Jan 2017
The grey
Weeping hill breathes heavy for
A winter cloud
Inside heated houses
Your hair rests just behind your shoulders,
Tucked around the ear for safe measure while
The cold hill looks for its instrument
Every garden has been paved for gasoline structures
The mighty rose has
Collapsed
I and you
Clean the kitchen metal repeatedly
Where is the song to
Be hymned from
Your desolate crow eyed hill
It finds the instrument beneath frozen soil
Where a pure oak grows for
April perils
We recite lullabies to Angels already woken
& write pollen poems for the white and trepid wood
Rats feel holy in New York where a carnival of stone encircles their tufts
******* glimpsed in the crack of
Yellow blinds
a versed blonde will recount across the street
Somethin' out of "Rear Window"
Minus the broken leg
"Romanticism is the emphasized or passionately overblown image or feeling in art or as emotional expression. Romantic art emphasizes reality and attempts at imitating the divine. We have idealized love as being more than it is as a means to cope with the reality in which love isnt as special as we have blown it up to be-
-this unreachable expectation we place on the human experience is combatted by the romantic which broadens our distance between the reality of our perceptions and experiences VS the romantic ideal. It draws attention to its own lacking"
-
This is the palace for naked ghosts.
A time of enticement has passed
To make room for Dadaism
& a lackluser sensibility for medicine instructions
I have become haunted and naive
With frequent prophetic snapshot dreams
Detailing crimson hotels where the hardwood floor is sinking with rot
& past loves appear and try to
Converse with me as my legs shake
The kaleidoscopic halls sweat with
An earthly pressure
"I wanted to apologize for hurting you"
"I appreciate that dear but we are sinking
We need to go"
"No no listen to me!"
(Here come the saxophones
And rhapsodic lights tearing this noctuary down)
She has left
We are causing the silence
(tragedy is the divine and enamoured image)
Another flash of color underside of
The stairwell in my hotel
(DREAM #2)
A neighborhood follows itself quietly
With garage sales & sleeping cupids,
A man drives down the sky
With his dog on his lap smiling, carrier in the backseat
& piano is reintroduced just in time for the post office to go on strike
..And I took to violet rooms with perplexing
Polka dotted floors & black and white &
worn-down coffee table & I have a headache & someone smells like karaoke sounds/
The sunset company thru the window is
A nice arrangement despite this,
Frank O'Hara is reading Ode to Joy in my head.
.............
-as being sensual, orgiastic and purely relating to the destruction of the self as means to experience a complete lack of individuation. A loss of reality and a more cosmic and expansive transcendentalism, experienced without the desire to have more than itself. Its a state of being which exists outside of the longing for something better
(relating to "The Birth of Tragedy")
...........
(DREAM #3)
Exotic spaces
With several
simultaneous heart attacks
The ambulance is late
A harp is one floor below us
It doesn't matter now
Do not worry for the director of
This scene has also died
A valley of copious harmonials
Waits for us
The feeling is easy
...........
Suddenly
I am sprouting from the icy hilltop
Instrument in hand
We can stop with our obsession for cleanliness
I am unsure whether I am still asleep
"Share the complete pleasure in mere appearance and in seeing, yet at the same time he negates this pleasure and finds a still higher satisfaction in the destruction of the visible world of mere appearance"
The philosopher's essays continue !
Day's intensity
thrills the valley to living
Without wine or prayer
I can swallow a raindrop & laugh
Having never desired the silence
Of dust
Here we dance in Dionysian
Ecstasy
Jewelled with feathers
Untouched
It's okay to be afraid of snow
And thank you/
We are all elusive at heart
Weeping hill breathes heavy for
A winter cloud
Inside heated houses
Your hair rests just behind your shoulders,
Tucked around the ear for safe measure while
The cold hill looks for its instrument
Every garden has been paved for gasoline structures
The mighty rose has
Collapsed
I and you
Clean the kitchen metal repeatedly
Where is the song to
Be hymned from
Your desolate crow eyed hill
It finds the instrument beneath frozen soil
Where a pure oak grows for
April perils
We recite lullabies to Angels already woken
& write pollen poems for the white and trepid wood
Rats feel holy in New York where a carnival of stone encircles their tufts
******* glimpsed in the crack of
Yellow blinds
a versed blonde will recount across the street
Somethin' out of "Rear Window"
Minus the broken leg
"Romanticism is the emphasized or passionately overblown image or feeling in art or as emotional expression. Romantic art emphasizes reality and attempts at imitating the divine. We have idealized love as being more than it is as a means to cope with the reality in which love isnt as special as we have blown it up to be-
-this unreachable expectation we place on the human experience is combatted by the romantic which broadens our distance between the reality of our perceptions and experiences VS the romantic ideal. It draws attention to its own lacking"
-
This is the palace for naked ghosts.
A time of enticement has passed
To make room for Dadaism
& a lackluser sensibility for medicine instructions
I have become haunted and naive
With frequent prophetic snapshot dreams
Detailing crimson hotels where the hardwood floor is sinking with rot
& past loves appear and try to
Converse with me as my legs shake
The kaleidoscopic halls sweat with
An earthly pressure
"I wanted to apologize for hurting you"
"I appreciate that dear but we are sinking
We need to go"
"No no listen to me!"
(Here come the saxophones
And rhapsodic lights tearing this noctuary down)
She has left
We are causing the silence
(tragedy is the divine and enamoured image)
Another flash of color underside of
The stairwell in my hotel
(DREAM #2)
A neighborhood follows itself quietly
With garage sales & sleeping cupids,
A man drives down the sky
With his dog on his lap smiling, carrier in the backseat
& piano is reintroduced just in time for the post office to go on strike
..And I took to violet rooms with perplexing
Polka dotted floors & black and white &
worn-down coffee table & I have a headache & someone smells like karaoke sounds/
The sunset company thru the window is
A nice arrangement despite this,
Frank O'Hara is reading Ode to Joy in my head.
.............
-as being sensual, orgiastic and purely relating to the destruction of the self as means to experience a complete lack of individuation. A loss of reality and a more cosmic and expansive transcendentalism, experienced without the desire to have more than itself. Its a state of being which exists outside of the longing for something better
(relating to "The Birth of Tragedy")
...........
(DREAM #3)
Exotic spaces
With several
simultaneous heart attacks
The ambulance is late
A harp is one floor below us
It doesn't matter now
Do not worry for the director of
This scene has also died
A valley of copious harmonials
Waits for us
The feeling is easy
...........
Suddenly
I am sprouting from the icy hilltop
Instrument in hand
We can stop with our obsession for cleanliness
I am unsure whether I am still asleep
"Share the complete pleasure in mere appearance and in seeing, yet at the same time he negates this pleasure and finds a still higher satisfaction in the destruction of the visible world of mere appearance"
The philosopher's essays continue !
Day's intensity
thrills the valley to living
Without wine or prayer
I can swallow a raindrop & laugh
Having never desired the silence
Of dust
Here we dance in Dionysian
Ecstasy
Jewelled with feathers
Untouched
It's okay to be afraid of snow
And thank you/
We are all elusive at heart
