Shanda
I know in my heart that you would see it
The lines in new places and weakness of hands
If we lived nearby I’m sure we’d be friends
And then you would see it, I know you can
I know for a thought that things can be right
As distant as friends unmet could be
We live in our words of dim expectation
Constantly blinded and covered in sand
I’m sure if we met then you would see
The darkness of hands, the shades of new spaces, the lines in the sand, and the weakness of hearts.
And you must look at the world and say, “There are this many steps between the world I wish, and the world I am.” Then count the irreconcilable differences, and seek out all the ways in which the world would have to be different. That number is important, for it is the number of times you must break the world.
The sign misread
connection lost and now the darkness engulfs and enlivens
we cannot see to light the beacons the old pacts do not hold
never losing to the fearful never bowing to the tear-filled eyes
no grace the final barrier the humbling river
Thunderbolt
Peace to you is a fuck letter word
As you Deny! to spin this hate as if normal
Quit fucking the dead horse you Hellmongers
Go back to your watery graves sinners
Cease this neverending shit circus
Remind, refind the urge to gratitude
Else the hellfire you preach shall be your own
The dirge of darkness must echo in the moonlight
The silence of divining vigilance is still guilty
Exegetical Rite
Take in the words, then read them again. Breathe in deeply as you consider them, then out again in a measured way. Enter in peace, depart in peace. Pay attention to the rhythm of your continued breathing exclusively at first, but then ‘re-listen’ to the sounds around you. Hear the lyrical nature of all the incidental noise of the space you inhabit. Let this randomness be your seed of inspiration, and then read it again. Find the whimsical, the lyrical, the inspired within the text, just as you did the noises. Enter in peace, depart in peace.
Miodendre Reiteration
Worlds briefly touch, exchanging arils, spinning, dancing, then flying apart never to be seen again. The oil in your water may be the Cthulu of the universe next door. Could the blood of Tiamat be powering your car and hungering for your destruction, twisting all intention and wisdom? I do not envy those who must persevere against this pervasive severity. Aikeena was given a chariot of snow, a recognition of his prophecies, bitter as his loss is to me. Are we all to be destroyed and ground into dust?
Look around you, those friends you add
click
cliclick
cliclick
Yeah those they’ll eat you soon
to spit out sombodities
and erase the candor
but don’t u mad…
or else anonylulz may ensue
the dogs of war are now the muse
the dues of which now may ensue
innumerate and replicate
dream the core articulate
so axons link and innovate
the appesate the hand of 8
and now its late
Who wields you?
Never forget that there will always be the invisible hand
choking, stifling, stilling, calming in the now for the living
So that life is manageable and decent copacetic reliable
but when dead we will remember and try to find those
sparks of life we choked out… remembering them fondly
as if we did not destroy
as if we were not the weapon
it still stabs me straight in the fucking eye
every time I remember the snow fall
the key was lost to valentino’s tower
the omens had never even been read
just invisible pages where death spilled out
out out into the hearts of instrumental
blooming scotch seeps nobly into papercuts
philanderers their churning yield bloody
reminding finer chew-z for the naturalist
mourn the truth until the three-sided die of Euclid
urges those in Rome to reveal and profess
Protect the south from these severely harsh judgements
amen
N(o/u)n
It is indeed the chains of chaos that bind. the shadow cast by ill-birth and raw fear. horror of manifestation. the night dreams again of encasing and holding us in darkness. dreams fitfully. angrily. there is no escape even for this ship of light. will it break free? does it want to?
