somebody_has_probably_already_done_this_before Doar blatherite continuous poetry, rhymed or not, and if it has been done already, I'm sure one of you will let me know. As i sit here empty of mind, Unique skies are abroad, Total vistas of blackness find, Master and slaves of faithless god, 031026 ... Dafremen Bent upon destruction of The latter's lack of Godless love Squeal and scream and in between Your gasps for breath seem so serene You are my sanity You chain my soul to twisted dreams You're my insanity 031026 ... Doar screaming first and screaming last bending bridges far too fast bounding, bouncing, make it flash running, diving, feel it crash 031026 ... knot meat you say to me that it's all been quite done, that there isn't a feeling that hasn't been had, but i say to you, there's still more under this sun, and there's no solace in the agelessness of a feeling like sad. 031026 ... blather spell check probably and already are both mispelled my real name here is thus withheld 031026 ... thpppttttt.....ack. shite, blathere spel chek his cott me agin muste tri to doit, as I grin 031026 ... Dafremen Grimace, though more than a grin Take thy knife and plunge it in Accursed spellcheck go to hell First LEARN to write then We'll learn to spell 031026 ... Freak ...back to the original poem at hand... the_persistence_of_memory refusing to let go dreams_of_the_false_prophet sending hopeless hope it only causes more pain still not letting go forever stuck in this hell 031026 ... Death of a Rose so push it down, downwards, make it flat, don't give up, you've got more miles to float upon. I begin my travel in a sunlit field of hay. I ahted and still hate trying to make up words to match the shit I have gone through and all the hell of everyone around me. I hate my life and all that I've ever done, that comes back to throw me into fits of nightmares. Loneliness is my companion now, give me a good ole c&w tune. How do I relate to the objects around me, wear a mask and live a continued silence. I wish I had no debts to pay, my life to end. I need release from this constant barrage of needless life. Enjoyment is fleeting, happiness is only a word, abandon every feeling and lie like you still have any. You know the stuffing of your life is gone when you are pretending to have some. Dark and squat, rising fireflies lick his shoes and extinguish. Alone to think, wonder why shock waves can come so subtly and not as expected, to tremble in warning. He brushes his hair back letting it stick in place. Moaning, he cradles a lost boy, tasting names but never swallowing. He was warned not to play with his food, and to despite them he had taken nips and pieces of lessons told. Nodding slowly, as if under the brink of river sleep, he struggled to raise his head as if in this final fight to betray the nimbus os his fading aura; how bitter. His views as a youth became quickly and quietly washed with pollutants. I am one of the lost. A gray soul caught in modern traps and desires. Emotions have run out, At this point nothing swivels, nothing bends. Every day repeating and completing the dot on the paper. I would write you bleeding hearts, and cover it with toiling embraces. Dynamic convulsion, stretched and bending. Spare me the twitches. Spare the heart beat. A shadow, a timed movie. Favorites last forever. Glimpses last while you are staring at the ceiling. I'm an idiot playing with fools and the fools are winning. Description will never be enough. Describe a page, imagine hurt, Laughing at the chords; And speckle finely a blackness, watch it drift away. My words, while I write are confused and true. I like to think of hidden meanings. And similies are constant. but true thought always betrays consideration of pages taken away; Always taken. Pages turned and pages clicked, pages retraced. Grab me at my lowest wrestle my supposed ego. Tray a nameless see, make it flourish. Call a dictionary as referee. WHO CARES!! I have too many pages to go it seems, and I fear that I will not reach the last page. One pen, writing and then spelling. A sad voice screaming into grayness. Life is not accomplishments, I do not think. Life is how you have screamed with the earth. Have I saved or damned. I really don't know. Why am I writing? Tonight is well worn. Tonight, crazy fingers are deciding. Where is goodness? Not a personal salvation, maybe? I've experienced evil and holiness. So what is right. Do I accept the spaces, slab a foam pimento into my ear. Desperation and addiction causes this. and lacking want. I've always been scared of describing what is happening to me, ridicule fear perhaps. The thought of being exciled. Never having someone to talk to or hold. I can measure my life by its beats of fhythm. I wonder how infinite are the melodies that hit an individuals ear, and how many of those sounds caress the soul, ready it to be bound, pure movement and instinctual following. Not a robbing of the soul, but a joining, seperate laughing. Slow sounds, erotic shivers from the air. Delight in shound, I have known no feeling except this movement. Erratic and dancing, eyes half closed, letting the electric control movement. Addiction to sleepness nights, and thoughts. I wonder at the zero, and laugh at it. Feeling the transformation in my eyelids. Wrong words beginning and hurt lips ending, waking to find no dream has happened! A sensory deprevation of single focus. Transport me into rememberance. Consider my actions and not my habits. Play a tune and smile. Not for my passing but for my wandering. Trepidation is the yearning for two. Into the yawning abyss; Crawling the weave, you cast My eyes everywhere. Their road leads to oblivion, We walk to extinction. I've sung many a silent dirge, To half remembered wounds. And when new stars appear, My funeral song will ride the 'Illiad'. That is why before I dive Towards the Mirror, I should Wish for nothing more than A nerve tingling kiss from you. Rose Follow me for a moment. I would make plain my compulsion. Magnify your want, That samll mark of annoyance: Or heal the fallacies of silence. There are so many who do not know who they are. But live with what they do. It is only very rarely you can seperate a distinctive goodness of character, that should/can't be polluted from that personality of conscience. You should be my balanced truths. And if I could I would play a concerto in your mind; just to alleviate my freedom. The implementation of considering future worth, blends into mirages and clouds what shall improve the present. Maybe we interpret our actions too quickly. Will we all become inefficient machines and ignorant moles? Your lush vibrancy is my pen. I cannot claim to be king of anyone, nor would I wish to be lord. Instead treat us as equals, even if you have to lie to yourself. I know immaturity is hard to tolerate, for some, but I believe quite strongly that this morning fog will not entirely dissapate. So let us not be latent but perpetual. I describe for you a flower, seen once many years ago, and return with impassioned haste to the window to watch dissapointment walk toward my unlocked door. Upon cushioned impact, I step back decades, recalling smiles and words; ah.....forgive me, promises. How can I remember your face with only photographs? My hand isn't responding to my useless meandering. Have another smoke and remember the pages of semi circles spread upon the grass. Does everything stumble when uttered? My minutes are hours, Hours are daze, Daze is forever. I look to my wrist and watch it break as if bound to Hercules arrow. Nothing matters except lines with warmth. Nothing matters except teaching and learning to watch. Nothing matters except pressure. There are no conventions with muted weavings. I would lose my pride with the quick slash. Take the pain apart to find its source. Believe nothing, for the angels never miss a hated soul that has remained beating. Such pompous words, such that even this is inextricable from nearness. I can't recall a single moment when I am free of you. Nor do I wish to. You will haunt me with broken bottle nights, and I lie here not knowing how or when hell will freeze over, or if I will still be able to continue to walk down this path. 031026 ... Death of a Rose my last post, anthologized so I wish to apologize 031026 ... Dafremen Burnt offerings Burnt Toasted Upon the spit of repetition Spitting on your own creation Leavin our improvisation twisting Shifting left and right It waggles on the wind Dragon napalmed wings that shudder Then flutter in ashes Fall upon the ground To sound the trumpet blast Of half a dozen souls Who joined you in this sojourn Left upon the Death of Rose Their mark, this dark repose This closed unclosure grows Below the fray This darkened day betrayed Its mixture bent upon a whim within A grim thin slim pestulence A tin din's corpulence leaves behind Some spigot's fencing in your mind And blind to all those roses sprung Then died upon this noxious dung Replacement Defacement Of those whose words had come To share this fare Who care about the art Which blooming fell apart And now grows still Do with it what you will.. 031026 ... Death of a Rose thumbs pressed wide apart, forming indents in solid rock, here is my crime, here is my chart, coalescing upon a knock, who is upon my entry way? sages profound and classics penned, bring your needle and some clay we bring erasers for you to mend. something simple, filled with life continue then, my failure mirror, leave the rock and subtle strife. here is some cash, make it clearer. 031026 ... oldephebe hides in this brittle chalice of splintered light? could i depart from the parameters of this blathepage to say death of a rose i almost wept after reading your tear drenched words..fire drops of splintered flame briskly shorn from the bleeding torch of your soul..and even now with these few words i feel so inadequate to what you have shared...effortlessly exfoliating the intimacies of your hearts hidden blight..but i wanted to acknowledge this glittering parchment of equisite pathos and so here are these few lines wrung out..spun out from my splintered Art..and what would those greek sages...the masters of myth and reason say if they heard me equate these ungraceful lines with the apotheosis of human endeavor..i want to read this heart breaking issue out of your souls darkest cavern..again and and again..it's almost borgesian on some levels..and now my tongue is flailing impotently to conjure the right shade of inadequate praise to heap upon your beautiful heart..these words you have written DOAR are simply .. giving birth to shattering sighs..nice work brah ... and as usual daf..another side of a another side of your many faceted being you continue to suprise and delight be well my friend.. ... 031026 ... oE the first line was omitted..it should read how could you know the harrow that hides in this brittle chalice of splintered light? m'bad 031026 ... Death of a Rose a road has been thanked by the passing pilgrim oE, giving light upon the dark edges where the weeds grow. This road is yours and mine, friend oE, if you will but walk it with me. 031026 ... oldephebe in the demimonde where a vague path is parted in the forlorn field and some who fortuitously stumble upon them..these diamonds out of the ducts of a splintered soul..would glare at such glittering gems..and some would sit with fingers steepled under a stubled chin an hirsuit pursuit of carefully poised disenchantment and yet informed and cultured aplomb approximating a pose of profundity.. me, i stoop to lift these tears..glistening jewels borne out of our ovens.. and i jostle them upon the smooth plane of my idle hands..the substance of abstraction ..it is not for me to sift fact from fallacy here..look a soul smear splendid spectrum of striated soul and i am agonizingly aware of each beautous bleat of brokeness shadows grown like stalks of corn fields of dusk and ash and slowly stirred things ... 031026 ... Death of a Rose blessed stones, heaven=man=hell, leave some pages unturned, for all knowledge is burning, sycophantic parasites are spread take acid pills to ward off madness. 031026 ... Death of a Rose blessed stones, heaven=man=hell, leave some pages unturned, for all knowledge is burning, sycophantic parasites are spread take acid pills to ward off madness. 031026 ... Death of a Rose blessed stones, heaven=man=hell, leave some pages unturned, for all knowledge is burning, sycophantic parasites are spread take acid pills to ward off madness. 031026 ... 2 clicks two many oops 031026 ... oldephebe in the days of my yawping youthwhen my mind seethed like a firebrand on the flank of steer my cup of consolation a few beers i'd start suturing these these ale fevered quilts expectorating conjecture... swaying like a shimmering apparition sodden streams of incomprehensible albeit learned spatter when i'm intoxicated..degrees beyond garrulous.. like some lapsed preacher swaying in the pulpit.. my friends tell me though it was quite amusing for them.. i've been separated from those seas of bargain beer.. telling my torture to sleep in alchohol shallows.. setting to restive surging slumber those bruising fugues.. but only the young can really afford to be confused.. craven jester in the court of madness.. stirring the sediment at the bottom of a stagnant pond.. call me back.. call me back to my languishing life.. maybe this is what heroism is.. to shrug the inertia of all this uncompletness unrequited kisses the intamacies.. of awakening in a rumpled bed a dreary dawn and a reticent lover..recognizing the mutual exploitation of one another reflected blankly in that stricken posture damp sour bodies.. clouds of the nights.. dissapation rising off of our morning after bodies.. sometimes it's the blandness the blankness of regret a one night stand.. sometimes.. it's the body of a soul you no longer can love.. fermented barley coaxing me into a despairing complicity if i cannot touch you with my words or my body.. what is there but this well learned minuet.. look there in the corner.. there's a stern tower of merciless inculcation sister somebody without her habit.. her cotton white coiffeture rigidly stapled into place.. phantasms after empty orgasms and then.. a subtle shrug.. an obdurate jut of chin.. and then briskly out the door.. and a bitter, rueful smile at your rumpled complexion.. ... 031026 ... Death of a Rose sleep your strained dreams here, beyond that window are shelves of magic, wisdom and whimsey, a juggler cannot compare to those who sit and weave, strand upon strand, deftly making pictures astounding and complexity laid bare. even the feel of coarse bound lore, unique in delight and despair, bring Helen and Troy together again, give some eyelid fluttering to your complexion. make them tremble when they recognize the carnivore has left. mantled growth, don't look over your shoulder, coarse and still sands of time cannot win back favour lost. humble and courteous we shall grasp, bind your stables loosely, grow some blue grass. 