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 May 2013 Lauren Fehr
extasis
Crackling criss-crossing blue in mind. It scissors down the lanes through the pipes and tubes and little dividers. Electrical mind numbing beauty. Veins-bursting in excited anticipation. Convulsions and scenic skittering routes. Into the Nexus! Here simmers what we are thinking and believing. Our mind's eye focuses and drips into the pool until completion. Psionic figures dance flicker through life existence. Pulse-width fluctuations. Tiny menagerie of our Will. Scribbling through dusted panes of time interface. All afire with ourselves once we have discovered ourselves. Nano-tech emotions. Hope fear anger mercy curiosity buzzing swarms of grey goo jibbering and bubbling in an artificial mind-****. What is all this allusion? Nothing complicated. Speculation on future times where sensual technological biological singularity is paramount. In my room where the clocks are taped over and the sun is dark and dim. Through the windows I see myself. The boxes on the floor emanate simple clickings with melodies intertwined casually. I myself appear redundant. I have done this and so have others. To discuss oneself is worthless unless you become convinced you are another entity gazing back across the room. I feel I am being watched. I become cautious as he may have noticed. Tingling weightlessness tickles in waves in both heads. The Jazz Classic appears. Old dark men and women in hazy environments. Organic supposition or cold observation? Both hold importance so let us appreciate it all. The cello quivers and hums with vibration. Fingers callused and riveted like the age-old corn field bother still strings. A child hums to just myself. What does he want? I never asked him for an audience. Yet he freely gives it to me. Now he multiplies. Or she? Children confuse and cause one to be apprehensive. Nothing and silence. Silence in movement. Cease my visual stimulation for a couple seconds each. The child is back. What does he speak? Pray inside the rubble? Heal in this place? In disgrace? I do not know. His octaves are meshing together. Whining and thrumming with strange alterations. Some madmen tweaks my ears. Maybe he knows the child? I'm not sure. Let us continue on. The flute is the child. Old cello, you have stopped? These musings mean nothing. I would look upon them in a year and think nothing of it. Yet it feels as if this time is important. Da Vinci knocks on the door. Not as if I wanted to talk to it. Wouldn't mind I suppose. He is gone. We talked but I do not remember the conversation. Perhaps we've all talked but we just don't remember our conversations. That's ridiculous though. Then anything is possible. We could have flown to the moon on scarlet weasels outfitted with the latest nano-pores that secreted pure liquid indulgence. And we did because I just imagined we might have. However, I don't remember actually doing it. Just what I thought it might have been like. How frustrating. My thoughts are the same as all others who write out their thoughts when under the influence of yourself. It always seems like some thing is scuttling near my feet or under the nightstand; just out of view. Strange. I would be afraid. No reason to fear that which doesn't bother me. No reason to fear much of anything. That's been said before. Why are we so often concerned with saying that which has been said before? Cliche? auump-ump auump-ump auump-ump little thumping noise in my ears. That vibration is calming. Every night I am awake. Every day I seem asleep. I do not like it but I do not care yet I allow it to be what it will. Vision defaults to out of focus. My eyes always cross if I cease trying to control them. People are strange. Animals are strange. Same thing I guess. Someone will find that clever. Someone will find it cliche. This someone won't care. ****** fantasy permeates day to day. More entertaining than living a fantasy though. ***. Not that entertaining. Perhaps no one knows how to do it properly anymore. Maybe we never did. Maybe some people are just disenchanted with it. When I'm by myself, I never have any ****** desire. When around others, I generally think of it out of curiosity: what would it be like to please the person in front of me? The only enjoyment I've had with *** would consist of pleasing another or observing another ****. The human body is intriguing. Definitely. I really do think so. Sometimes I look at my own. Not out of appreciation really. Just the fact that I have body allows me to investigate it and understand it more. Pain is merely a stage one can get past, so I suppose I injure myself sometimes to see how I react. It's like I need to check I'm still working properly. I can't tell when I'm tired. I feel something, but when I ask myself if I'm tired, I