Gothic Poet: Joseph Jackson Crandell
My name is Joseph Jackson Crandell, but you can call me Jack. I’m from Spokane, Washington within the United States and I live in Yakima, Washington. I’m 24 years old and I love anything and everything about creative writing. I currently coach and train my MMA fighter for a living and in my spare time I am converting my poetry to music. I am enthralled with horror movies so just for fun I try to commit as much movie knowledge to memory as I can with the help of trusty Ole’ IMDB.COM.
I do not have a main source for writing nor do I have a muse per say. It’s more of a twisted mutation of the five inspirations previously mentioned. I listen to Black Metal, Death Metal, and Heavy Metal but I try as hard as I can to refrain from being influenced by music from those sub-genres because if I listen to music when I write all I can think about is the lyrics to the song I am listening to at the time.
I think I write for the reader’s reaction mostly. I’m always trying to push the shock bar without being blatantly vulgar. Keep in mind that my definition of morality could be the seventh level of hell to the average reader. I see my poetry as a perfect marriage between homicidal psychosis and romance. Some may disagree with that but that’s the feel I drive towards when I write. I think my poetry is a reflection of my darkest desires, fantasies I am incapable or afraid to realize yet compensate by writing about it. We all have a darker side within us and we all chose different ways to channel that side. For me, it’s the written word that satisfies, for men like Ted Bundy… well, you get the picture.
I am a little embarrassed to say I don’t really read any famous poet’s work so my opinion is rigged when I say that I look up to my mother as a poet. It’s not that I don’t like famous poetry it’s just that I haven’t found any poetry that shocks me quite like my own but still has at least some semblance of restraint when it comes to blatant vulgarity without some romantic undertones woven within.
If I was approached by someone looking for advice on writing I would have to stress three major steps to writing good poetry:
1. Become intimate with the thesaurus!
2. Write about anything that stirs the emotions within you whether it’s joy, sorrow or hatred.
3. Do not let other people dictate what or how you write because you are the writer and that is your liberty. If they don’t like it, then they can choke on it and die!
As of yet I don’t plan on anything serious for my writing, it is more or less a fun stress relieving activity. Who knows though…. I may yet become famous for my poetry but in the mean time I just want to get better. If you would like to view other works by me, I post my poetry under the user name azazel at:
Watching flesh rot off the bones of the dead.
Erection thrust into Death’s lair,
Forcing my vile demands upon death,
A courtship of Pleasure’s despair.
All over necropolis my sick can be found.
As I ravage the soulless on hallowed church ground.
I fancy dead flesh,
in death’s scent I’ve been caught.
Drenched in the filth of the coffin’s warm rot.
Sliced open lesions to climb deep inside,
Within torn flesh a monster will hide.
Hordes of the infection feast on my deeds,
As I make love to the dead to fulfill my ill needs.
Persistently lurking through graveyard soil,
Caressing the decay of a severed limb.
Misconduct forever be my mortal coil.
So sayeth the etchings of the Gravedigger’s hymn.
__________________________________________________
Adam’s Despair
Malice contorted with morbidity’s blessing. Within the shadows of desolation recessing. Bound in barbwire by the denizen’s of flesh, through pain and suffering, my blood to refresh. Hooks through my face whilst chained to the wall, as I scream to release the pleasusres I call. Ripped from my chest in vigorous bliss, my eyes to be honored with a sight such as this:
Blatant stigmata, completely exposed.
Rotten to the core as if decomposed.
Lacerations conform to the razors decree,
when they cut away from my fleshy debris.
Injected with fear the pleasure was heightened.
There grasp on my soul gradually tightened.
Smells of death drift somberly through the air,
in this paradise known simply as Adam’s Despair.
Burned by the fires that dance in this place.
When the shadows of sin begin to give chase.
Needles infused to my tendons unsheathed.
My blood growing hotter in my veins underneath.
Shards of glass wedged into my spine.
Disturbed and amazed at tortures design.
Perverse and exultant the noose takes my breath.
Auto erotic asphyxiation no breath taking death.
Tears of joy pattern my existence,
with the help of Torture’s blessed assistance.
Jagged stones cast square in my face.
Each stone welcomed with a lover’s embrace.
Diseased by the love that my masters have shown.
Never again shall I wander the darkness alone.
For they are the ones whom time has forgotten,
in this realm of pleasure evil has begotten.
__________________________________________________
She Knows No Greater Ecstacy
Joyous suffering painted upon pealing wall, I breath her tornment Shackled to my canvas, torn fingernails scream eternally.
She sings my soul, with every glance. Eyes lusting from within. Her pulsing flesh beckons me. As the knife solidifies her desires, Severed fingertips caress my soul.
Each tear begging for more. She knows no greater ecstasy. From torn flesh and bloodstained kisses, she calls out to me.
I can taste of her anguish. Succulence embraced with blood. She has my heart.
Knife thrusting inside her, my love eternal. She knows no greater ecstasy.
Satisfactory blog, some interesting information. I remember 9 of days ago, I have found a similar post. Does anyone know how to track future posts?
rss or subscribe to our newsletter