Emerging from the front door, I fall into a sighing mouth. Maybe the spiders waiting in the depths below will leave my body and only suckle upon my bleeding hands & love hiding behind the transparent door. The shouting curtains blow and ripple in the air, but the stage they veil remains vacant. My descent captures the eye of the audience, as I land hard in the orchestra. Looking at you, your eyes speak of their sockets, the sockets hiding from me the brain that finds me among the stars and laughs with sparks and mallards. Tomatoes are thrown from they anticipating the show. You say to me, with the wink of an eye, that the shadows must consume you again. The wings of this magnificent theater suck you in and set you down among the dusty furniture ripped with springs growing like mushrooms from the yellow foam.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
This Post Shall Fall & Rot Like Neglected Fruit
From one second to the next, the hands of the clock slowly turn & age.
As the metronomes, pendulums, and coffin dwellers tightrope through the great flow, I exhale a never-ending soliloquy which cannot hope to rise above it's nature.
All text ever written, all shrewd movements of the quill, appear black on pages of black. The great speeches that have ended wars and made goosebumps flourish across the moldy sphere have been as great a silence as oblivion.
The universe is one thing sliced into components by the brief, emotional abstractions that wiggle and convulse from the passage of time. These abstractions rank their surroundings, some more numerically than others, but only one equation exists. X = X. You are I and I am you. We are forever together and forever alone. We are forever.
The stage of flow which interprets this flow focuses not on the flow. We base our lives not on our trains of thought, but on their conclusions. This is what makes earthquakes devastating, first love so torturing and yet so sweet, electricity useful, & war so inevitable. Only one conclusion can be made however from these trains of thought. "A train of thought has occurred and it made the universe breathe."
These words I type, these blog posts, are squeezed through rotten teeth in a land uninhabited. The creaking of dead branches in the wind remind me of this obscurity. My words rise up for a moment and then burrow deep into the earth's crust to be seldom seen again. I am everything I've ever interacted with, however. This obscurity is relative. In one moment I am both the completely veiled and the impossibly revealed. Let my words rot! Let my words soar! I love my friends. I love my foes..... but my trains of thought usually seem to favor the friends... it's evolutionary.
As the metronomes, pendulums, and coffin dwellers tightrope through the great flow, I exhale a never-ending soliloquy which cannot hope to rise above it's nature.
All text ever written, all shrewd movements of the quill, appear black on pages of black. The great speeches that have ended wars and made goosebumps flourish across the moldy sphere have been as great a silence as oblivion.
The universe is one thing sliced into components by the brief, emotional abstractions that wiggle and convulse from the passage of time. These abstractions rank their surroundings, some more numerically than others, but only one equation exists. X = X. You are I and I am you. We are forever together and forever alone. We are forever.
The stage of flow which interprets this flow focuses not on the flow. We base our lives not on our trains of thought, but on their conclusions. This is what makes earthquakes devastating, first love so torturing and yet so sweet, electricity useful, & war so inevitable. Only one conclusion can be made however from these trains of thought. "A train of thought has occurred and it made the universe breathe."
These words I type, these blog posts, are squeezed through rotten teeth in a land uninhabited. The creaking of dead branches in the wind remind me of this obscurity. My words rise up for a moment and then burrow deep into the earth's crust to be seldom seen again. I am everything I've ever interacted with, however. This obscurity is relative. In one moment I am both the completely veiled and the impossibly revealed. Let my words rot! Let my words soar! I love my friends. I love my foes..... but my trains of thought usually seem to favor the friends... it's evolutionary.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Out In Pick-Pocket Flem Scheme
Willows wait in silent corridors, breast feeding the solid air as it were a stinky little pageant of hodge podge little doggies. The flamboyance! The Renegade! There is no hockey team to stout to withstand the impenetrable force of Stud Stod thank you mod. Waiting for the worms to arrive and seeking out the treasures of forgetting. Forgetting wasteful fucking jerk-off homo sapien peon of glacier friday. Glacier sunday. Follicle empowerment is my profession when I feel like spinning my lamp this way and the other way all all ways in between the infinite space of infinity. Infinity is all of the ducks in all of the bathtubs of all of the mangoes of all of the PAIN.
"I have nothing to say
and I am saying it
and that is poetry
as I needed it"
- John Cage
"I have nothing to say
and I am saying it
and that is poetry
as I needed it"
- John Cage
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)