murmur back, "I don't know." Maybe that is why I stay up till early mornings? I wanted to add again that the human body is beautiful and unappealing all in the same space. Perhaps the unattractiveness and softness and strangeness produces attraction. A negative and a negative equals a positive. Three negatives likes to fluctuate. In my mind at least. I may ask another to remove their clothing and whatnot during those intimate moments. Eh, never quite feel like having *** though. I like the emotions and sensuality of just looking at someone. They usually want to physically play around with each other. I think I enjoy fighting more. One day I'll leave everyone except I'll reminisce on those I enjoyed meeting. Maybe come back and visit? I would like to ride something quickly through an empty desert. Find my own food and water. Create shelter. Think by myself. My room is the smallest desert I have and the biggest. I have more in my head but I only occupy one at a time. I suppose I like I do like things like all others. I mean, materials can be nice. If I impart meaning on to an object it gains importance. I see it vital to also say that if it were to be lost, then I wouldn't mind and I would obtain something else or nothing at all.The constitution. Just mentioned by some woman in my room. Or in my ears would be more correct. Constitutional Rights. I honestly don't see the need for them. I was criticized for burbling that once. We should not need a constitution. We should be able to do what we like to do without fear or concern. Unless natural fear and concern appears. Now that may confuse a bit. Right to bear arms. I shouldn't have to be told or allowed to massive bear arms if I feel the need to have them. Big hairy bear arms. Curious little mishap. Freudian slip as Johnny said once? Danger Danger. Anyway, Right to bare arms. I shouldn't have to be told, as I look back,  go back and throw in that comma after told, that I'm allowed to bare arms and defend myself. I'll just do it if the need arises. Freedom of speech. That already has many issues these days. However, there shouldn't have been a need to tell people they have freedom of speech. Speech should have been freely allowed and never oppressed in  the first place. Theme? We have erred so much in the past and I would think sometimes we ignore that and just try make little cosmetic fixes by saying it's okay. Another point. Hold that: side discomfort. I sometimes feel like a little spider or creature is crawling or skittering on my leg under the covers or I'll change the music to Galaxy 2 Galaxy 90's hi-tec jazz there we go. Done! Now back! Or I forget what I said about the spiders. Another point: what? ******, curse damnable ****. Can't recollect what it was I was connecting together. Something that tied in to deceiving people into things are okay. I could go on about consumerism and all that jazz. Instead I'm listening to some techno-jazz whatever-decided-to-call-it. Hyphenated phrases are fun when I decide they are appropriate. English and grammar in such can be cool but at the same time I want to say **** it and stay proper. Do both. Acknowledge how to write and speak "correctly," but as long as someone understands what you are trying to say, then why correct more? Someone large doesn't like the fact I make a lot of noise in the morning. I stole some speakers and subwoofer from the room next to me as I was going to say Austin.  They are on the floor and whichever large person lives below me is probably annoyed or was. I don't spend any of my actual time despising them, but I'll easily say I despise them when someone asks. Otherwise it isn't worth wasting time on. Perhaps the vibration quivers downstairs and shakes them silently. The greate beast is perturbed and sneaky vibrations cause electro-annoyance! Her pulsewidth as I understand it must be like a super-saw as I think it. Silence. Some woman said it's just a feeling. HEA not sure what why I put that sounds like a garageband song. Switched to Inspiration! That is what I did this night. Finally start writing and making things again. Even though I never did and always did. My head sometimes hurts from thinking. Never truly though. Gotta say those things to keep the conversation going. That is really the only reason I say anything. To keep the conversation going. Otherwise I'd just watch people and be just fine. Just yelled "bahh," out loud (didn't sound the comma) because I felt the need or the want. Same. Wrong keys erased. sdas=a====dddddddddd Sorry. Oh well. Oh My. How the time flies goodbye. Going nowhere. Could write more but I felt the slight flicker of wanting to stop. So I do. What an ending. Now I'm only typing to continue the conversation with myself. Just thought ******* sounds good melody. Do as I sayt way to go good job. STOPSDMFA

