And other ways to Waltkellify language

I think that the "coming-of-age" subject needs to be treated more absurdly. My favorite coming of age story that I've seen so far is a 6-episode anime series called FLCL, which most people don't really look at seriously because of how bizarre it is. It's a short but pretty thorough exploration of the tectonic shifts of puberty, covering all the classic topics such as sex, parental alienation, and the sudden impending pressures of adult life. The story itself is fairly cool on its own, even without the adolescent overtones, but the show's unusually hyperactive way of describing action/interaction tends to get defaulted to the category of being "on drugs," which is dissapointing. I wish more people would realize that while narcotics can be a source of creativity, they are not THE source of ALL creativity. (this problem will get an entire post/rant dedicated to it sometime later on.)

I've been thinking about making up my own personal vocabulary lately, y'know, just little everyday terms that can be used for everyday things. For example, winter coats tend to have dark colors for the most part, so they're somewhat solemn. A pile of winter coats could be called, a "solemnheap." However, if someone had a bright, vibrantly yellow winter coat, and they threw it on the pile, you could say, "Someone canaried the solemnheap."

etc.

Here's the 1st draft of a poem I started last night, which got me started on the whole coming-of-age train o' thought:

The new aging is a young, flimsy mountain
plugging the earth's hot hernia, to stifle but not
stop completely, something overtly inevitable, a boy's
testosterone-laden granitic magma, ready to make a hellacious
stew of the whole deal.

The town below is doomed docile, living out a tropical finity:
the ground shakes but they are still in their beach clothes, tossing balls that will eventually deflate, cooking steaks that'll decay creatively in their stomachs. As the fresh earth pops with
ash and gas, bleeding its future self into the habitus, the creeping
gummy heat is still hypnotic, and they stand outside, unable not to be in awe of it even as their
dream homes sink into a flaming bolus of the earth.

On some summers, after the rock is solid enough to have eroded,
you can still smell the old young rock
blowing on in from the crevices where a remainder
was left to be savored smoldering.
The former town residents are exiles/fossils, now still furnishing their follicles
for more obliged destructions.