(I.) And I've dreamt the dreams of the flowers
…And they are all really nasty… What are the real rates of the heart, I wonder? If I could dream my heart into slumber, I would dream of the fire that set the next penniless town ablaze and make all my sisters and brothers profit from those which made them not feel, in any space, the safest. Even if our stories were the tragedies of the peonies left uncollected and passionless, I know there is something that opposes the sartorial substraction. Let me weave our fallen petals into something else. Let me metam ...Read more
I. Rune of The Unbothered
There is by far no more greater convention of fashion than the halls lined with sucrose of our untimely Liberation.
The Earth is for the waking and walking. The walking and waking spin.
Grant them the shame on the ruff and overgrown variorum, and
Busts of sneak knightdoms of no objections, and reinforcements
All on the affairs of the burning warehouse; (Happiness on my path,
Eh…?? AGAIN! Happiness on my path, eh…?? AGAIN! Happiness
On my path… HEY!!) And the water-plants with their [Fashion of the head, happy.]
Graceful flat heads, all became part of him ...Read more
I did the cowardly thing to do, and I feel more relieved than ever.
(I want to kiss your unrefined cheeks. It's difficult to think
Anything but pleasant thoughts. You relieve me, arm-rest,)
Adios. Dios, Adios. It is the perfect harvest.
All the stars dimmed. There is only defeat, but defeat is for later, Lover.
Later, later– we find; among the new, bright cheeks of the resurfacing;
ATHENA PARTHENOS! Every thing is small. Every thing, drenched
In composure. Regret is dead, but love is more. I do so dream about it more.
But no more uncertainties; just resolutions to eve ...Read more
Will the wild orphan later hallucinate of the gods of the wild
Orphan self? Waking among mysteries with an insane gleam
Dragged through several sea-games that put a saint's
Nailing to a cross to shame, or the lowering into flames–
The martyrs of and for– of anything that had no real meaning;
Everything felt tame to my uneven taste– even dew, even starlet,
Even clue, even Hamlet. And I could throw bombs to etiology tubes
That neither sanctify nor pardon the proud vehemence for violence.
And I could rein the magnet links that link the shelter of spirits to mine.
Natural bodies technically do not ask for forgiveness. They demand nothing but a series of replenishments. If you deny me sorrow, I will deny you joy; raise our tweaked, tawdry pennon elsewhere but between our distinctive beliefs. Partition! Take shelter, take shelter– in our grand quiet while I run my hands through the grass then through a soul. Do not disturb the foul at any cost. Perhaps my admiration shall recoil. We do not do confessions when we're hatching in the dark. Believe me, I'll sing you praises when you finally break my heart.
On Areas and Ideas of Self-Preservation
I wouldn't count the miracles, if I were you.
The numbers are so unsurprising. The numbers would so wearily betray.
The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses… He lies there, so beautifully–
The unjust precursor to my madness. I blame everyone, everyone who is not me.
I am now a different being; heavier, but still the same. Have I changed? Am I
To change? Why was I, to myself, even wilfully, awfully unfriendly? Unfriendly to
Incarcerations and relations with the touch-moved, whores in horse stances overdancing,
The greedy red breathable plastic. Buying books qualifies as sel ...Read more
The world relies on the dead to move forward…
The world chasticizes desertions and deteriorations,
But then, why should I? I am here because there had been
Space made for me here. I am now living where one man
Had lived before. I am now breathing the air possibly breathed
By another man before. Half my prayers were written by men
Who prayed nothing before they learned how to share chants.
Half the answers to my early tests where proven correct by them,
Samely. Surely, I can offer little flowers and candles that mean
Nay to them… Their prayers are little flowers still blooming. ...Read more
What difference does it make, the differences in our worlds?
Lean into me and how different I am to you. Do not leave me
If I become my bad days. Do not stoke fire that may swallow
Or not swallow my gifts, be it, if they were addressed in delay.
Know that, unlike my stumbling self, my words and my gifts
Are pious; know only, they, of righteousness that strikes gentle,
Two fingers of yours by two fingers of mine. Two eyes of yours
Made teary and squinting by two eyes of mine. You who knew of
Scales balances me, even before you were born into the earth, to town
And tower and gate and gu ...Read more
"Tell me more about how you like to live. Tell me, tell me
About how you like to live DANGEROUSLY."
HELLO!! I am Nihility personified, and I wake to some world entranced
with whatever sort of batshit Bathsheba shading this is; or if it's some,
some fast-paced paste and go, so swoon and swoon into scooting,
and tailing for overdone stuff and over-sexed saviors I don't know,
so much build up, then nothing– a sea of nothing then cowboys
and cowgirls from another world of nothingness–
it's all just displaced replacement and a track that's full of guilt
hightailing the nonpareil crossb ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.