****** a

Guess I'll read this little conundrum I wrote up. Stop writing ******. Stop EDITING
 May 2013 Lauren Fehr
Tim Knight
Movie ticket,
cinema stub,
two halves torn apart
by the fickle fingers of the screen attendant:
he looked up at me with a smile-
one learnt from a handbook compiled by the words of some corporate type,
who dislikes his job, you can tell from his vibe.

“The receipt's in the bag”,
I requested it to be in my hand,
customer service fingers are always painted a day-glow green,
hideous talons of the fake queen,
traced from the princesses of the TV-silver-******-fake-TV screen:
she looked up at me with a smile-
one learnt from a magazine of ink,
nothing more than lies disguised within the wholesome typography imprint.

Carrying nothing but a wallet,
“would you like a bag sir?”
I am carrying nothing but a wallet, of course I would like a bag,
what do you take me for:
she looked up at me with a smile-

Wait.

Her intriguing trapdoor smile concealed
perfectly straight teeth that,
through the gap in her mouth,
spat out the shop floor script,
as if a Shakespearean soliloquy
equipped for the stage,
not this retail trade.
from the poetry blog, CoffeeShopPoems
 May 2013 Lauren Fehr
Rachel Mary
sometimes
the world
turns too fast
and makes you dizzy
and deluded
but you like it
because insanity
is better than being
*sane
 May 2013 Lauren Fehr
Nick Durbin
I sit, perched upon this star -
Watching the world change; evolve,
Sculpted in time, as if by the hands of Michelangelo,
Morphing this vacant, plain stone - into a beautifully crafted masterpiece.
 May 2013 Lauren Fehr
Erin Kay
The most beautiful thing in the world is disappearing.
Eyes half-shut,
Eyes, half-shut,
Infinity.

The most beautiful thing in the world is your
Hungry,
Still-searching eyes,
Always unsatisfied,
Only ever somewhat watching anything other than the reachable nowhere.

I don't see anything in your eyes
And I think that's the point.

Famished,
Poor, and
Crawling
You exist,
Stomach curling
And stirring bones in its wake.
You exist but only over the horizon.

Searching for the furthest thing you can see,
Searching for what lies beyond that,
Looking for the grayed creatures above your touch
But
More than that,
Raining thoughts upon them like a curious god
Only just remembering
His own power,
His own creation--
Wondering how they're holding up away from you.

You miss them,
And you've been dying to see them.
Sir, we did not know this is your garden…
No…Sir, my brother wanted some flowers
and I said I would love them too

You see we were walking from the cottage
and my little brother ran across the fields
and I followed, Sir; and no, we were not able
to tell anyone; and my brother ran,
and he raised his hands across the fields
like the birds do, their wings across the skies
and I ran, and I forgot the distance
and the places
and then we sat down, tired and there was a brook
and we drank  some water
and then my brother saw the flowers across
on the other side
and he ran again and he wanted the flowers
He said he’d pick some for  Mamma,
some for our aunt
and that is how we came here;
and we love the flowers and the scent
and so I helped him, Sir…
no, we did not tell anyone we were coming
We don’t know where we are
Please Sir, do not look so angry
my brother is about to cry -
he cries when people are angry, and he is afraid
We will put the flowers back on the ground here
where it belongs, in your park, back on your land, Sir
Let us go now, Sir...we will go and
we promise not to come back ever again…
I will not let my brother come, nor will I
poem based on painting: “Two Children in a Park Landscape”; painting by Heinrich Lauenstein (1835-1910)
I’ve got my new sailor suit
my sailor suit
and I’ll  get on a ship
the biggest one on the oceans -
and I’ll sail away, sail away

Far to oceans on
the other side
I’ll sail in my ship
And my crew
they’ll steer us all
to distant lands
and lovely shores

We’ll see strange lands
and we’ll learn new games;
we’ll make new friends
and we’ll exchange gifts -
and we’ll sail away, sail away
with as many more ships
as want to follow

And then I ‘ll return
back home
and I’ll be on the prow
standing tall in my new sailor suit
And all those ashore will cry out aloud:
“Here comes our sailor
Here comes sailor Oskar
Clean and bright
in his sailor suit
as new as the day it was made”

I’ve got my new sailor suit
my sailor suit
and I’ll  get on a ship
the biggest one on the oceans -
and I’ll sail away, sail away
written to accompany the painting “Boy in sailor suit” by Heinrich Lauenstein, 1892 ; and photo of boy in “Sailor suit on a first day of school, April 1923” (private collection; image from Wikipedia)
So slow the morning wakes...

stretching ancient limbs
to once more touch the sky

it's voice found in birdsong and in bark
in babbling brook and breeze

it's beauty seen in every scene and scenic view

life arising from death
as fallen tree breaks down and finds itself
once more a part of the forest

home to insect and grub

fertiliser to his fellow woodland giants

as once more morning breaks
with stretching ancient limbs

to once more touch the sky.
The oak or redwood and all between
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