Aeronius D. McCoy
Biography of Aeronius D. McCoy
Lived most of my life in the Mid-Atlantic (PA and VA) . I enjoy a competitive game of chess. My favorite writers are Dostoevsky, David Foster Wallace, Kundera, Joyce, Carver, Atwood, and Julian Barnes, to name a few. Regarding film: Kubrick and Tarkovsky. Roy Andersson, Bunuel, P.T. Anderson, and Bergman too. From Fellini's 8 1/2 to Spike Lee joints to Jarmusch's vignettes.
It seems the world is moving to a sadder and sadder fate but I believe that it's for us to choose our subjective positions, without relinquishing our minds to a cultural decay that warps and destroys any true meaning.
I majored in history as an undergrad but now find the master narratives that constitute the field depressing. Favorite philosophers include: Kierkegaard, Sartre, Jesus Christ, Jean Baudrillard, Plato, Locke, Emerson, Gautama Buddha, and Nietzsche- a mixed bag, for sure.
I'm formally trained in fiction and screenwriting but have yet to produce anything of value in these mediums, the fact of which haunts me and keeps my fingers steadily spidering keys. I have a horrible ear for poetry but am trying to learn and feel it out.
My favorite poets include Ondaatje, Hart Crane, Arseniy Tarkovsky, Wallace Stevens, Frost, Whitman, Angelou, Ginsberg, Eliot, Pound, Blake, and Gibran.
Something personal, probably TMI:
I was a surprise/mistake and am only in this world because my mom had a nightmare the week before her scheduled abortion. She risked her health and life to have me. So, this Janus-faced existence, both blessing and curse, is mine. I try to think for myself and understand the most basic question of fiction: what does it mean to be human? A question worthy of a lifetime's investigation, I think.
I've worked many jobs: film projectionist during and after college; avionics software tester/engineer, which took me to Buenos Aires for a bit; cabdriver (I like to call this 'cabbiteer'): pest exterminator; home renovator. I work jobs that afford me the time to write but more and more I realize life will be difficult without a 'career' on my CV/resume. So it goes. Sacrifices are necessary and embraced.
Aeronius D. McCoy Poems
A Flame Lasts A Short Time
A flame lasts a short time A dream lasts portions of a night Handheld devices last five years or so With how the airwaves blow,
Look At Yourself (Incomplete)
Don't need a mirror In a tired, desperate clutter Tightest of windowless submarine spaces Realized
In our stormy cove Nightwind howling waves 'cross silent, praying rocks A battered roughness
Doves Of The Hand
Swirl of light and dark Divided diaphanous murk, this land Cairns of silt and windblown sand Through lonely hours
Pixel, pixel, shooting far Surmising dreams In unreal/ Savage, electromantic pastels
Girl In Flowerprint
Once I saw a girl Her smile swept Along a song Of plucked harpwire,
How far Nostalgia walks, Her Bouquet held to chest, In slow stride across Time-dusted floodplain,
The Plague And A Letter To It
The plague reached shore long ago Fed on air, fast food, and movies And found legs in the dreary rock bottom Musicians loved it, it made them feel notes
Life, Geometry's Whisper
Who made these patterns of night and day, Strung moon to earth and earth to sun, Catapulted voices from mountain to ravine If it wasn't in your eyes, would you tell me
Please Don'T Read As A Poet
Please don't read as a poet But as a long-lost friend, Unseen without trouble And find me in the gossamer
Astral Hope Falls Far
The clockwork on dawn's ancient levant Stretches shadows taut along earthen galley broadsides The cosmic carousel, this blue and green rock
What Might You Say
To a summer collision, my dear High above the plains you walk
O, But A Speck
Cosmonotic, the gnostic revels in The deepening sky, ever deepened 'Twixt some thumb and forefinger The azure-hued guise, upward dark
A Dream And A Wish To Never Wake
I dreamt of you last night, the wish to never wake to grainy color Pervaded our language barrier, Sometimes I think better of silence
Lone archer among
The rolling dunes and sand,
His quiver unstrung,
To reach without seeing
Hawk feathers cherished around
The arrow's nock to guide hollow