I. The water drips continually from the kitchen faucet, broken like the heart that was swept into the moldy dustpan by the bristles of a shit-stained broom. The interplay of the water as it steadily pelts against the interior surface of the sink and runs in a streamlet to the drain creates waveforms that coalesce with the sound of running air conditioners and passing cars outside, as I strike these keys to describe the phenomena, punctuating every syllable of their oddly familiar yet alien language with the harsh and ruthless weight of falling fingers. Their conversation, though garbled to my inferior ears, is far more exciting and, dare I say, sensible than the hollow, robotic diatribes of the political puppets on the acidicly swirling instant labotamy that I've heard so many refer to as a "television". My "television" is silent most of the time, but sometimes I see this strange-looking appendage fumbling for its controls and wonder to myself how it could look so much like my right hand, my index finger pushing that button, until it kicks on and my brain II.You think this a dream? I thought so once, too. What ridiculous scheme causes men to exist in this emptiness, that never ends but always mends, renewing itself from zero to no thing in every fleeting moment? No single breath can capture its essence, yet every breath extends its empire, size unfathomable, a whirling plethora of suns, infinite, within a single "atom", or any other such name that we may give it, so that we may give into it, and be absolved, to resolve our insatiable need, for a wound that never ceases, in its seething carresses and heedless excesses, to bleed. III.Those who seek wisdom in those places that claim to possess itfind naught but superficial convention. This statement must, of course,by definition,invalidate it self.
that's awesome, great, fantastic... i love it. the imagery and the message interwine beautifully not just here, but throughout. Ah, good prose poetry... so refreshing! Thanks for sharing this!
I see that thou attempt to hide that smartass smile in thine eyes, little smiley face! The irony by which this is inspired escapes me not, I would have thee know! much love
Ya right, my bad, it was in one of the other threads where the topic of God was brought up, but now I don't even remember which one. Oh well! I was going to challenge you to a duel, but that's old news now.
if it is a duel for which you yearn, I haven't the slightest trepidation in matching wits. That is a challenge more properly suited for the Philosophy forum, though, I would surmise. Though, if you's wanna keep dis between you an me, we can hash it out over e-mail, and then post the results if we come to any actual conclusion. Though in my experience, such debate usually has no reconciliatory ending. One or the other of the participants gets tired of repeating themselves, and gives up. It's on you, kitten. much love
I never get tired of repeating myself. I never get tired of repeating myself. I never get... I'm just messing with ya.
Nicotine-stained lips; Gasoline-soaked fingertips.Our recipe: for disaster. Is irony A sky full of amorphous cloudsSkewed to pleasure our perception ? I promised my self. I wouldn't askany more questions. Only seeking answers. Now the Snake's Eyes are in mine;Veiled by Sorrow once again. It could be: no. other. way. The surest way to make people underestimate you: Tell them the truth. They'll never believe IT. ***"Poetry is not an opinion expressed. It is a song that rises from a bleeding wound or a smiling mouth."-Kahlil Gibran, Sand & Foam
Welcome back. I was just rereading some of your older things the other day. Glad to read something new from you. Thought provoking as ever.
yes! that's some fine punctuation, mate! i love god, i love gas i eat well, i drive fast turn left or turn right? Where’s spontaneity? road signs in the sky look a lot like a lot, look! my god, a native American Her name is Smiling Mouth my devil, Bleeding Wound kisses, all better
it's great to read your work again! very thought provoking and I love the attitude you present with, it makes for a powerful read. hope you plan on sticking around a while, I'd love to read more!
After much study, and analysis, I must conclude(and collude) that I have more respect for the Marquis De Sade than Guatama. Both understood that Existance is Sorrow; but at least the Marquis learned how to enjoy it - even though he met with disagreement from his peers - instead of just spending all his time trying to escape into the void of his mind. For mind was never more than a void, whether unstirred, or choked with dust- and Nirvana only turned out to be a tragic story about a suicidal fellow with stomach pains and a heroin addiction.
not quite as eruditely contemporary Harry potter and HS Thompson: magically drunk existing creatively....umm