031026 ... Death of a Rose I think jesus screamed sometimes, just to let it all out. so christ, i'll just weep. here is my emptiness, bleached black and overly sour tasting. Morality plays upon the piano tonight, something sanguine and silent. don't leak on the keyboard or you'll fry yourself is just a fallacy. gut spasms in almost lazy hello waves. i'm alone because i drink i drink because i'm alone nice little self wrapped conundrum 031026 ... doar Bring it on that moon ridden time. Flapping it's wings into a frenzy, just so you can hear it. Step in to the parlour my dearest deceit. Play upon the stage of the night and dramatize its senses. Did you hear that, the masses yearn for the morning, but I hear only my heart beat with intoxication. Roller coaster fantasies are eerliy different when you're standing in sunshine. The will be my blatherthon. You will see our number flashing at the bottom of the screen. Don't bother calling, we are outside having a cig. I'm not even going to look at the screen while I type this. Just let it come out. Here is my clown, ready to fire from the cannon good people. Oops.....I guess you're not all that good afterall. There is a wall. People gather to pound their fists on it. It makes them feel righteous and better about themselves. They should check their hands for splinter of rock and steel. Blood can be ignored quite easily when the mind is elsewhere. Keep that mind rooted. If I was the man who had his ear attuned to inward kisses, would you think less of me? I've got a little black book that I forgot all over the place and yet I can't seem to do a final loss deal on it. Have to perform an exorcism on it. this is dangerous, so windy and filled with mines. here it comes, climax in glorious forms. crossroads here and there. for her in sunlight. The middle field is calling (more later). I have blaphemized and haven't been struck down, now is that right. Can't I expect a holy surge of lightning bolt through the head for the well though out blasphemy. (insert deity of your choice) is cruel. give me steroids and ethanol, so I can burn cleanly. lips are stimulating. monkey brains are good, they promote regular constipation. till later my sweet little dark things. 031026 ... Death of a Rose The middlefield is calling from Eden's den. It is neither loud nor strong but Glistening marks its' woeful trail. It has eaten noiseless insults and Can never be advanced along the Metal clasp again; until vanity. Long strings have knotted, disregarding Time until its' return to exile. Harbouring the past, judgements Have melted words long due but as Yet unbidden. Can you hear its' power song, full of Welcome and blank paper? Despair if not, because its' ages are Infinite and flesh tires all too soon. Someday unravelment will come to stay, And the bleeding will close, And the middlefield will welcome The knock of the shaded door. 031026 ... Death of a Rose Twirling softly on graceful hands, Hurting silently in despair. Escaping hurled and forced barriers, Rich with river laughter and heat. Ever in need, wanting not far behind. Shadowing the blue lagoon, Asking for the sun. 031026 ... Death of a Rose A slow bed chant can hurry an orange and pulsing light. Her action suspended my tilt, the letter remained unwritten. A wonder reclined, furtive strokes with musical glances. A loan of patience, feather dusted, hidden from tape. There were many mirrors but the fanned heat cooled my skin. 031026 ... Death of a Rose Tendrils ever seeking, while hands whipser, changing the green life above. You will never be lost with me. And I will walk through clouds with you. Each sunrise, fate may yet reveal shadows hidden beneath scarlet breakfast. Hazy momentum curls around my head. Resting contentedly on a soft embrace, smelling birth in the fluttering light. Beside the river, murmured truths rushed from crackling breezes, One blink will never get the hue of the air or that eluding scent being tossed by green shields. 031026 ... Death of a Rose I watch you dance. Your swaying river flow is hypnotic. My eyes inflame my head when you are this close. You are a stranger to me, although I have known your steps for millineum. I wish you would pause in that uncertain moment, and lock that piercing cry with mine. I will sit here and answer life's greatest questions and always be called a liar. The only time my fingers flow is when my cards are blurred. I still feel. I still yearn. I still ache. My peace hugs your back, but weeds grow distant and ever closer. When spasms pass and the colourful cup has been shared, my smile will echo across these hills untill landslides crush the silence. 031026 ... Death of a Rose Travelling without purpose. No stone; no fork to confuse my passage. I came across footprints as I entered a glade, I could hear soothing burbling, so I crouched down to enjoy it. I saw a fawn and she peered deeply into my skin, and was disturbed by another source of noise opposite of us both on the other embankment. She fled from us both, leaving barely a ripple in her sudden departure. I felt I had to follow but not as a chaser, clumsily crashing through the forest but as tracker, careful and patient. A trance enfolded me as I ranged along her escape route. Every time I glimpsed her just ahead, she would again disappear, my hands started to tremble, my eyes darting around at unfamiliar territory. I silently came upon some brush, which I slowly slide halfway under, and there was a small lake with the fawn, her sides heaving, due to her flight, having stopped to replenish that which she had sought firstly. I gazed at her and just when my eyes had slid from the pond to hers, she didn't frighten or bolt, she just turned to gaze at me, seemingly an eternity had just taken place. Then she dipped her head back to the lakes edge to drink again. I like to think that she had decided that some sense of hers had allowed me to escape the definition of a predator after this long chase. Small waves issued forth across the still water. Where were the other creatures of this forest? Or did I not hear/see them because of her? I paused in thought and looked at my trembling hands, not knowing what to do, thinking that any quick or questioning movement would change her mind about me, causing flight again. I did not have the energy or wit for another chase. When I focused once more upon the water's edge, she was gone, having slipped away while I pondered. I hear now the other denizens, now that sleep is my companion, but her essence lingered far past my skin. 031026 ... Death of a Rose I am standing on a border, the flickering of life and lost hope. My death comes to me in a plastic bag, sometimes two as if to share its burden of poison, or the weight of its release. It is made for ease and pain of delivery. And it comes of my own calling. It arrives in little time at all and always flattens time afterwards. Like a beckoned echo it strangles me. Just a primal sound of fluid, flowing, pleasing and feared. 031026 ... Death of a Rose Staring at the twilight, Letting this grain down me in one swallow. Pour her full and empty her wastefulness into a morning cup. I will engulf this in the dawn, nothing to melt my tears, stirring languidly, brushing the time from my fingers, like sands in your shoe, bothersome to know it has ruined everything. 031026 ... Death of a Rose Sink a slick fog into my mind and spread it across low lying hills. I can imagine a slow dread, beginning at my feet, as though my contact with the earth is the origin of the ill that is slowly embracing me. To step gives a brief respite from pain, until I plant my foot down and then agony blossoms again, repitition; pain, relief, searing, escape, torment, freedom. On and on. Let both my feet leave the ground, shed the leather and cotten that encases them, join both arms in a high rendered prayer, ready to dive into the unknown, swim free of constraints. Folding my legs to frame my new existence. But of course, the firmament will always have its physic's embraced way with me, feeding the water laden bread scraps through its steel door. Hang your projected politics. Choke on persuasion. Erratic, stumble, undesirable effort. Reading a story with no understanding of the hidden meanings vital for character development. 031026 ... oldephebe here's my hoary song pasted and placed here from some other parchment page hugged in a helix of blue i do not write for you i do not sing for you i want to fill this barren field with sprites and the dance of winter lights and fauna frolicking like tigger and pooh on smack i want to fill these pages with satiric verisimilitude and just a word..a pap smear so broad in its depths ringing something hollow and shimmering ebullience in its breaths and when the brown round tone blinks into the black i want to embalm this i want to tear the very heart out of winter..i want to etch a dagguerotype of the terror i see clouding in your eyes..the one brief flickering moment of truth that passed between us..and i want to see you drunk and stumbling down the stairs..and see you wrap a shawl around your shame..although i wear your face i cannot begin to assume the mantle of the master raconteur.. the ravages of spirit..the ribaldries that scalded her ears..the coarse and close intimacy of that fraternity..i will never touch upon it..upon that i want to sit in an oak panelled bar and see the spirits shimmer in the glass watch the shape your hands assume..so casual and aloof and yet an inescapable affinity with this appendage..the glass the ice..the bourbon sipped slowly..affectionately from the glass i want to take that which had hung in the air between us all those years and spread it wide upon the credense table..i want to know the man who spoke in these majestic breadths..the man who had fists like cinder blocks and yet was so gentle..so aloof towards me..the man who sent men into oblivion one blow and one hastily slurred word and they were prostrate upon the pavement...a man of immaculate manhood all i ever felt was a vague sense of discomfature..and a vague sense of pride or familiarity.. i do not write for you i am not you but as the years etche a character in this face the man i see more resembles you..these things that whispered vaguely in the air between us are now spreading their wings wide i don't want to become you i don't want to be aloof taciturn i don't want to seek some desolate solace in the smoke and steam of a barley inebriate.. i don't want to be this great house of splendor that has fallen down..i don't want my relationships to be defined by strain and exasperation but i fear that i am becoming you no, not the man with cinder block cudgels raining furious blows upon some hapless bar patron who has stayed well past his time..but the man who was so irrevocably alone..who sat up nights and mimed a mirage through his days.. sometimes father i saw the ache..the lonliness cloud your eyes..just for an instant..and then you'd fill the awkward space with that phenomenal photographic memory..and fill my head with exacting forensic prodigies of recall..your recall..estuaries of the esoteric..and i remember at those moments being filled with the poignancy of your sorrow..that now it became my sorrow..a kind of transgenerational cross pollination..and then the notion of daylight burning.. yea i have come at last to myself the self i searched for as an ephebe wanted to define myself by something besides my ( )parentage yea i have come to myself at last a self i spent so long searching for.. and now i want to be unhinged from the past, the present..my profound lapses of ( )but there is elucing the harsh judgement i have meted out to myself..no tender eye of light beams down upon me..i have this panic that is rising in my throat..when i confront the totality of what i have not honored. paul had his damascus epiphany..struck with holy blindness so he could see what he had become..and how he must atone..and yet i am clinging tenaciously to this rot that eats at me like black moss growing over a soul.. clinging..remembering so acutely every lapse and every shame..O what calamity waits for me in the wings? and in the interegnum between these precocious winter breaths...autumn is a slow dying fire..and now i try to hide this terror from my son..and from my family and friends..but they see it.. i do not write for you..but it seems the score is being written out of you.. the end from the beggining the requiem has begun..and i have heard its score since those early young years..slender shadow growing tall in the field of dusk 031026 ... Bespeckled This is a page I'll have to come back to 031026 ... rendered speechless utterly beautiful 031027 ... Lemon_Soda Do not fail, oldphebe... You wrenched tears from my bosom and placed a vice of destinies pain on my soul in your scattered oration... Your present is my future, or perhaps, one of them... Give us a happy ending, old phebe, if your hand has the will to scrawl the lines of your path. 031027 ... oldephebe something tender about me.. i'm tired of these spurs volleying back and forth, in and out thin sliver of shadow and your imperious eyes tell me something you see in me not founded upon the malice swimming in your black eyes tell me something not founded upon the savage violence that sings in your unrepentant anthracitic heart tell me somethin' that doesn't stain the air with septic redolence tell me something not shaped in that cauldron of rot mother i want to see your face filled with blazing light eyes unnarrowed, not haughty not wide in faux suprise and overt disdain and as the wind throttles the tree in its fist of unfolding indefagitable fury can you cast a blind eye and open heart upon my lapses.. my surcease of synapses O great house falling forever into its squalor shape for me some beatific illusion then let this chasm between us be filled, bridged let this ancient animus be crucified let the inner veil of the temple be wrent from my maudlin crown of martydom to your incarnate heart of oppression let it be told let it be said that we are at last threaded in Love even though the words of that last sentence curdle in my mouth like tepid split pea soup filled with rotting meat left to spoil in summer heat..in a bowl encrusted with pathogens there is no sacrifice that can be made to restore what never was still though it'd be nice if every now and then we could say something borne of the brightness i've seen filling other mother's eyes and as the time between us threatens to repose tell me something tell me why there is this thing between us filled with black sky ... 031027 ... oldephebe lemon soda i ah..can only write what is in me to write..maybe there will be a happy ending once i atone for all of my "lapses" thankyou for the kind words..i hope your future never touches this travesty i call a life..mostly my own making though..so it is within me to right this wrecked train..but i will need to inhabit something transendant..or It will need to inhabit me.. 031027 ... oldephebe oh the first line of my penultimate post should have read:tell me something tender..about me 031027 ... Death of a Rose discord I take to the flint wheel, sharpen it until breath can be cut. wield it unwillingly upon the stones of this bone filled valley. seconds tick inside my head, swinging through the decadence, creating commotion whenever the silence returns. 12 steps up and a lifetime of stairs to fall down, turn away from deceived mountain guru's. remodel these hands upon anothers altar. "is that not fair?", she asked. "to whom?", I answered. plant signs under oceans fathoms equate the two dissonant chords behold this fate of water falling. gestate hunger with three words. 031028 ... Lemon_Soda Well writ. 031029 ... Doar lemon, add some original verse. 031029 ... Death of a Rose bring your hate to the surface, shine it and let it glow. what do you see? dryrot in your eyes. know this, change has slipped, swallowed by amorphous reason. racing the emotion down the street. back and forth without a map. singular purpose, reposed, canted, twisted, purchased, Cleft into pieces. 