue, where
false identities and specious claims are
de rigueur – are the same symptoms
and finite details of a real disease.

Cyber narcissists stalk ersatz fame
with an unhinged and insane energy,
gathering cults of transient and disposable
fans as insects to light, burning brighter
in each melodramatic iteration.

Somatic and cerebral alike prey in rich
waters unmediated, feeding in epicentres
tailor-made for stalkers, erotomaniacs,
denigrators and plain nuts, sustaining
grandiose fantasies, inflating self-images.

Cinctures of normative behaviour do not
apply; cyber narcissists are addicts of their
own provincial delusion and, where
unsatisfied, beware, become disruptive
influences – blaming someone other as
the guilty, racist son-of-shaitan.

Addicted or reformed you remain in
thrall when you seek gratification
in those hallowed halls...
© 6 December 2007, I. D. Carswell

From: The Cyber Narcissist, by Sam Vaknin
– thanks to Jim Crawford (Metamorphhh)