I am these many. I am the lights, dancing, reflecting, . . . I am the passing trucks on the highway. I am jack's liver. I am the mighty Susquehanna. I am the disturbed duck's cry. I am longing. For definition. For this something everyone is so certain about. What was it again? I am present. I am brimming, overflowing. I am human-imposed light dances on river-rain mighty drops. I am the mountain, cut into, highway trafficking patient. I am. You are. That, in space, floating. &
let me have this place, to grow
plant & weed, & meditate ...
to be quiet & watch the sun play
with leaves & grass & home.
let me have this peace, which, when
uttered leaves a linger
the balance of a finger laid to dirt
I do not know where to start. I cannot start. The audacity of assuming I could describe the beginning is insane. It has been ever rolling since before I joined this earth. I want to write everyone I love, write them letters tonight as if I possess knowledge of my imminent death and this is the last time to extol their strengths and beauties multiplicitous, to share a laughter, to encourage a peace. I want to express compassion but can't. People laugh with each other, two leave the party and those remaining continue to laugh and talk about and judge those who left and their social displays. I want none of this. I do not want to waste a
a fiction's preface by poiesisHagakure, literature
Literature
a fiction's preface
This world entails much the same as our own. The people are varied. Sometimes they deal with their differences healthily and sometimes not. The style of narration is often meant to be neutral while witnessing to a variety of lives, of views of truth and how it could be sought. If you are incapable of tolerating certain ridiculous practices, if shock value alone is enough to irrevocably set your opinion in stone, then you will probably set the book down at some point with a disturbed look on your face. And, might I note, you might want to move away from fiction to a safer genre like, oh, childrens books.
One man's junk is anoth
honor-bound and seeking,
distinct jagged edges of personality
are every direction.
overgrown.
bruised left knee, a small
v of a cut on my forehead bleeding.
Let's try this direction!
concious existentialism by poiesisHagakure, literature
Literature
concious existentialism
there is a question mark peering
evermore, ever-constant, endearing,
enraging, engaging in undermining & clearing of
excess
boldness & answers are of use
in seeming to appear strong
but brute close-minded strength
is obtuse
there is no proof
of anything
existential checkmate is the first move
work my day away, learn &
please, the customer deems
my existence necessary.
Tool's minor key tones drone in
blissful constant monotony, the music
constantly present, my secret,
my existence. The same things adorn my wall as yesterday.
Masturbatory coffer-filling, can i
get my morning coffee-meaning, brilliance,
caffeine-induced existence.
YAY do inane things faster iteration-tense,
for sixteen pence.
non-attachment in smoke by poiesisHagakure, literature
Literature
non-attachment in smoke
HA! I sit here caffeine-induced, inundated, mystified, heartbeat
pro-rated, techno pumping, boredom abated, boredom consulting, ...
wondering about this moment, the next, these mute small items
in my life, & weighing their worth,
I thought of writing you. I think of writing on my fiction,
but strike as that does in a flash, there've been no floods
recently. Letter collecting I've done, as a letter-collector I'll
be. A wandering spirit longs for a solitary path it can recognize.
A melody. A harmony. A beauty-spouting wind instrument. A
generic cliche-spouting jaw flapping in the wind shares a
forum with a sage,