031029 ... Lemon_Soda *mixes a package of original into the bowl and stirs well* Happy? *licks the spoon* 031029 ... Doar ah....that's better. 031029 ... Death of a Rose last page.....i can feel it coming around that worded corner, exhaling a stench of ending. last page....i can see it scratching at the iron gates, flaking rust particulates onto the brown grass. last page....i can sense it arriving back from its birth, extensive meandering bringing no souveniers. last page....i can savour it leaving, breaking frosted glass in its' hastily drawn prison. last page....i can type its concealment from only tree tops, specifying worn soles and burnt walking sticks. last page....i reveal as clouded blue aluminum stamps, flip the hankerchief over and begin again. 031030 ... oldephebe Ode to e e cummings ...by oldephebe... his lush over ripe phrases hanging out of the air so manly and yet sensuous his words stir a riot hot musket salvos into the eye of guardians of a swiftly decaying age his homilys of erotic heresy slipped between the knotted cords of strenously twined ivy..oh glittering trellis how do i descend these lines these hot houses bleeding, sweating into the darkness each of your etchings is is a strange parade and gilds me to that young magical time gilds me to this solipsistic refrain and me meeting her and then your unabashed verse was so beyond serendipity see i took a wrong turn and in that..in your voluptous verse i found a God thread i plaintively pound my chest no it will not be put to rest it will leech from its shallow internment there are moments when you are vaulted beyond yourself..when i read these lines O scatter the sentinels that guard the sepulcral soul..o invigorating apostacy.. how you do reveal me 031030 ... Doar yes......that was very well done....oldephebe..... 031031 ... oE oh. ..uh thanx man.. 031031 ... Death of a Rose light filled foggy days, watching it flow and tumble, cauldron born and cornfed raised cautiously homing into geometrical intricacies spreading arms wide, in anticipation, purposely fornicating without breathing, donning new armour and stepping into the arena time winded frustration and jealous ravings core values, i have spent, obtuseness deified, mythical beasts and fairy tale rides, wounded omnivores, supplicating subversive demagogues. 031031 ... oldephebe nice! the prodigies of spirit..doar you are inimitable..fathomless..i am so enjoying your glittering tears of woe shorn out of that cathedral of sorrow..or maybe..i mispeak..maybe these words can broker a new beggining..to retrieve a semblance of what was thought lost..i don't know..here i am..desultory..shuffling with my shoes..the aggregate..dunghill gravel pit.. heaving my pick into that delusional..dry spring..emptied vein..HOPE..okay all i wanted to say was i am enjoying reading your words.. i'll clean this one up later... peace doar 031031 ... Death of a Rose well thank, back slapping wanna be poets that we are....... :-) I think some of the oE dictionary is rubbing off on me....I'm start trying to think of the multisyllabic variations of nonsensical pontification.....lol the candle is always lit when you are gone from here oldephebe. \/ to you friend. 031031 ... oldephebe i wish others would post their rhetorical dalliances here.. that's all we're doing.. just talking off the top of our heads.. it doesn't have to be connected to anything already here.. paste here your pleated.. beleagured paranoia..w why then let's have a thouroughfare to thoughtlessness and the dance of sprites.. let us pour ourselves luminous upon the pavement.. i know i can't be the only windbag here.. lemon soda..where you AT man? Daf - well he's probably in a mountain top monastry gleaning greedily upon the unfathomed mysteries of our questing souls.. well.. maybe he's just doing his thing.. pd, magicforest, celestias shadow, mtree, unhinged, RO, jezebel, stork, minnessota chris, how many gorgeous orchids of sound and spirit fill this firmament?.. let them come and tell themselves to us.. or just rant.. tell a joke.. take an image.. any ol' image.. even an icon and squeez it for ironic effect.. my mirrors all bleary, black and bereft insouciant effect.. c'mon..say something that will renovate my inner life.. tantric theft, i was wired to my work and that's why she left.. is there a cecilia bartoli out there with a voice that can cut through a soul like a saw through glass..ply glass that is.. is there an angry rueful sage of the parchment page refusing till the last to submit to deaths singing blade? c'mon we're all so word glutted here..write your movement to this polyphonic procession.. okay so.. where ya At!!..i never could pull of faux street argot.. c'mon then.. one more round of anecdotal entanglements.. i feel like the garrulous barber pinning his customer to his unendurable incontinence.. polyphany, cacophony.. minimalism.. whatever your bag is bring it and dump it out here.. and again i am all pneumatic discharge of air between pursed lips.. later.. 031031 ... Death of a Rose jesus, mary and the psychic donkey... I was going to say something similar in the last post but didn't want it to sound insulting.... lemon popped in but only left an original baking in the oven. Dafremen started the sharing but he is a wanderer, we might not see him for along time. looks like you and I are the only ones left at the moment. So I'll slap your back and give you some peace, heartbrother.... 031031 ... Death of a Rose well, I started this with such fervent intent, trying to bring some worth and leakage to this praple apologies. i still tend the fire, hoping for passerby to sit awhile and share some words, issuing them from between frenzied lips, juliening a feast for the grey matter of our beings. scratching symbols and epics in the sand, some only listen to the fathoms careening against the nearest shore. please read instructions before consuming, don't remove this tag. subdivide a birth record and proclaim to the world, we are dionysius and ceasar, call us gladiators of the typed word. 031101 ... Dafremen Hit the mountain top Reached the pinnacle and petered Fettered there Left behind the wings that somehow o'er the ages Taught and brought me there Shed the skin for scrolls of old Fed the bought and borrowed one On inner peace instead Leave me! Be me! What you want me to be...me Willingly free me to see me Gleefully teasing Beyond this slim composure Failing then fleeing This depth of heights unmeasured You cannot count The tokens of the toll Who cannot feel The bleating of my soul? The numbing of its cold, hard way? The crumbling of this mountain stay This peak of foolishness? Accursed day melts exposing blessed night The frightening spectacle of who I was and am The lightening gave way to what I couldn't understand I ran..run I run and stand Behind the shadow of my conviction "I am!" I shout But doubt that I know anything at all Not anything at all So called enlightenment No wisdom here I fear Just apparitions come and went Their wisdom spent upon a fool upon his knees A flea, a mite, a mote, a man Ran to the mountain top on wings and strings attached Upon a puppet's hand Up to the mountain top The monastery's shadow laughing all the while Laughing, then it smiles and scowls at my unworthiness At this scrap of dauntlessness come calling Blown upon its kiss then falling down Falling down "Kiss the earth, dirt. Kiss the earth, know of your birth, dirt. Tumble down and ever after know that you are small" I felt its loamy call So very very small I am So very very small And know I cannot stand Can only crawl, only crawl up to Then fall down from the mountain top. 031101 ... Death of a Rose I trace my imagination through your skin. The ultimate medium. We are a perpetual cycle of involvement, thanking those who have cut the vines before us. There is no one way glass for us, only warm delight flushed with raging energy. I whisper 'Je taime' close to your jasmine hair. We know it is a box of memories, lasting and true. Slaves to our flexible coil, never wanting for broken chains. I envision so many promises we made and stare shrinking pinholes into the wall. You are my wind anchored. My sail with push. You carry my colours of emotion out to sea. You are my desperation, my hope when times begin to dim. My letters lost, those times when blankness traps my mind. You are my life support, a constant coma of beautiful dreams and actions. Your mouth. You see Once a man feels its caress, he never gets over it. Will you forget me? Would I forget you? Let me tell you this in answer. You are everything that is lovely. You are all the things I cannot understand, because understanding requires knowledge. Of which I am barren. You are yourself. No repition. Unique. Quickened pulse, cornered passion, undetectable crimes. Your lips. 031101 ... Death of a Rose Endurance feeding seclusion, or mocking the heretic, Can be the essence of habit. If you can imagine the abandoned dreams of childhood; What are your expectations now? Of others? Of yourself? Can we be truthful about ourselves any longer? There are too many questions. Too many followers of Kali and Loki. Instead we should become ourselves to that extent where no one would need masks to relate, but I guess this dream is abnormal and therefore it should be suppressed. Our superficial exteriors support and maintain this disease of humanity. I know this poetry is drivel and childish to many. But maybe, just maybe..this collection of words are here on record, maybe some might leave with some insight or wonder. They are the ones I would bleed with. 031101 ... Death of a Rose coloured sand, glistens with dark shadows. seeing beauty pass, but afraid to stop it. sweating each day, as if it were yesterday. without rhyme, want can only be except illusion. rigid towers flow outwards, with increasing blindness, towards fallen metal heaps, covered with scum. we will never learn the Druids' Oath. raffled lives without pillows. how will movement transform itself? Despair wraps its fleshless fingers, waiting to gather the flock in. 031101 ... Death of a Rose "If I was" If I was the air that hugged your movements, would you wrap yourself tighter in the blankets? If I was the sound that issued from your mouth in a lost moment of passion, would you regret opening your mouth? If I was the soft touch beneath your fingers, would you rush to wash your hands clean? If I was the fire in your eyes, would you throw gasoline into them to burn them out? If I was the smile you wear after a pleasing dream, would you remember nightmares in order to frighten that smile? If I was the scent that caused that smile of pleasure, would you cease breathing? But if I was the man who embraced you closely and had his ear poised over your heart, would you care? 031102 ... Death of a Rose "The Dream" A wind beyond the invisible screams my name. Sluggishly I move my fingers to swilvel the barrier between it and me. Vague images barely contained haunt my haloed feet. Astride a magnificient beast, ever changing....... Suicidal hills below me. Someone is talking with yielding glances towards....... Logs surround us but ghosts lie between us, although searched by space I cannot hear their words or is it others that cannot hear mine? Reaching from you, I slip into inconsequentials, refusing to be shown visions of fragmented hopes. Is this the first? Will it be draped with vibrations? The wind still howls, but now with disciplined compassion. How I wish it would hang in my clothes, ready to be washed with black grids. 031102 ... Death of a Rose I might have left the following on another page somewhere, but oh well. "Entangle" Flowing rain patters at the blades. Arching perfume isn't bothered by reflection. Others strike carelessly into the cratered mud. Betraying sensual webs dusted by the years, sifted by a blazing haze. STILLS OF BLINDED SILENCE The purple light beckons across the dirty water. The rain is a rememberance of the Roman nights. Whispering of decades without substance, intangible to you ears. Baked clay is wishing for the stinging wetness, again believing that the circumstance might balance itself. With layered ashes, will the flame die? 031102 ... Death of a Rose Envelope my prose with boasting and hate. Each letter furred with life's massive mistakes. A poem I remember touched my mind and left nothing in return. I do not read classic or contemporary, I read to enjoy other worlds and experiences, this I do for my mind. Design is by concientious choice, Creativity is by madness blurred and refined. Croak, crack and groan above me. I wish I could distance myself from these words that will not melt in my forge. Truly, only life exists where is pleases. Coil my thoughts like barbed wire and brandish me with the hot hells of the Stygian Abyss. Comfort is in an unpredictable stroke. The sliding and cold caresses of two, utterly alien to each other, and yet dependant. Dark spots upon the sky lit background, will draw this ink. My girth for sanity. 031102 ... Death of a Rose There is a wall. People gather and pound. Who is popular? Those who keep values, Or those who disregard? One wall, one obstacle. Two sides, one opinion. One play, two acts. Once met, never forgotten. Cameras are a pause for those floating in a cloud. Hard skin turns red. Forgotten time pieces, do they still keep time? I doubt myself, I brush my self effacement onto this canvass. Raising hell, no demons erupt. Flames are of a past divided window. Brown enamel; who cares? Eyes are flaring red; who cares? Print is faded; who reads? Let midnight slip beneath my fingers, Or can a caring crescendo decide my fate? I hate repitition, it bothers me. My head hangs low while I walk the stumbling steps I take, watching these cracked and brittle appendages scuff dirt, gravel, smearing sidewalk chalk paintings. My skin is white with chalice music, leaving flakes of an artificial light. Should I write or just torch this thin membrane? 031102 ... Death of a Rose Scarlet woman, grained with lacy perfection. I hear your intercourse, chocolate coated, smiling rightfully outwards. Your corners hide so much, leaving me with morning dust and unquenched fires. Elegance with appetite, grasping the shoulders of opulence. You can swing your chaste chaos with ease; just make your compulsions gratifying. I will quote your screams to anyone with undesigning motive. And although there is a little pathogen living in our souls, this is our challenge, to embark on pure unavoidable fancy. 