Sunday, July 28, 2013

the label

imagining me in the scrimmage of a maniacal, histrionic, melodic outburst, in trans chains and criss-cross, and a harvest race. accelerated, the quarter notes and hemi-tones racing past, and scurrying forth, in rage, and fear, and a bold triumphant, till the story begins. one day at a time. one moment, one smile. for you E. i have opened my heart, and my inside, my familiarity, my mysteriousness is your belonging. my cold caricatures, my repetitive trillings, my joyous silence are for you to interpret and misread, and erase in conicals the fragrance of lust. for your generality, and your availability, a waking step and a cold clique, the prune coquettes, and the heave of vinegar -caustic, harsh, and distant. to second guess, and double take, to stand up and disbelieve, to tremor and plaster a cellophane imagery, in a generic embrace, love-encased, encapsulated in the chiffonnade of love, renewal and art. in the distinguishings of our bodies, our consoles, and race, in reams of a deeper meaning, for you, rain cloud, the cloak sublimes. in rhyme, in smile, in loss of words, we steal the smells of morning doves. in sparrow calls, and falls of the new ventilatory lung mechanics, the beginning of a history of the ethnic, the besotted and the roof paradise.

Friday, July 26, 2013

67 rocks

in the surmise of an alcoholic metaphysical paradox. a dead lion has arisen in the cold of the crisp september sleet. this is the dilettante of opposition, of perturbation, of an erotica. this is the quandary of the academic sleuth, wringing and grinding, slithering and sliding, glistening and binding round and round the pedestal of dreams. it is the technical nature of critical inquiry. it is the remnant of a dying art, a dead poets civil-conundrum, in darkness and brightness of confusion. of exhaustion of a faculty of deviance. of the detriment to peace, a livelihood and a necessity. to be termed, shrewd and astute and heartless, is to live in a coveted reality of flint, frictional and cry. to walk the tarmac, unappreciative and unfulfilled. to be selfish, relentless and in an alcove of a fictional imaginary, to be the pretense man, impervious and stoic to the world of psychedelics and cotton rose finesse. to treat emotionality with contempt, holding coal and carbon boats, and oxygen rings. this is the construct of a strange, lone, paradox. a confusion of the confessed, the unbeliever and the political, the deluded and the hysterical, the double life of poly minds, in complexities jumbling and surviving in the complaint of a vacuum quizzical methadone reverie. to turn back and smile at the flirtatious, and the rigorous caricature of a self-sketched reconstruction, of a bemoaning, complicated, complaining idol gone tremendously insensitive. parched and burnt in the edge palette of the personal, the duplicity of character, the idea of ideals, the self confounding, the rough beseeching of the livable, the loveable and the empty.

Saturday, July 20, 2013

a definition

to think about a word, a definition. a description of an emotion. to come to mind a tenderness, a lump plunging rolling gurgle sub-led and placed, subcutaneously like a paramour. to think of love, laced in a genuine humility, a caudal genuflection to a consented partnership. an alliance, an agreement. a weakness. to the extent and distance of a feather giggle, a wispy chuckle, a cotton crisp, honeycomb saccharin, molten malleable puddle of pastel wax, of a crackling glitter bliss, a dredge melancholy, a suffocating bind, emotional enclave and business alcoves, in a mesh of breathtaking heartwarming spectacles. a tripod fleck of changeable, mutable paradoxes, enveloped in a primal depth. to not love, to hanker after, to feel a genuine defeat. this is a matter of accountability. a matter of trust and space. the predictive unpredictable. a way around verbiage, the verbose and the incoherent. speechlessness and blankness of a mutter, a chatter, a wallowing and thunder, eroticism and a blood genesis of satellite touch. a remote clover hue, of expectation and anticipation, of the sexual squeal, of the bawling hippie, of the promote egotism, the ice catharsis frigid of cold annulment, of a hopelessness. i want to love, i want to find, i want to live a life of leaves. and dress in trains and sallow beads. in a unicorn oblivion, a rain shower promiscuity of the dead art of sincerity. i want to lie, by your by, and hold your smile in the jar of bells, in glass and blood, in appreciation of a patent, closing obscurity.

Monday, July 15, 2013

on thinking

there is a moonshine figurine in the glass athenaeum. glitter jars sluicing, oh! the war-break of banter, anger and temperament. in the alcove of a romantic cycle, from a mono-beam to a crazy duality, to the silence of poetry, conditionality and expressionism. it is to live in an existential numbness. a constant fear -what happens next? will they remember? punctuated with why should they remember? this passion for remembrance, to prove a capable culpability is sown into a cultural behemoth. to give in a plenitude, we talk of a community needing relief from a starvation. a salvation, this gift of human integrity. to do, to be done, to benefit and cherish a concrete, worthwhile purpose. this is the asymmetry of science -a case for prettiness, explanation of reasoning. why do we imagine nature has a purpose? not a waylay contradiction of a stalled existence. to say, the flower for the vector, the lung for breath, the nostrils for enigma, the nails for deadliness, to have the for. what for? why does nature have a purported progression in an unpredictable dimension? if all things in nature have a purpose, and man is a component of nature, then it follows that man has a purpose. if all things explain an existence, man provides an explanation. and saddled in a rift of existentialism, why does man exist? to serve a purpose of continuing nature. does every man has equal purpose? we argue against that. but why doesn't every man have equal purpose?

to surround oneself with question and answer, to define oneself in the gridlock of time and space, in a vacuum of the abstract, in an understanding of reason, in the catechism of logic, infoldings of the impractical integrals, man has defined a purpose for himself. and the purpose, self-defined, has wavered and floundered and orbited in a giant hyperbole. in alternate realities of the macrocosm and the microcosm. at the cost of a marginal cosmos, man has doubted, blinded and allured a maverick explanation. a perspective of sinusoids, waves, crests, troughs and effortless imbalance in the core culture. this is the name of a creative cult, to cherish a lost translation, to give up in discord. to think myself, to do and to go ahead. leap in wonderment of a self-defining purpose, to be in concert with the elements of my senses, to be in collusion with the practicality of my fear, to be in a collective, a credibility, islands away from my existential numbness. to define directionality of my life compass, and traverse the pathway to my fulfillment, is my wishfulness and my meaning.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

spurt post

to be in a time-warp, in a methadone crystalline antiquary, romanticized, petrified and in a glass bowl of pediatrics. in rainbow gigs, dandelion lace and a wind whirl. whizzing past, in sounds of raciness, fury and an erotic shell. there is a poly glimpse of the love cocoon. writhing, wriggling in a slime of purity, chastity and sex. when you and i, run away from the silence of the marbles, unfettered from the judgment, relentless and promising, kissing and smiling by the river banks and shell trees. in a matte elegance, from a development. remember in months, unsure, fearful and hopeless, we met by books and stacks and history of a colossal trilogy, head banging, arm swooshing, jiggling and giggling, nervous and careful, with a folded smile, quivering lips, chiffon terrapin trundling down your fluid physiology? would you have thought, in our difference and decadence, in our paper clips agape, in our unworldiness and immaturity, that this would come off the cliff? in the cellophane of a mileage, in the constant craving and beseeching, hoping and wishing, annoying and breaking, doubting and fearing, drumming in cherish, ripping chasmically, sporadically, the tectonics of our quotidian encounter? could you have modeled, with the tools of your technology, that we could hold up in fear and battle, a philandering saturation, ceaseless to the moving world? in closure of my eye lids, i see your face, the saturday nights, the sonnets in bed, and miss the strategy of your creation. wishing and seeking -this emotional broom. clean up a pathology, a catharsis, a longing for substance.