Saturday, 25 March 2017

Ottis Blades (Blad3s)

Ottis Blades (Blad3s) is a poet who allows his complete thoughts to be expressed to fruition through his work. I tend to relish stream of consciousness writing because as a reader one piece can take you into a myriad of different directions while tying loose ends up nicely to create one kick ass tapestry steeped in versification.  Please feel free to follow Ottis on social media via Instagram.

I'm one of those who falls in love
with a woman's tone of voice, with
the volume of her excitement, the
altitude and texture, the accent
they're unaware of.  the attitude
ringing soundly in their talk,
the personality of her charm, the
sly smile that might run across
any given time.  Yeah, I'm one of
those rare ones that catches the
exact moment when their voices
break during a specific line of
conversation, it's how my heart
knows love is blooming. Because
the way a woman speaks distills
their aura and boast her essence,
in a way that screams you just
need to shut her up with a kiss,
to try and taste her voice if you
could, before it breaks you,
because it will.

The tone of voice on an individual is as unique as one's fingerprint. Nevertheless there is something to be said about romantic whispers and how they can move an individual beyond compare -- when they least expect it.  It's quite remarkable the way one's inflection could be the catalyst to a final kiss in order to silence the other party -- who's been captivated by a tender vox.  In secondary school during my writer's craft course our teacher brought in a recording of Ron Pearlman reading poetry.  Now, this was before Hellboy he had been cast as Vincent from Beauty and the Beast – I mention this because it helps me relate to how I feel when I have specific auditory experience that renders me completely speechless.  And, the best part of this poem – I would have to admit is the potential of gently silencing a woman with a passionate kiss that can be felt in your toes.

And the reason why I love Writers is because
we're all a little bit crazy, a wee bit off kilter and
what have you, and our ability to not give a flying
fuck is a gift that keeps on giving.  We're always in
tune with our inner child when adulting come to
play, we're immune to worldly plagues, we often
come down with cases of the “I don't give a shit”
variety when the fan's deflecting feces, we shrug
things off rather easier than most, because we
don't adhere to society's misguided standards of
what a “normal” human being should be like,
alas, we redefine logic, we're the definition of
alternative facts”, we embrace our humanity like
a badge of dishonor, we carry our unrepentant
lunacy like the whackiest Looney Tunes episode,
our winks and wrinkles that need ironing, the
pieces beyond repair, walking amongst mortals
with a confident smirk because we're the ones
that get to live forever, because a Writer always
knows better and this is why I love my brethren,
my extended family from coast to coast, the very
best of friends and genuine lovers that life has to
offer.

I've been sitting here or an hour deleting and rewriting a lot of my thoughts on this poem. I'm conflicted because I seriously agree with everything.  I can unequivocally say that Ottis' words are indeed quite correct.  Which makes me feel as though I have no profound contributions to this piece above.  It is indeed perfection in my opinion.   Writers are built differently – although written words are organized inside of various categories --  writers on a whole tend to feel the same way.  We can be extremely silly or serious on the turn of a dime.  For the most part there are images in our brains dying to get out that could at times be rendered as crazy as the “unrepentant lunacy like the whackiest Looney Tunes episode,” most of the time that is how I feel when I am alone in my imaginarium.

 Another aspect to this poem that I quite enjoyed was when Ottis said:

 we're immune to worldly plagues, we often
come down with cases of the “I don't give a shit”
variety when the fan's deflecting feces, we shrug
things off rather easier than most, because we
don't adhere to society's misguided standards of
what a “normal” human being should be like,

I think that pretty much says everything in the section above.  As writers we are forced to let things roll off our backs with ease when negative tones are echoed inside of our minds.  But we keep going – little to no money earned – but we keep going – people are intensely critical of our work – but we keep going....  That is the point – we as writers do not get angry we get even through our words. Mark Twain once said “ Never pick a fight with people who buy ink by the barrel.”  For all of you who ever want to cross a writer remember we may be like cute little geese who let things roll of their backs or like elephants who simply remember EVERYTHING!

We search for love wherever there's a shot of
finding it, under the blankets, inside the fridge
next to a bottle of the next poison aiming to kill
you, we look in books we wish to read in braille
wearing an exited smile, because the cliché talking
of a blind kinda loving speak to emotions we wish
to find within pages foreign to us; its exciting, it's
unprecedented, it's pure, because Writer's are
meant to fail at every turn except for doing what
they love, even if it fails to pay a single bill. And
so we search, we travel, we make plans even if it
means thwarting God's in the process because
it's what spirits free of constraints do, despite of
conventional wisdom telling us such love is not
meant to be, because it doesn't exist in any virgin
corner of the world nor does it has legs to stand
up after a while, because it's extinct like the Dodo
bird and its wings are chopped off.  It doesn't
matter tho, we often wait for the wind to blow in
our favor to set sail, for we're the optimistic kind,
the fervent kind, the loony ones and fear can't
defeat us nor undermine us because the only
battles we're willing to fight are the ones we don't
have a chance at winning, but the trying makes us
happy.

I've had to read and re-read this piece over a dozen times not for lack of comprehension but out of pure love.  I must admit although the writing style is different this piece reminds me of the work of one of my favourite poets ever Khalil Gibran. On a philosophical level  this piece is indeed quite magnificent – you don't have to look far for solid imagery either.   We do indeed:

We search for love wherever there's a shot of
finding it, under the blankets, inside the fridge
next to a bottle of the next poison aiming to kill
you, we look in books we wish to read in braille
wearing an exited smile, because the cliché talking
of a blind kinda loving speak to emotions we wish
to find within pages foreign to us; its exciting, it's
unprecedented, it's pure, because Writer's are
meant to fail at every turn except for doing what
they love, even if it fails to pay a single bill.

Love is the one thing everyone wants but lack the patience to genuinely discover it at times. I specifically relished the imagery of “ we look in books we wish to read in braille
wearing an exited smile” I thought this was lovely because of the profound weight of a sense that is completely lost and how it compensates others like for example with touch.  I especially liked the last sentence – as writers people automatically expect us to fail – “why would anyone want to read a specific piece of writing by me” I say to myself all the time but quickly realised that although there is little to money involved with writing as a career we strive to do it because really it's all we know how to do.

In Ottis' words...

A few things about me; I been writing since I was a little kid, my influences range from Pablo Neruda, to Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Charles Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson. I've borrowed from each of them to create a style of my own. I can go from poetic and imaginative to crude and raw. Often writing about love and it's many faces. I write in a long form style called stream of consciousness, I mostly use commas to separate my thoughts and tell a story. I currently live in Las Vegas, Nevada But, I'm from Jersey