031102 ... celestias shadow yes, i was a girl i never said i was special watching chaos it seemed to me that was enough if something tell you you're alive, don't you think it should make you live? whatever happened to simple pleasures? did they die with the advent of the space/time continuum? sometimes i think it might be nicer just to live in caves again 031102 ... Death of a Rose i must admit pleasure at seeing another wanderer stop buy, tasting this and leaving a snippet, an endearing favour, not asked why, but prose that we will keep in this net. 031103 ... Stretch but I'm pretty sure they couldn't have enjoyed it any more! 031103 ... . You said we were passing strangeness, and I couldn't have argued more against it. There is still the rodeo down the road, we'll stop and get some road pops. So that is why when the armadillo committed suicide, you decided to jump from the car, maybe you wanted to join it in the throes of death. Panic set in me, bringing the tar smell of burnt rubber. I couldn't breathe for the dust clouds the oldsmobile had kicked up in the sidewinding braking that just had happened. I started running back to you, in the scrub bushes by the side of this highway. I saw one of your legs, but it didn't look right, too many angles. As I got closer I started to hear the hissing of your breathing. There was such amounts of blood in your meteoric path and crater. Your jeans were ripped and road burned; your face had been scraped to the bone. I could see your eyes moving weakly around. I realized at that instant, I would put you down. 031105 ... Death of a Rose scotch tape is useful only on paper point of entry and disparate deep jetison this blood away from the clouds cover over your humility inhale arguements breakfast of champions ravage the mighty complication of my heart 031110 ... oldephebe each life is an epic a diachotomous vortex of trajedy and mountain top moments even the stranger who slogs home..past us dreary..sunken..deflated his/her life was once a lyric poem the woman trying to shirk off the encumbrance of her husbands name the man trying to wrest one last moment of illicit carnal pleasure from this dalliance..this dance of pheremones..this firm nubile body writhing beneath him he will return to his wife and steal his solace in the intervening years from this one lapse..this stolen space of bliss ... 031113 ... Death of a Rose majority complexion arising from competition, number crunching just for madness, breaking, striding, winding, ringing, ring ring ring let the machine get it, that's why i bought the damn thing, illicit behaviour sacrificed to, spilling odd behaviour patterns across my retinas, sometimes cursing and feral machinations, and i feed it, give it meat filled with sedatives. 031114 ... oldephebe one breath of her glittering verse and i was a rumpled mass of impiety i heard her body with my eyes yes, now i see it quite clearly her body spoke to me and i heard her with my eyes her low lovely contralto murmed so agonizingly incoherently heat and rush and urgency i let her wrap me in its sonorous..soft..warm cello bows and then in her naked leer she postulated that it was so outrageously possible, her head in the cleft of my folded flesh she told myself to me naked skin on naked skin a menagerie of meat clenched and pulsed i tasted her shape upon the dried canvas of my imagination and how do i keep Me from being completely eradicated in this absolute amalgamation of will, desire, this wanton ache to be Abandons play thing carve me slowly on your blazing bed hot metal, template flesh a glimpse of her through her curtain of lace her unbearable silhouette her erotic entreaties the gentle slope of her breasts, that outrageous mouth, she has bludgeoned all these building blocks my house of preservation falling down she has usurped my every prerogative to the chaste and austere and what will i say to her tomorrow, what answer will i give to her invitation to apostacy will we grind against the grain of everything shaped and bordored by this ring..wrought in ancient tectonic kisses folded earth and molten embrasure will this set itslef like a mountain shadow between the ring and the vow and nine months later will i not know how this came to be? what can i do to steal the fire from under the pot ... 031114 ... Death of a Rose BRAVO! 031115 ... pipedream um. how d'you expect me to add something meaningful after *that*? 031116 ... Doar just some of your original verse, and please, no 'but i'm worthless after all you have said'. i asked you to write something here or yours for the exact reason that i would like to read something of yours on my created page. don't make me beg 031116 ... Dafremen make sure its not religious though pd! And don't state any opinions in it either. (Otherwise it's probably just another pile of steaming ferret do0ky.) ; ) 031116 ... daf how could you see it any other way? how could you not see it the way i has conceived of it? i knows.. i thinks.. i believes.. i was taught that... i is of the opinion that.. i always trumps is. 031116 ... oldephebe pd - you don't realize the fullness of your gift..you've inspired me to peer deeper into the well and grasp at more than just a dalliance with alliterative exhibitionism and the promenade of jarring juxtapositions. egoless..i think that is what this page is..doar is gifted as well as daf and everyone else who has dropped by..but i still prop up my humble verse..as long as it is something that gushes out of me..and is not contrived..you're writing is wonderful pd don't sell yourself short. later... 031116 ... Death of a Rose cleanse me in waters deep, spin and languish, gravity blinds me, coarseness and air pushed, set up again and again, pinball pimp, the truth in it, the jolt of knights, second time, third time, opening and tearing new spikes of westward glances, carthodic reactions, newfound ideologies, tongued & set in memory. convincing and depriving. 031116 ... Death of a Rose (another blathe from somewhere else) would you be a participant hanging from your noosed filled walls? let us play and pay the piper. for he is the taint and shadow of us all. suffication fantasies have ways of merging realities into fatalities. phatasm's ogre and quickened gasps, ask me how and i'll tell you why. screwing my words in accordance to bare, nectar sweet and coven shrouded, take me as sand and hour glassed tincture. a muse upon this glove, humorous and slack, curled upon my lap. 031116 ... oE "nectar sweet and coven shrouded" nicely done.. 031116 ... death blushing 031117 ... Death of a Rose instinctive vindictiveness is the prize handed out to feathered wolves, time is still in my heart and mind, i fear it is late in my evening and the morning i will never see again. yes, i should have lived differently, yes, i should have been a better man, and a million more yes statements, but this is what i am, wanting someone, anyone to embrace me as special and theirs. you say don't change what you are for them, i say i would change what i wanted to, to swim with them. shed this frail skin, leave this husk behind me, while i careen drunkenly into this private desert. 031120 ... oldephebe Ode to Sylvia Plath ....by.... .oldephebe. glittering_dead_breaths reminds me of something by sylvia plath.. her images come at you like storm.. lavender sky and lightening swathed in ivory and bone dark wonder and cauldron mist of open mouthed kisses and blood and spatter..and i take her every word deep into my oceans floor bottom black heart holy matron cursed by her torment.. the scarlet stripe of father forget me nots out damned spot and do you see the red embered eyes behind the mid-western masquerade.. she seems to be saying can you touch my torment without looking away.. without wilting under its scarlet kisses? and oh she seems to whisper to unwind an absolute fury of posiedons breaths and splinter thick cords of oak..tearing down these ramparts like so much tissue to visit this wrath upon my own perfect flesh (she seems to say) the scalding path of memory and memories yet unborn and the faintly painted thoughts that caper in my attic.. now roar out and off the page full, completly formed like an ogre tearing through the womb and father showing his silent contempt and no one proffered a splint for her red fountain soul to look into his eyes is to see the clarity of coldness as it curdles every every..aspiration to transcend her glittering dead breaths I'm over come by deep awe every time holding her writhing shadow in the tomb of my ears in the flesh cave of my mouth her broken bone beauty takes me up again and again I have to thank pd once again for placing this astonishing womans words in my life..I wish i could escape to a mountain cloister and drwon myself in her epiphanies hurled out of the Dark peace... 031120 ... Death of a Rose kisses silent, breadth of her voice, falling upon this earth, quick succession gasps, urgency replete. honour bound i am to give this to her, complete confusion sweet. restoration of these limbs and mind, pausing on her skin, skimming her thigh, twirling in chaotic dancing. candle shadows fleeing and flickering, suppleness pulsing, raking the leaves off my back. reserve a table of succulent pleasure each time i bring her here. careful calculations are behind her gaze, preliminary staging of another play, orating my wishes to her audience. gyrating my body to this symphony. 031126 ... Death of a Rose corruscating confusion droplets of ether, blindly stumbling around and in concert envy, hammer time into pieces and make jigsaw puzzles for others, elastic versions of my clone, scorn and derision are jolting me, an electric blue flame, noting simplistic engravings. 031127 ... marked . 031128 ... pipedream *ovation for DOAR* gaww! and the ode to sylvia...very nicely done, oE, vunderful. and i'm sorry for being meek! shall try to avoid it while in midst of such wond'rous soul fountains :D 031130 ... pvcpillow i have been as they say 'fine' for a few weeks now. 'fine' is apt. more or less. 'fine'. i'm 'all right' i'm another mild whatisit, noun? adjective for it, 'okay'. i'm 'okay'. i'm 'good'. what else would i be, being myself and away for ten days to not see anyone but blood relatives ? even then, i'm peachy, seriously. i think of other things again and it doesn't hurt if i deliberately re-project, to test myself, sweetness moments. but it takes just about one whiff of a pine-tree zesty something and there you go, i have to reach down and pull my knees back up (hello please stay standing you are a little wonky as it is dont go trembly on me its weak and only happens in books) if fairytales don't exist (i know they do i have seen one two days ago) why am i a writer? it isn't fair to have to deal with a cynic and romantic at the same time marshmallows behind conker shells is just too ironic 031130 ... Doar silence. thanks you 031201 ... phil black skys with a layer of stormy clouds empty spaces of godly shape below the darkness unfolds opening their brittle faith a dragon rears his head breathe of freezing cold eyes splintering light frozen stone smeared like paint by the movings of this giant thing in fear they ran from the sky to drink in streets out of sight beneath the smoking stacks in a world without light children tunnel up to ponds on their stomachs they wrythe returning like snakes before the dawn to rest in steaming rise huddled in their beds candles burned for reading soup with curry and tamarind parents left dead in their seats reflected in the clouded mirrors necromance reanimation struck exploding bombs of corpses the dragon for all defeated falling to the stone-like earth a rolling river of blasted warmth tearing away the muddy waste flames and waters flow falcons come to walk the shore picking clam in their claw shaped like mist in the morning sun hills plauged by deer swordsmen calling to their drinks slipping bread between closed gates a kingdom rich with poison a queen's death in summer woe giving an heir a playground palace and thrown of the dragon's silver bones the history and skill taught for sharpened steel, kept locked good fortune was not left alone by what once was ghostly frost has been blown over the ragged mountain returning to the thrown her soul entwined with the fearful beast which cast the wintery spells for sleep feeling the words from his coiling mouth fully protected to be destroyed she floats blinded in the chill sky his words searching for something weak fighting back; her thoughts like fists leaking information of the past and the darkness that life was seeing her beautiful form twitch released his grip his struggle of mind she pushes and lifts the blade from the ground to his throat do not rape my kingdom the poison of his throat spilling all thoughts of the world displayed in clashing colors down the slope descending on her blossomed feet the crowd willing her to the thrown hammered into leaves and dust painted on the palace walls 031201 ... Death is from my favourite american invader. Thanks Phil. Much appreciation and nicely written. stunned 031201 ... oldephebe beware of the charlatans entreaty.. bearing the branch.. blossoming with friendship look for the slender shade of a lie snickering at the edges beware the insidious gradient of incremental excavations beware the really inspired projection of integrity sniff out the moral dissonance seeping out of its pores divest yourself of its ensnarement quickly beware those pockets of white, socketless souless empty light calling unto our greed beware the extravegant tongue constricted in the misdirection of flattery beware of what seems plausible and reasonable, what seems to constitute a plausible pretext every thing is a dance the writhing serpent in the sacerdotal robe.. learn to listen closely for the music of deceit shear it from the mellifluous whole note of integrity a corruption of code a degradation of intonation right at the lowest, softest edge of wave amplitude whole note sullied with eighth note fractal incursions of flats and sharps muddying the soup you'll see, you'll hear It if you listen for it.. the rank squalor of deceit the legerdemain of virtuosic lies a serpentine swath of subtley dissonant and disorienting half-truths and whole lies cut the cord swiftly and spare yourself the cost 031201 ... oE nicely done pcvpillow, phil - i am staring at your words with a grudging awe and the subtle emerald sting of envy..very nicely done..as soon as i get some salve for my ego-clotted soul i'll be just fine.. 031201 ... pipey-pillow-pvc-dream phil, 'necromance reanimation' has my vocabulary lobe turning somersaults. yummy. specially the last about twenty lines of your poem, mmmmm-mmmm. thankyew oE duckie, that last poem was another vocab lobe delight. what a lubly way to start the day :D 031201 ... Death of a Rose kindness intertwined in stares received from strangers, unfathomable from this window. was that a smile? was it sardonic? twisted? careful and cautious? strangers passing, they will never know how their actions and muscle calculations have affected my reflection in this ocean of weeping. irregular disguises and grasping pain rememberances. break this chain of soul clouds. Reach into this vortex and retrieve my imaginings lost. 031202 ... phil the short boxer ontop my soul not more buff than any other my hats to tight I feel your words you make my soul feel this waving you worry about the little things and lots of things beyond control holding power they start to flow but just under the right control I am able to let them go 031202 ... pipedream 'safe' is a four letter word i leaped the tide of lukewarm and stayed poised to fall, ready to unclip the rounds of weight from my ankles- too much thought, too much opinion too much other people and less you and me keep them there. when you think it's safe to close your eyes is when the tide will pull you back 031202 ... Death of a Rose corascading icicles dripping a hourly march, spreading life into my skin, temporary fastidiousness, fading quickly in your sighs, illuminance from fingertips, tracing runes and sigils from craven breasts, shaping these columns, mystic and sage alike have no rosetta stone for them. willfull gambling with my blood, lowered gently to your cup. 031203 ... phil this lined dusty sense of betrayal rhymed and dimly so dense a tale time only convinced it derailed but mind has fully hence unvailed what mines securely fenced to fail 031203 ... phil Black skys, with a layer of stormy clouds; empty spaces, of godly shape. below the darkness unfolds; opening their brittle faith. a dragon rears his head; breathe of freezing cold. eyes splintering light; frozen stone smeared like paint by the movings of this giant thing. In fear, they ran from the sky; to drink in streets out of sight, beneath the smoking stacks, in a world without light. Children tunnel up to ponds; on their stomachs they wrythe. returning like snakes before the dawn, to rest in steaming rise. huddled in their beds; candles burned for reading, soup with curry and tamarind, parents left dead in their seats reflected in the clouded mirrors. Necromance reanimation struck exploding bombs of corpses; the dragon for all defeated; falling to the stone-like earth, a rolling river of blasted warmth, tearing away the muddy waste, flames and waters flow. Falcons come to walk the shore; picking clam in their claws; shaped like mist in the morning sun Hills plauged by deer; swordsmen calling to their drinks, slipping bread between closed gates, a kingdom rich with poison. A queen's death; in summer woe; giving an heir a playground palace and thrown, of the dragon's silver bones. The history and skill taught, for sharpened steel kept locked; good fortune was not left alone, by what once was ghostly frost has been blown, over the ragged mountain; returning to the thrown. Her soul entwined with the fearful beast, which cast the wintery spells for sleep; feeling the words from his coiling mouth, fully protected to be destroyed, she floats blinded in the chill sky, his words searching for something weak. Fighting back; her thoughts like fists; leaking information of the past. and the darkness that life was. Seeing her beautiful form twitch, released his grip; his struggle of mind, she pushes and lifts the blade from the ground to his throat. "Do not rape my kingdom!" The poison of his throat; spilling all thoughts of the world, displayed in clashing colors, down the slope. Descending on her blossomed feet; the crowd willing her to the thrown, hammered into leaves and dust, painted on the palace walls. 