Saturday, December 10, 2005
Imagine every name spoken,
one after the other, in order.
I've thought of this regarding faces.
Some are so similar, there must be gradations...
I've often fantasized about every face flashed before my eyes...also in order.
But at what age ? At what point in time ? Birth ? The only age we've all been.
What an infinite catalogue!
This occurred to me after reading
PKD's account of being hit with countless works of art
flashing at breakneck speed before his eyes,
a trial that lasted for days.
one after the other, in order.
I've thought of this regarding faces.
Some are so similar, there must be gradations...
I've often fantasized about every face flashed before my eyes...also in order.
But at what age ? At what point in time ? Birth ? The only age we've all been.
What an infinite catalogue!
This occurred to me after reading
PKD's account of being hit with countless works of art
flashing at breakneck speed before his eyes,
a trial that lasted for days.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Poetry : Forever Cool Drunk
folks looking for poetry
are looking for more i think
than words strung together...
what makes them know they found it ?
one of those things that ain't got time for an audience, poetry is.
Why read what you can make with language.. failing you ?
Only p[oets care and they ain't worth a trust.
sing song sounds in a row ain't it. you know.
not that i hate you, but close. human with words tied to a stick.
sick making, the stack of books.
a drunk peom. to say what.?.this then:
you now this day and age waste ink and pages sick make me
look around the world still grows.only poems 'bout poetry
hold. the rest takes care of itself.slow it down and
look.
I wrote this drunk to say above...most waste words on sunsets
and subtle heartbreaks.
lord burn the books so we might know.
are looking for more i think
than words strung together...
what makes them know they found it ?
one of those things that ain't got time for an audience, poetry is.
Why read what you can make with language.. failing you ?
Only p[oets care and they ain't worth a trust.
sing song sounds in a row ain't it. you know.
not that i hate you, but close. human with words tied to a stick.
sick making, the stack of books.
a drunk peom. to say what.?.this then:
you now this day and age waste ink and pages sick make me
look around the world still grows.only poems 'bout poetry
hold. the rest takes care of itself.slow it down and
look.
I wrote this drunk to say above...most waste words on sunsets
and subtle heartbreaks.
lord burn the books so we might know.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
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