031203 ... phil Black skys, with a layer of stormy clouds; empty spaces, of godly shape; below the darkness unfolds; opening their brittle faith; a dragon rears his head, breathe of freezing cold, eyes splintering light; frozen stone smeared like paint by the movings of this giant thing. 031203 ... phil Children tunnel up to ponds; on their stomachs they wrythe. returning like snakes before the dawn, to rest in steaming rise; huddled in their beds; candles burned for reading, soup with curry and tamarind, parents left dead in their seats reflected with clouded mirrors. 031203 ... phil Necromance reanimation; struck exploding bombs of corpses; the dragon for all defeated; falling to the stone-like earth, a rolling river of blasted warmth, tearing away the muddy waste, flames and waters flow. 031203 ... phil Her soul entwined with the fearful beast, which cast the wintery spells for sleep; feeling the words from his coiling mouth, fully protected to be destroyed, she floats, blinded in the chill sky, his words searching for something weak. Fighting back; her thoughts like fists; leaking information of the past. and the darkness that life was. 031203 ... phil Black skys, with a layer of stormy clouds empty spaces of godly shape below the darkness unfolds opening their brittle faith a dragon rears his head breath of freezing cold eyes splintering light frozen stone smeared like paint by the movings of this giant thing In fear, they ran from the sky to drink in streets out of sight beneath the smoking stacks in a world without light Children tunnel up to ponds on their stomachs they wrythe returning like snakes before the dawn to rest in steaming rise huddled in their beds candles burned for reading soup with curry and tamarind parents left dead in their seat reflected by the clouded mirrors Necromance reanimation struck exploding bombs of corpses the dragon for all defeated falling to the stone-like earth a rolling river of blasted warmth tearing away the muddy waste flames and waters flow Falcons come to walk the shore picking the clam in their claws shaped like mist in the morning sun Hills plauged by deer swordsmen calling to their drinks slipping bread between closed gates a kingdom rich with poison A queen's death in summer woe heirs a playground palace thrown of the dragon's silver bones The history and skill taught for sharpened steel kept locked her good fortune never left alone by what once was ghostly frost has been blown over the ragged mountain return into the thrown Her soul entwined with the fearful beast which cast the wintery spells for sleep feeling the words from his coiling mouth fully protected to be destroyed she floats still blinded in the chill sky his words searching for something weak Fighting back with her thoughts like fists leaking information of the past and the darkness that life was Seeing her beautiful form twitch his struggling mind realsed the grip she pushes and lifts the blade from the ground toward his voice "Do not rape my kingdom!" Spilling all thoughts of the world the poison of his throat displayed in clashing colors down the slope Descending on her blossomed feet the crowd willing her to the thrown hammered into leaves and dust painted on the palace walls 031203 ... Death of a Rose numbly poking at your brain, requiring forethought of pain, practicing the lost art of war, honour the bereft artisans more. slaking fine mists in my haste, brandishing swords for your taste, tryst we tried and failed to make, questions old of slackened snake. volumes of time and space divided, curtains drawn, lust provided, cursed light penetrating my fall, zero hour relinquishing my maul. oration is but two frailties, guests are invited to the festivities, ellipse drawn and danced upon, market driven with her honeyed song. bring forth your jesters rope, excite me with your binding grope, quiet pools and steathful tears, here are my pains, here are my fears. 031207 ... oldephebe emanations and dream incantations..backwater shelter of the first Norse Legends...and bigewater blues..The Gods stare down upon these incandescant writhing lines..I'm glad to see others have added thier uniqueness to this parchment page..everyone please write more..sing some more of your scalding hymms..it is as if i am on a steel leviathon, it's swollen belly sceaming with the (woeful) hordes of damnations children scarlet serpentine swath..red gash split down the center of the sky..play on, play on, play on..and sing to us your inimitable songs..climb the dais and bring the crwods to an orgasmic frenzy..watch them mounting up with unrestrained delight.. 031207 ... oE should be "bilgewater blue(s) 031207 ... pvcpillow i am not a sentimental person. i am practical. i believe in the free spirit and being Wonder Woman. nobody will crush *me* thankyouverymuch. i wear a silver band on my ring finger, on my right hand. you took it off as you were wont to do with my innumerable finger adornments, and put them back on. my silver band is special, my ring finger is special e'en if its the wrong hand. you tried it on and slid it back onto my finger. small gesture. nothing extraordinary. i didn't take that band off for months afterward not even once just for the idea of wearing a ring for someone ... you tell me i wasn't real pity you didn't know of the maelstorm inside me the months i have spent with you i have been speechless faced with the chaos under my skin words eluded me in the contant discovery of things i didn't know existed trying to seal every image into my head i couldn't speak you couldn't see and so you are there and i am here a little broken a little harder i have gathered up my pieces and glued them together dry-eyed but i am not a sentimental person, you see. that girl must be someone else.. 031207 ... oldephebe "letting me cascade her with silver rings polished with my reverant fingers" again *clasps heart* does anyone have any other adjectives for beautiful and intimate and unbearable aching holy devotion?..okay..kind of long..anyway..doar that was just heart rending..you make me want to sacrifice myself to Love's obliterating flames once more..but then I think better of it...yeah pining for at least a verisimilitude of infactuated dementia..yeah come on ..Indifferant Sky!..cast another charismatic creator or heart havoc my way..sure why not? ... 031209 ... oE pcv=pd right? Such enchanting verse..I can't wait to read you guys vows..keep writing and singing pd/pvc..and "chaos under my skin.." that's the kind of imagery I'd like to conjure..a world in one breath..nicely done.. 031209 ... oE pcv=pd right? Such enchanting verse..I can't wait to read you guys vows..keep writing and singing pd/pvc..and "chaos under my skin.." that's the kind of imagery I'd like to conjure..a world in one breath..nicely done.. 031209 ... oE pcv=pd right? Such enchanting verse..I can't wait to read you guys vows..keep writing and singing pd/pvc..and "chaos under my skin.." that's the kind of imagery I'd like to conjure..a world in one breath..nicely done.. 031209 ... pd uh huh, 'tis me! i kinda thought you'd get it when i did that pvc/dream/pipe/pillow mish-mash way up there *grins* DOAR's appended sobriquet, if ye please... the source of my chaos and i had another 'conversation' yesterday. pointless, really, it began with me yelling at him and as always ended up with me spilling my guts a little more and there being no expression in his eyes other than a pained idontknowwhat. i'm tired of talking. for the first time trying to stuff the quicksilver of my thoughts and feelings into words is nothing but a practice in futility and leaves me exhausted in every way. i don't have the energy left to deal with this, i will just go with the tide. it isn't like any of my imaginations have ever really come true, so it doesn't matter. even if they did it doesn't, so it should be a win-win situation...right? 031209 ... obtuse oldephebe i'm confused..anyway pd i don't think you should maryr your self esteem to or for anyone or anything.. Kinda seems like you came through your fast stronger, a little more steel and introspection, a little more mindful of that spring your spirit self feeds from. God..personally me..I'm gettin' tired of me and my melancholy I'm ready for the ruddy big happy already.. pd - you are a white rose ripened by Summer's breath..if I can pilfer a little prose from Willy with the Shakes ... jigah like whoe!! 031209 ... Death of a Rose she gigles when i slide my fingertips across her neck, feeling the small, fine silk hairs, just wanting to keep my fingers in an infinite dance here. open questions in eyelids fluttering, warm flush of heated skin, soft kisses placed upon my fingertips for the dance. the dance of the chaotic and exploration, travel journals burned and discarded. gifts of breathing, slightly frozen in time. 031210 ... pipedream *slaps five with oE* that's my homie! woo! *grin* that was very pretty, DOAR. 031210 ... oldephebe doar - just read you inaugeral salvo again..really, really lyrical stuff..made for the ear..keep writing brah..so anyway..who here feels like God was in a major aolian mode when He made me..or you? sometimes my heart fills my ear and all i can hear is music..glorious music acompanied by these outrageous flowing phantasmagoric scenes..something out of fragglerock..or..the medieval age meets hallucinogenic flora..but it happens when i'm totally sober..(which i have been since early 1995)..i wish that i had perfect pitch so i could run and write it down..or a perfect aural memory..so i could transcribe it later on the ol' keyboard and manuscript paper..i..get so frustrated because i know i won't remember it..and when you're on the train to work..or..spacing out while somebody is talking your ear off..the music comes..i..say God..how come i can't hear this when i'm at the keyboard?..words, orchestrations..modalities..yeah..very frustrating..euphoric..but ultimately fleeting and evanescent(sp) ... 031211 ... doar the last two were for you pipers. still composing the vow, maybe imagining that the vow should be an eternal quest, always making it, adding to it, never revising it. i could confine this vow to spoken linguistics for you, and i will. but within the confines of my bones, i will continue to explore and memorize sparkling additions to the museum. you need more crashers for your party . ps (kick some ever luvin butt for me in the jousting arena, your black knight has a foot wound at the moment). 031211 ... pipedream i know, rosie..and they were phenomenally gorgeous...now if only those were a particular someone else's words. *bittersweet smile* i have always lived through a fantasy of words, and reality never manages to measure up to the gauzy shimmerdream i weave...my personal platonic absolutes. blather is just another fantasy world where i can say things i could never articulate in voice and skip around in sunset forests and indulge myself for a while before i return to the 'yeah, well, that only happens in books' reality of the world. i think i should take a break from this utopian existence of mine here for a while before i start believing that reality could exhibit such sweetness. it isn't real. it won't do to be idealistic; here or there or anywhere. sad but ultimately true. 'whoosh', said the pipedream, as it whizzed by. 'g'bye' said i, watching it fly- 'it was such a pretty dream to live in, even if just for the blink of an eye' (iambic pentameter! PEN-TA-ME-TER!) 031211 ... pd " gifts of breathing, slightly frozen in time. " ex-ac-tl-y *pins that one up on the bulletin-board in her head* 031211 ... Death of a Rose do you mean you're running out on our marriage? after all the proposal (shining of binky), partying (what little of it there was), and wedding preparations? the black knight is heartbroken.... 031212 ... Death of a Rose ah....you love another...in the real world... "now if only those were a particular someone else's words. *bittersweet smile*" I hope that he can fulfill your needs and wants pipers. 031212 ... pvc *really*, would i jilt my blather love and break your blackly knighty heart? it mayn't be real but heck, at least it's fun...its crappy being melancholic. 031213 ... Death of a Rose ode to pvc open expression, pearls shining, divided evenly among us. gratiutous fragrancy spread before her, lifting faces here and there, giggling softly, not to be humbled. quiet when surprised but only for seconds, exploding in colours bright, leading you in zones of safety. overcome with angers opposite, falling off my narrow chair, asterisk embellishment, strewn about like garlands before the fair. taster of sweet life, knights dance for her pleasure, climbing your fears and battling them to succumb. honesty rivulets throughout entwined, hourly musicals like brownian lotion, dispersing lions before her waves. thus this small trinket, beggar donated, vesimilitude consecrated. 031213 ... pipedream *smiles* 031213 ... pipedream i get it. *as always, rendered awe-some and speechless* 031215 ... oE right back at you pd.. 031215 ... pipedream *showers petals in oE's path* so every step is a celebration of colour and scent. 031216 ... oE yeah..i think i'm starting to get that 031216 ... pd *grins* GOOOT 031217 ... Death of a Rose jolting grains, shifting and swaying. underneath they said is the path of your sorrow, dry frailty imagined, densely thicketed over this knoll danced upon, overpass quick, familiarity squashed, thimble discarded behind my naked back. lyrical monstrosities grinding their teeth, clipping along unbelievable florescent algae beds, curtain calls, sweeping my robe in flowing satin, revelling in aural fascination. 031221 ... whitechocolatewalrus Sprinkles on the horizon, mingling with the sun. Reminiscing about the stars and moon and, of course, outer space. Ordered a shuttle, enough to have a space ship. Then we rocket to the moon, separating the clouds and touching the sky. This is how we travel in style. Don’t forget to bring along the pelican bird with all of its tales. Oh so many ways to describe love. 031222 ... whitechocolatewalrus Missing is like searching a deep dark hole You can miss and miss and miss and feel worse than before You can look hard and quizzically and see less than when you began I search the horizon day and night and wish for you Without realizing it is you I am wishing for I miss you more and more Slowly my hope fades Fading so quickly I forget to notice And my despair grows I am nothing without you A pile of useless dust That floats in the air with the slightest breeze You do this to me You cause my nothingness My despair I want you I need you And I miss you Where are you? 031222 ... Death of a Rose longing is my moniker, caresses are my needs, notes of your beating is my desire, quiet moments of your gaze, shivering delightfulness, your want of me as friend, comforter, protector, encourager, your home. it seems so easy to keep my heart regenerated enough to keep giving it to those who would merely eat it. 031222 ... oE doar - every time i re-read your lines i discover some hastily overlooked music or image..or excruciatingly intimate evocation..keep writing brah WCW - great to see you've added your own distinctive divinity to this page 031222 ... Death of a Rose you are going to inflate my ego oE. i get very self inflated as it is. and a power trip from me is quite nasty. . 031222 ... oE Damn man! (re:your last etude) 031222 ... oE *lays a thangkas outside doars abode and strides impacably down the street* 031222 ... pipers welcome to our sanctuary,little smallrus :) good to have ya. "it seems so easy to keep my heart regenerated enough to keep giving it to those who would merely eat it." sound of my own heart, DOAR...sound of my own. 031222 ... Death of a Rose blinded i am, struck down as an idiot in the making. gravel crunching like jilted love, onion tears, frittered away, zenith wet. astral projections from my chest, baskets given, sand received. 031224 ... whitechocolatewalrus clouded windows sit for days chattering chattering yet so silent sound of blinking brightening backwards hear no voice hear everything a blur of time flashing and crashing desperation so deep cry for help it's oh so silent a single tear dry on my chin standing by window there is nothing to see. 031225 ... oldephebe again..such beautiful breaths doar and WCW... 031225 ... Death of a Rose oE....you shame this lifeless eneptitude, i've just reread and pondered and reread such remorse in your words, fuck! (please excuse this pagean language...please...as i am abase with renewed understanding....yours is a pain and hiding that those of use who fear its release..would become salt before your weeping). truthfully oE, i scanned your contributions here and remarked upon the utterances of binded soul....when i should have been more of the written word, slowly conversing with this interpretation of a single cry. you have left me bereft of satires lacking. SUCH WORDS are yours, i am humbled. . 031227 ... Death of a Rose what happened in my interlude, the patrons have feasted, hunger assuaged, they do not return to their seats, the perfomances are being readyed, continuance releases upon a harp delayed. the audience is lacking behind my frightful gaze. 031227 ... oldephebe Doar - yes fellow wordsmith, there is a thing in me, this corruption crawling under my skin..the whole hiding thing..U-24 was right..there is this havoc hidden in my heart, there is this iredeemable shame..it belches it's mephistopholean miasma, it's breath, the secret breath of me..and that is why i abase myself so tortuously, that is why...there are not yet the words to say what i think i want to say..in the way that i speak..this time of year the old ghosts came back..a wailing chorus wreathing my bed posts..it is like walking coatless in a rumpled suit through freezing driving rain, being pelted by pin pricks of my pennance to be wed to these furrows of recidivist rancor and redemption and regreat and revenge and to only know that my heart is made of truth, that i am made of truth and filled with love and yet to be relegated over and over to some dark corner..some purgatorial pennance bereft of that dark malevolent busom that suckled me..I want to say.. "Here are my guilty verses..How many times can i offer this sacrement..how many times must i with fear and trembling mouth the catcheshisms of subservience and fealty to a LIE..it happened everything happened to me and to my beloved..how long must we stare at one another across the carnage and pretend we do not smell it's stench..i cannot be like them..i cannot pretend these things never happened, i cannot commit myself to be some instrumentality in your machinations and manipulations all in exhange for the thin shadow of a smile, or affectaton of affection..So yeah sometimes i throw myself to the ground and pretend that i am dead..dead to your heart dead to this family and dead to the injury upon injury my howling soul has endured..all that is left is for me to sail my boat always directly against the wind.." I stopped shaking like a window in it's shutters in the aftermath of explosion a long time ago..but my heart is still full of love for them..for all of them..and that is just one..forget it. ... 031227 ... oldephebe oh yeah doar - did you get the mp3 file i sent you? if you did then please delete it if you haven't already it's crap..i listened to it this morning..and god! i'm going to do an acoustic version, slower and with new lyrics..i'll record it once this stinking flu has abdicated it's unholy predation of my body..(yeah over wrought..maybe i am too dramatic..oh well..fodder for my muse as mtree put it on misstree's_rambling_roof ..okay so i had the flu when i recorded it..i'm all lethargic and my intonation and phrasing and elocution are horendous..because of the flue aug..yeah..i'll send everyone a slower and acoustic version sometime next week.. oh and i liked the juxtaposition of illicit infinity..mad mad music to my ears..heh heh - thanks though for your exhortitant encomium to my so long songs of the Sad. Sometimes i wonder..is this what we're all doing here filling up ourselves with the unhappiness of other people?... yeah despair, the drag dejeur..the music swells within me..within all of us.bring to me all of your wilten and broken stem boquets..right?..kiss of blight?..child of Night?...tendrils of flame clawing at the sky in our wake right?... I dunno ... 031227 ... oldephebe oh yeah doar - did you get the mp3 file i sent you? if you did then please delete it if you haven't already it's crap..i listened to it this morning..and god! i'm going to do an acoustic version, slower and with new lyrics..i'll record it once this stinking flu has abdicated it's unholy predation of my body..(yeah over wrought..maybe i am too dramatic..oh well..fodder for my muse as mtree put it on misstree's_rambling_roof ..okay so i had the flu when i recorded it..i'm all lethargic and my intonation and phrasing and elocution are horendous..because of the flue aug..yeah..i'll send everyone a slower and acoustic version sometime next week.. oh and i liked the juxtaposition of illicit infinity..mad mad music to my ears..heh heh - thanks though for your exhortitant encomium to my so long songs of the Sad. Sometimes i wonder..is this what we're all doing here filling up ourselves with the unhappiness of other people?... yeah despair, the drag dejeur..the music swells within me..within all of us.bring to me all of your wilten and broken stem boquets..right?..kiss of blight?..child of Night?...tendrils of flame clawing at the sky in our wake right?... I dunno ... 031227 ... whitechocolatewalrus hmm, one for cheer. take relief in knowing i own your pain your sorrow is mine i keep it in my chest locked and stored for another day. today is a day for rejoice today is a day dance today is a day for music today is a day for all to shed our comfort and go insane. the thought shall make me smile make you smile the sun shines on everyone glinting rays of happiness and hard earned rememberances forever know that i love you all. 031227 ... Death of a Rose oE, i never received anything on the autumn fyre project. peace. 031228 ... oE really?..OK i'll record another track and send it to you after my voice has recovered from the flu...do you have enough room in your email to house a 2.6meg mp3 file? ... my html editor skills suck..so i'm trying to up load three samples to the geocities autmnfyre site..should have it worked out within 48 hours wcw - that's some mighty nice writing mam ... 031228 ... Death of a Rose living year to year, ear to ear, are to are, near to far, hear on star, fear is war. 031231 ... Whitechocolatewalrus thanks oE, i like all of your writing too. An awesomeness from me to all of the following people: Doar Dafremen Knot_Meat / Stork_Daddy (i think) Freak Oldephebe Lemon_soda Celestias_Shadow Pipedream Phil it's easier for me to do this all at once. and especially to Death and oE because they seem to be the ones keeping this page alive. Yay! 040101 ... bloody potato chip the fruity aluminun blink sliver of sun froze all light as the super-bright ice reflections remind me of the chosen finger. lillies of flavor deflour my freeze-dried carcass well into the next trillion years. i am one with you, and you are not here. eat more st. john's wort 040101 ... whitechocolatewalrus is bloody_potato_chip really not_god, or am i just really confused? 040101 ... whitechocolatewalrus sun freezes snow to no end slip and swirl in circles. have a meeting with the vibrantly red fire hydrant. i'll visit you in the hospital. don't be mad at me, i didn't do it on purpose. 040101 ... Death of a Rose lost in your words, tripping in a finality, plagaristic mice chewing at the cords, vitality and eloquence dancing. her soft brow, waiting for my kiss. 040102 ... oldephebe i cannot help but be struck by the elegaic tenor that all these ruminations seem to be tears for a life still yet unlived..and yet there is still the faintest flicker.. still the hope that flowers will blossom in the broken swale of chest that a life lived so long in shadow can..cheer the time with more than "here are my histrionics.. caress this inflamed nape of narcissistic neck so eagerly volunteered unto the stockards cradle of chain and wood..public shame becomes a parade of lapsed virtues a virtue unto itself.. all of these fallen lives.. each pool of grief deeper and darker than the one that precedes it and do we unplait madness from it's manacles in speaking of what is long dead and curdled in the heart? what manner of art is this? i guess nietchze would have none of it.. maybe..how many of us have really said farewell to our youth..? are we all just anoited martyrs to our own lives..our tears washing away the balm..ungainly colt staggering in the mantle of manhood/womanhood how many of us have revised our lives upon these pages.. how many of us have wilted unto that recidivist self contempt.." and what about the pretense of placing my lines in quotes? what is that about? there is an ireducible core in the human spirit that wich rises like bile in the throat against any and everything that seeks to impose itself upon us.. the primeval NO! i can say this year it, i will be different..all of my hoary oaths to topple that house of idols heraclitus spoke about.. more than likely though i will be who i have ever been stumbling, fumbling towards the light, white tiger foraging in a frozen desert of ice and bruised snow.. foraging for a fugue and something my soul can use.. tinkering with my transcendance.. heh..and not smart enough to know that transcendance only comes with the cessation of effort.. surrender.. willing..ecstatic surrender.. and then that armada of quils cast and shaped by my own hand embedded in my soul will finally fall out.. and all that had bled out will be replaced with a fullness i've seldom known.. yeah.. ... .. . 040102 ... Death of a Rose turning the dark corner of ponderance, carving the the nether hells, warping seeds planted in dust, quivering in concentration, illuminating the hidden, watching them scatter as fear entombs them. place your lips upon mine, bestow upon me life unseen and unfelt to this day. rescue this fragile husk. 040103 ... whitechocolatewalrus waterfall; the water spurts over the rocks it descends through the air splashing against the surface below over and over again over and over and over again so rapidly you don't even know it's a cycle as you view the glimmering process stray droplets jump out and kiss your face your skin, your hair. 040104 ... zeke neo-romanticism? words and combinations that seem to call from the late victorian through the early 20th. things mean more to me when they are not carrying the baggage of past ages. we live in different times. i mean different things than my great grandparents said. 040104 ... Death of a Rose suspense is a time that i fancy, wait for it, can you not feel this, watches float as petals on the disturbed water, a continuous sine wave, cleaver descending, political grandstanding, runners haze. 040105 ... pipedream thank you, smallrus...many sparkles for you :) its good to be back...! 040106 ... minnesota_chris same as it ever was watchin the days go by 040106 ... dreamless pipes i have seen sunsets that stained sky and sea rose. silhoutte of palm against a backdrop of cloud touched by a sacred hand of gold, sky kissed into flushed content. and i have longed for you to have been there, conjured up your body next to mine, your smile outside my door, your neck to lean my head into, your voice on the line (tell me you miss me call to wake me up just to hear my voice say anything i miss conversation) such potency. would it sear you if you knew? 040106 ... oldephebe man's stamp upon earth stone and water has barely begun and it is the folly and exuberance of the learned and the young to hoist themselves high upon thier hubris..from age to age the strivings of man continue to paint permutations of the pain and appetites that sustain us we are corrupt we are governed by primal and ego driven urges we are sexual creatures we mete out pain we nurture we create art out of nothingness we strive and grapple with the emotions that writhe madly upon the painted cave wall the cathedral of stone and blood that houses our souls we grapple with the essential question of our creation we strive for mastery over the appetites and impulses that shape us we love the rubric we love classification strapping a thing, an ideal into the chassis of codification but man/woman at his/her ireducible core is ageless, we are the same corrupt passionate..puerile tyrant born and nurturer shaped collection of bipedal mammals wreaking our will upon the planet and upon one another to more or less varying degrees and polarities.. we erect ornate abacuses of reasoning and extrapolation address the abstract and unknowable God/Goddess good..evil but from one epoch unto the next we remain essential the same the lessons of mans folly howl at us from history what has come before will always inform the present..the future i have to ask are we all just gestures without motion?.. the great writers..the unknown nurtures and scribes..the story of man inscribed upon the papyrus from age to age will..wait..i want to say something.. often i awake to air..to an atmosphere that is thick with the sediment of of my will..the sediment of so many acts and lapses through out my life..my faith set against my will.. to be human..is to be best by our frailties and emboldened by our conquests..by the ability to adapt..to become author to change..to revise a life..to search for our parents..even after they leave us and to be horrified at what we find..how much can we really house in our house of hope?..how much before it folds in upon itself..? and yet the cognitive scientist, the biologist, the pysychologist the engineer, the theologian, the person of faith..we can all sit around the credense table..hoist our mugs of fermented barley to that indefinable and yet knowlable..locus..the mother tongue..that wich wets the eyes and sends goose bumps parading up and down our arms..those things that bind us even as we struggle against it's union .... ... .. . 040106 ... . oh my 040106 ... oE oh hey..pd..another equisite rendering.. 040106 ... pipers speak for yourself...:) 040107 ... randomly recent wow. ! 040107 ... pipedream isn't it, this page? *looks around proudly* our blather sanctuary, it be. 040107 ... Alfred oldephebe - I'd like to set a match to that podium you seem to be "expectorating" from all the time. Who do you think you are? Tacitus or something? You are pretentious, wordy and please; everyone owns a dictionary. Why do you feel the need to rifle through its pages before trying to impress us with your verbiage? Verbal fluency and reading comprehension is one thing. Communicating, writing well is another thing entirely. You are pretentious to say the least. 040107 ... Alfred oldephebe - I'd like to set a match to that podium you seem to be "expectorating" from all the time. Who do you think you are? Tacitus or something? You are pretentious, wordy and please; everyone owns a dictionary. Why do you feel the need to rifle through its pages before trying to impress us with your verbiage? Verbal fluency and reading comprehension is one thing. Communicating, writing well is another thing entirely. You are pretentious to say the least. 040107 ... oldephebe Alfred, I will not join you in yyour darkness, in your pain, in your reflexive vituperations and scalding breaths. I will not contribute to the obvious pain that you are in except to say.."Alfred" if you do no like my writing than please feel free not to read it, and oh how I do tire of saying "I do not use a dictionary or thesaurus, I've written this way since Jr. High. I make all kinds of unconscious associations and this is how the hurly burly turns out." Be blessed, be free from the obvious pain you are in.. oldephebe 040107 ... oE and by the way..just as a point of clarification..i believe Tacitus(sp)was some kind of moralist or something from the age of Caesers..and I..I am just kind of thinking out loud..no moralist or interpreter or interpolater of history to the crown or the girl in the white satin gown..just me bein' me.. peace... 040107 ... whitechocolatewalrus hey oldephebes, liked that last one. 040107 ... pipedream have been here in the blue for a long time, i'd like to back oldephebe up here and affirm the fact that yes, he has always written like this and makes no bones of it. he's anything but pretentious- to one unfamiliar with his writing, perhaps, but really, not. you are absolutely entitled to your own opinion and its expression, but thou shalt not diss oldephebe in presence of pipedream. peace. (quote unquote) :) 040107 ... Death of a Rose as the heavens are weeping, volumes are cast aside, tomes of knowledge discarded, pyres of dead kings, ages numbed by neglect, contours of our thoughts. 040108 ... oE Doar - yep pd - 'preciate that wcw - thank ya miss 040108 ... whitechocolatewalrus the tears expand widening the horizons and at a constant drip fall gracefully to the mystical earth. pounding valleys into existance creating many a flowing river. this conventional process turns magically exquisite in the blink of an eye . 040108 ... pipedream *curtseys* 'tis only the natural thing t'do, my dear one. salt is eroding my skin i'd like my sunshine back they see a quietness behind my smile, it surprises me that it is noticeable. but then again everyone but you could see right through me. 040108 ... Doar red eyed, staggering under this load, knees beginning to complain, just wanting to bend, shift the load off my back, drop it to the ground, let it settle, rest, turn my back, walk away. little did i know, chains have been embedded in my skin. 040118 ... oldephebe Sprint into Slaughter .........by.......... ......oldephebe...... We sat slumped, hollowed eyed, spent from our exertions... our perversions and i watched the sweat cool upon her muscled erotically charged body her back, a tapestry of sinew her clavicle her deltoids, delicately etched her arms, her legs, such inert power striated sensuous steel.. and O how i knew the agony of their embrace, of her embrace, her thoroughbred heart gouging out every beat, such a heart, i listened to it's terror, to her terror and how it never slept, i watched her sprint into slaughter over and over her endless journey into emptiness ... .. . 040126 ... whitechocolatewalrus the outer layer is visible never let it be known that me lies underneath. embark on a journey to discover my true identity. shed these skins of regret of shame burning, eating away working towards the shining heart making a meal of every visible gift soon only your faults your mistakes will be left for viewers to devour. tear away these layers and leave the vultures in the rough winds of your glorious departures. rejoice in your newfound freedom of spirit. 040126 ... pipers oE...the biology detail kinda kills it...deltiods?! yay smallrus *thumbs up* you're getting better and better. i would add something to the fount but i've decided to stop doing the expose-myself-to-misery-in-order-to-heal; enough exposing. im goin' t' go get me life back :D 040126 ... oE a gesture of disaffection? Humanity...wait there's a phalanx of rabid pacifists promising to pummel me into perfect... okay human beings, the Individual is responsible for making their own meanings. In every aesthetic act we pry open a new (potentially) cultural and hence (potentially) oppositional space, and that is good. With one breath one word the timorous or the querelous can allow themselves to submit to unproven authority. and ah this is a sign of my sincerity here..I say to them, reclaim your authority from the usurpations from the realm of well meaning critique. If I do not see the primacy, the beauty of what I have wrought it can be wrested easily from me. Sure some folk won't be gah gah over it. Totally natural. But am I defined by that? Not in the least. ... 040126 ... Death of a Rose As an early rememberance, I chose you over all others making me responsible for my actions and words. Simply a vast pairing of gyrations and glances. Grant me a desire, I beg. 040130 ... pipers i dont have anything pretty to put my wretched state of affairs in, so to be succinct: AAAAH, SHIT 040212 ... Death of a Rose I have rubber banded you to my arm, Streched you and played a childrens song upon your tenseness. You vibrate and hum until I let you return to your favoured state. I could take you and use you to catpult various home made missles at my enemies, or I could use you to help keep my frail cardboard box of memories together. And when you are cracked and fragile, Hell, I'll get another to hold me together. 040212 ... Death of a Rose Intricate is the pages written with haste and abandonment, Scars earned and blessed, Expanding our letters of misunderstanding, Unfolding the directionless maps. Picking away at the layers of blurry confinement. Hiding the odours underneath a manufactured fragrancy, which quickly dissolves, leaving the true stench still underneath. Measure and conjure your mailingering doubts, Speak them into the dead microphones placed before you, Count backwards and make your abode a dark forbidding excile, Share secret pleasures with no one, Neglect that fire raging in the corners of your mind, Quickly pass from reality to the dreamless state of dissappearance. 040212 ... oldephebe yeah...I'm with pipers...Doar - think i'll nourish myself with your sumptuous prose..spirit verse..yeah..great stuff doar..pd i hope you will be feeling better soon..wish i could say something more..but..i can't summon what ain't there.. :) 040212 ... Death of a Rose SHITE ....."Intricate are...." fookin grammar sucks. Thanks oE. 040212 ... pipers i quite enjoyed the rubber band thing rosie, *thumbs up* im better....when im stressed-miserable-tired-generally cranky-and-longingy i need to yell a bit (thankheaven for the blurple) 040212 ... Death of a Rose for the pillow is down filled, created with stitching firm, encased is satin currents, waiting for the sleep of straining shall return, give it thought when cold is the breath, break the lines others have held you down with, look at the horizon and the entrances to future gardens. Give your pain over into relief. Avoid the quagmires of uneasiness, bloom once again sweet petal. 040213 ... Whitechocolatewalrus A dreamless state of disappearance Hiding in the shadows So quiet So still Life rushing by Burning away the future Burning away consciousness Numbness creeping up your spine All things important Unimportant Buried under flickering flames Vanish Leaving behind multitudes of Useless ash. 040213 ... Death of a rose gone are the times when thought and deed were justified and honourable, stolen by those who are slaves to the word of the law. Waterdowned spirits, barely plausible to the palate, striking the tinder and smoke filled chambers, emerging into dust filled daylight. eluding the furious tailwinds, preparing the fallen for their release. 040213 ... oE wcw, your writing improves every time i read each new stanza...beautiful.. doar..thank ye fer the victuals..i shore do need 'em..pd - hey girl... 040213 ... pipers *gives doar a hug* hiya, oE, jigar :) this page is such a relief. 040214 ... Death of a Rose hugs back at ya mifey o'mine. oE, praise indeed from the master of the rhetorical. Ms. WcW, let me know when you've received the much laboured over card. peace to friends. 040214 ... whitechocolatewalrus I definitely will:) Doar, I believe the blathe of wcw is calling you. But maybe it isn't, I don't know hehe. Loveliness to everyone 040214 ... smallrus and oE, pipers, I wouldn't mind seeing you on WcW either :] 040214 ... Death of a Rose held up high, on stone shoulders, proclaiming to the universe, "It is done!", as ever lamented, caught and released, join in the game of dice lost, categorize the intention, give it a sub-species designation, wear your new coat today, carry a pocket reference. 040226 ... embarrassed to say i'm angry all the time, playing dumb and pretending to be fake i hate it but i have to do it so i won't draw any attention and get myself in trouble almost everyone is really fake when i speak out, telling others how i really feel and what i really think, they get scared and confused and will think that i'm just rambling and just some "crazy" person no one wouldn't understand, just him him, him, him i miss him where is he? i don't desire anything from him except for help that we both know i really need 040226 ... pd see do_you_miss_me it can't be helped it won't go away be strong, its your only hope because dreams are for the times of security and happiness 040227 ... Death of a Rose ribbon wrapped gifts i bring to your door step, hoping that your eyes will light up with the pure expression of delight, not staying to see whether it will come to pass, making that memory inside my mind, forming your table and chair, with you sitting and carefully unwrapping, knowing when you finally get them open you will be surprised to find nothing other a sheet of white satin, upon which i have written my longing for you. that is my distant thought of you. 040227 ... ambermoon what can i say that you havent already heard? you know me so well. have you been watching me all my life? you know all the right words to say to me.everything that iv always wanted to hear, comes spilling from your lips. how do you know these things that bring me to my knees, leaving me feeling numb. someday ill have you in all the ways iv ever dreamed. please just let me in. 040227 ... Death of a Rose The retardment of pretense has declared a mate of emergence, he weazed in disorderly cashews. 040309 ... pipers and the cashews skipizzled from his pocket and said 'oi!' and walked down the street on little green legs that wore skorple boots. 040309 ... death of a rose wraith infusion, use with caution, breakfast tortilla's, insanity flaws, luscious evenings, often clings. 040318 ... oldephebe i had this sterling silver bowl once...i think it was an heirloom from an eccentric and basically broke great uncle who was fond of lightly salted legumes and certain dime store pulp fiction novels, (the kind that has a voluptuous steno-girl type on the cover, wearing the proverbial two sizes too small wool sweater straining over the rather pointed undergarment that heroically held in abeyance her more than modest busom)...lightly roasted of course..i inherited it from a cousin who couldn't unload said hierloom at his local pawnshop for that irascible vintage of oh so recent fermentation wild irish rose. i filled it up with planter cashews..here's the thing though..the bowl seemed transformed with those cashews in there..my manna upon wich to project i guess the residue of my prior pining for my road to damascus epiphany or least the ambivalent spirit of aimless and yeah pretty much purposeless defiance of anything derivative of stolid iesenhower age of imperial and domestic patriarchal duplicity..or some junk like that..this bowl now polished and cleaned to a respectable reflective and well really somewhat muted gleam..it doesn't exactly shimmer but i can see my reversed and distorted face in it..so now that this hierloom full of kinda premium cashews (lightly salted) i haven't brought my self to consume them..it's been three months now..and ah i just cover them during the day with industrial strength saran wrap and at night i place them in this container i had special ordered from amway or tupperware or something, that seals them in tight and chaste... so... 040318 ... oldephebe and i guess what i'm trying to say.. - is that have you ever wondered why most authority figures in the 70's and 80's seemed cut from the same sartorial and well as idelogical anal retentive cloth as say those great shapers of the distinctly decadent american ethos and almost enforced dogma as emblem and rubric with all the vim and vigor and integrity of a cliche. said cliche somehow constitutes some kinda avatar and or litmus test for all around decency, mental and moral soundness and all around proclivity towards sedition. I mean the public or civic vocabulary of not really debate..more like a constrained consensus consisting of a somewhat demographically and ethnically sanctioned and relative identication with a few not so well worded but you betcha! comforting chestnuts erm cliches. middle aged men set about to purge the secret heart of sedition (read communism, the progenitors of what would become neo-liberalism, egalitarianism) from the chaste heart of america... 040318 ... oE it stikes me that yes someone probably HAS probably stridently articulated the spirit of the words in my last blathe..and they probably said it 50 years ago...so... 040319 ... Death of a Rose nothing is greater than the subtraction of her want, designs and angles given over to higher mathematics, as pure knowledge is gained only once, begrudging tidal waves forced back to the ocean, trail markers in unrestrained compliments, heavens vices plastic wrapped and marketed. 040328 ... Death of a Rose something has made me this way, scratched the surface of my vinyl, stabbed its way out of my eyes so that everything i view as important is treated as trivial and circumspect, as vital as i can't reach up to that ledge above me, preparing for a slow death chant, rakes of patterned marks across my legs, flakes of uninterest becoming a soft flurry i get caught in. 040328 ... Death of a Rose taking flight as instincts kick in, not the natural instincts one genetically inherits, but the deeply ingrained ones, trained to salivate on command, motivational only in your private head smog. fillets of selective motive, tunneled deeply as uranium is sought, pointed out as attractions at the wax museum. 040328 ... Death of a Rose free flight in stained release, taking the dark in deep inhalations, query my mind as sadly lacking, ice hurled into sapce, a lonely spin into the unknown. 040329 ... pd the (real) distance between you and i is such that a dream bridges it but little else; reality persistently affirms that it will never be. that the dreamscape is the closest ever again, that if i had known that that was the last chance i was going to have i would never have let go of your hand. but the dream is only my imagination (however potent) and these songs only project moonlight dancing (even if i have never danced like that with anyone) when will i be free again? 040330 ... oE i want only to listen to the ache of your words...hmm..that came out wrong.. pd - our hearts..our memories take us on these figurative expeditions..the smallest pertubation of our hearts and it feels like..man..we slip into these spaces and our defenses are down and it hits..and we feel like a house that has no life in it..like looking into a discarded child's eyes..as if their parents had discarded them like refuse by the side of the road..their eyes, graze the ground as if it were a grave..eyes that held no life in them..and now.. pd- my bad..too digressive..that was beautiful though..loves sucks huh? ... 040330 ... pd if this is love, then it does. this is not what everyone sings and writes books about because i am not happy, i do not have stars in my eyes and my cynic is back. i wonder why we do this to ourselves in the first place. probably because returned love is fantastic? i wouldn't know. 040331 ... Doar As I clumsily slashed at my forearms, thinking of some way to cause release, thinking "Why?" and answering "Why not?". Fucked up beyond all recognition, should be my middle name. 040421 ... strawberryxgash Blood dripped and danced, flowing off my fingers. All the thoughts of "why" "why not?"? Some left, but some still lingered. But slowly, the pain filled my mind with numbness, gone were the thoughts of "why" "why not?" replaced with empty bliss. 040421 ... pd i'm going mad and i want to slit my wrists just to see if the voice in my head will seep out with the blood. i have a rather strong image of what i'd look like, covered in my own blood. face paler than pale, arms smeared with blood dried and browned, splotches of it on my white shalwar and darker stains on my red kameez, probably around the tummy where i'd rest an arm for a while occasionally. i just want to escape this ache, when the fuck will i be free again? free to not crave you when the weather keeps bringing back another day like this, only so different? free to not hunger for even the briefest glimpse, just a hello, a smile? ohgodohgod, what am i going to do? why did i ever get myself into this, why....i'm dying, i'm empty, i miss you and i hate being me right now...i miss you desperately, i miss us and the thought of you with anyone else makes me want to run to the farthest corner of my consciousness where i can hear noone's voice or see things i don't want to see. i couldn't bear it, i will break. and this will end only with some kind of catharsis, because the other option is one that will never happen...someone save me, im begging now. i can't go on like this, i will collapse. 040421 ... somebody ..too far away 040421 ... Death of a Rose She floats on the descending waves of my thoughts, carefully angling towards a permanent home within me. Does she realize this? Does she know what vicious wounds a single glance can be inflicted upon this cautious soul? Passing traffic could carry me away from this madness, Travel to deserter's outposts, and she would still surround me. Nomad attacks against the failing fortress, eventually extinguishing any hope of escaping her scent and touch. 040618 ... Doar Dissapointment has built a home in the ravaged plains of my soul. The process was quite drawn out, but it now has a sturdy enough building, that I doubt even the fabled wolf could huff and puff it away. I've tried demolishing it but somehow after the dust settles, the house is back and is now even more elaborate then before. So maybe if I ignore it and leave it alone, it will slowly become disused, a derilict fit only for ghost stories. 040708 ... Death of a Rose It is a focus that I have built, slow burning compression, This singularity of brushing your past under the carpet, Fax me a garbled message for translation, be sure to include all the grotesque parodies of dark thought. Can you do the same without your pale makeup? 040719 ... cpgurrl see blathering_poetically 040720 ... pd (so good to be back in the sanctuary again) Just that, exactly that- I want to rush into the wind with you, lie in your blood, taste your skin I want to take your breath away like a secret present unto me alone, be the well of your happinesses I want to call you when I hurt, look up into your eyes when I wake, take your tears and turn them into laughter I want to be the only one you see when I enter a room the one you call first with the good news the keeper of your secrets, the treasurer of your soul, I want you to be the light in my eyes, the lilt in my voice Why is that so hard, so impossibly unreal We could be so happy 040723 ... pd why does it matter, what you think? why do we (is seems) deliberately pick at each other yell be upset, cry and rant and then apologise and smile small sentimental smiles until the next feud....why do we keep one hook in, when you and i are not a we? 040726 ... Doar Constant chaos nightmares, shifting my feet onwards. Bracketed and supported by accountants ledgers. Numbered and forgotten. 040726 ... Doar As she casually passes my footsteps, echoing in the windows, a curious gait is the response. I can almost recognize the speed of the questioning, this folded sound. It was the deep sleep of forgotten music, a chemical imbalance, a needed compromise. Commands issued and awakenings beginning. Like viewing a dusty rhythm. Banished from internal craft, as smoke makes a blue of the seeker's glance. My second awareness is slighted by the feel of satin, encroached by shadows. The longevity of spirit, a longing seperated by initials. The lottery beguiles this frenzied slumber. Affection in a late fall kiss, warming the shuttered blue, stringing the flush in bloom behind. Upturned valuables, dangling from hesitant fingers. Do the angels act as belief? Is it temporary indulgences? A nailed journey, wasted as a captain once believed. This is where the darkness is sifted and the treasure exposed. Expanding the prediction of sharp lashes, this is fought against; stripped bare of unending reflexes, courtesy of research and development. 040808 ... Doar The passage of time seems irrelevant now, a mere tick tock as a backdrop. Such strange questions these entities ask me. "Why don't you wish to know more?", I thought I did, but after ignoring and disrespect I shied away thinking that I was scanning between the hallmark cards. It is such actions that a religion is based. I need the moons seas in my head in order to gain the requisite peace of your mind. So tell me honestly are you worth it? 040824 ... pete I am the backdrop, slip knots holding together the noose of civilized time and momentous change, who is god but i? flowers are blooming, yet i reduce them to dust, and silence comes to fill the hours when the screams fill the loudest air and the gunshots echo so loudly of torn flesh the waterfall flows into the night and dusk has fallen fallen fallen risen into the sea of tides where the rivers flow one way, and then the other and peace is a scarlet messenger and i am the time of peace when change changes faster than one can react 040824 ... Death of a Rose Contained in the clarity you brought was the unpaid bill I stole, intending to barter it to the old lady that rocks in her own world. Maybe bring some of that solitude of peace back in trade, but when I cashed out all I had was the torn newspaper with the headline of "Today She Runs!", and I could never be content with only that. Quick flash and time no longer matters, Betting it all on the return of the equinox, Divided by only the smallest of percentages would the steel bars block your escape attempt. Sure the pen was blue, but the paper was the night. Fill my cup again I plead, make it overflowing, make it sweet to my throat, something that hides in this artificial light but remembers the umbrage of the sea. 041106 ... whitechocolatewalrus somebody has already probably said he was tired he was tired and didn't want to think he was tired of thinking somebody has probably said she felt empty somebody has probably already said everything and anything or maybe they haven't and i am overreacting 050116 ... phil Something I wonder as I blunder every line Do you think maybe that you're reading it all 4 the first time? 050117 ... Death of a Rose the revisionist code leaves charcoal marks in its passing, converting millioins to scratch and win. the crisp white snow flies in silent whispers whenever she dusts my photograph off. and i hide underneath the shifting flurry of rebirth and death. 050615 ... oldephebe So I'm siiting, *whoa i meant SITTING, what a slip of the tongue or blade...heh heh* here, no I'm slouching, this is a slouch that exudes melancholy, this is the tortured slouch of Olympic gymnists and or figure skaters blowing the landing, the tortured slouch of of aging boxer pummeled well past his prime, felled by a short upper cut that almost dislodges his upper and lower mandibles, this is the crumpled delapidated shack with the canted roof sliding slowly into the swamp that was once a crystal pond embroidered by a dense phalanx of deciduous shrubs and gently sighing willows and morning doves, puffed thier breasts with thier bright songs all day long...yeah... anyway...just wnated to say hey doar and pete and the rest of yous guys, great to see this page is still being contributed to. ... 050615 ... oldephebe So I'm siiting, *whoa i meant SITTING, what a slip of the tongue or blade...heh heh* here, no I'm slouching, this is a slouch that exudes melancholy, this is the tortured slouch of Olympic gymnists and or figure skaters blowing the landing, the tortured slouch of of aging boxer pummeled well past his prime, felled by a short upper cut that almost dislodges his upper and lower mandibles, this is the crumpled delapidated shack with the canted roof sliding slowly into the swamp that was once a crystal pond embroidered by a dense phalanx of deciduous shrubs and gently sighing willows and morning doves, puffed thier breasts with thier bright songs all day long...yeah... anyway...just wnated to say hey doar and pete and the rest of yous guys, great to see this page is still being contributed to. ... 050615 ... oE I thought i'd inadvertantly typed slitting but it appears i just missplelled the word sitting as siiting. oh bother ... 050615 ... Death of a Rose this spark of reason is lost to the searchlights, intended for the audience as if the oration had already begun, and in that play you stood as though you couldn't see the other actors, reminding me that this is all just a blind hunt when taken to extremes, showering your cast away boxes with the fragmented chalices of your birth, leaving this vacation in your eyes, beginning to see each wave and creature as they grow together. 050916 ... z and silence reins between events and little armys toot tin horns and seas rise and fall still silence waits eternal 060329 ... pipedream is it time,is it time already? damp paper cups and crumbs of cake stale as old love songs say it's time; an afterthought of rain whispers laughing fingers through my hair it is time, is it time already, i wasn't quite ready for the flash yet- (are my eyes closed?), is there another surprise i could guess at behind door spangled two? nighttime drugs my skin still, sleepwalking luminously in the pigeoncoloured mo[u]rning there must be more, there must be another taking of tea, another time to be aetherised yellowly, blazing like a new sun it can't be time, it can't be time just yet 060330 ... oren The house is empty. Most of the footlights have blown. The final curtain. 060331 ... Death of a Rose I cast my pennies into my own hubris, a brisk endeavour meant without warning. Another field I seem to recall, gathered here, layed fallow, layered bare. where does the movement go? Does it disappear in the hours of our mind? I seem to always be asking questions, entirely against a single version. I find small steps in a recalled state that bring me, always back to this blue state. Will this be the only mark that "you" out there will read, or remember? I feel the heat of impatience, but I laugh at it, show it the beligerence I feel, and carry on towards another probable feeling. 060705 ... Death of a Rose In the turn of haunted beliefs, a surprise humbles even the lowest, a continuance of desperate desire, a making in hands shaped like defeat. The candle is lit, the time is set, the music is melodic, the writing is reflected in the stone. This feeling of missing you is folded in my numbered travels. I always wonder where you have journeyed, where you have laughed. A light laughter, a dark laughter, a joined laughter. Paint your walls with the colours you choose while taking in the sunset, write the words you keep harboured inside, memorize the people and their movements, as they shift by your graceful dance. This bright eternity you offer me. 060821 ... Doar I miss you all. OE, Pvcpillow, Ms. Walrus, Sour Pop, Daf, Period....ok...even you SM. Phil? Jane. I'm getting close to end game. And my thoughts are of you. . 080814 ... jane (i'm still here my dear) 080815 ... DR I've always had words, maybe too many words, some for you, mostly all for you. I've never known how to communicate with you, it has been something I have feared. To talk with you, to reach out to you. And still this is me. Me....what a word, what an egotistical word..... how do we make our conversation? our talks are one sided....it has been read. done a lot of shit here, and told you all i'm not coming back. hypocrite that this person is. what else are my words for. 101114 what's it to you? who go blather from