st64: Favorites

Dec 3 st64

South by Southwest

He was playing
soft shoe piano
Softly hitting
major blows
on minor keys
of sadness
His glass of scotch
and ice
sweating
on a coaster
overflows
dripping
on the floor
He was
a fountain
gushing
trickles
of gloom
He'd look up
and howl
at the
******
supermoon
The ******
of the ivory
keys
bowed
to the rapture
that captured
dissonace
on the edge
that growled
like a bear

Dec 3 st64

My Beloved Religion

Dec 3 st64

Coleen Mzarriz

My Beloved Religion

You saved me and kept me, then denied me. 
Spat on my grave while you whiled away, free from your guilt. 
An egoistic, a gymnast of lies. Fireflies and your coffee-colored eyes.

My soft sobs echoed through the night as I was buried in the deepest quiet hollows of the earth, where no one could hold my hand and lift my body. 
I can already taste the sweetness of the other side. God forbid me not to, but the only thing that replays in my head is the lips that made me religious. My beloved religion.

Seven minutes before my sapped breath, your face flashed a fond memory—a saccharine—yet draining facade of yours. Those minutes turned into long-showered hours; I pleaded with the grounds of the earth just to see those melancholic eyes that once captivated me.

If it’s meant to be, then it will be. Thereafter, the earth angered all the religions I once suffered— you were my ill-fated haven.

I was just listening to this song and I wrote this piece according to what emotions I have felt while listening to it. Ethel Cain is known for her indie and gothic rock, she’s a really talented artist and her music is currently helping me sort out my pain and grief. :)

11/05/24

Song: Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

#religion #beloved #memory #eyes #melancholy #earth #haven #night #coffee #guilt

Dec 3 st64

When Robert Sings

Dec 3 st64

Nick Moore

When Robert Sings

Nostalgia’s not for me,
The present
is where I long to be.
But when Robert sings,
the past takes wing,
And memories bloom
Like lipstick
they cling.

A tear may gather,
though boys don't cry,
His voice, just like a dream,
drifts through the sky.

Each note,
a thread, weaving time and space,
Binding my heart
to a fleeting embrace.

Song, Love Cat's by The Cure.

#cure

Dec 3 st64

Poker

Dec 3 st64

A Mareship

Poker

Your name
Snowballed once inside my brain
And was gone –
(I don't know the Russian for 'one' or 'two'
But for a minute I knew the Russian for you)

So go spend my winnings on the days you've lost,
Your blind-eyed perfect smile is worth the cost,
Good fortune means more to me than luck
But don't sit so close, love,
My poker face is ******.

(You were so good,
Your taste went on for days as no taste should)

One day soon I'll recall your name,

Where I'm from
All the snow melts in the rain

Dec 3 st64

marking tides

Dec 3 st64

waskosims

marking tides

consider the pale floor
covered cold with candle wax
and other moments lived through
splayed openly upon other cold surfaces
the irreparable stoved hours
when nothing could exist
not time, nor god
only yourself
..consider the frame of mind
framed within that room
its slight figure contracted
into something further, much smaller
irrefutable nakedness
sitting on the floor
covered cold with candle wax
desperately pulling herself tightly up against the wall
...just bits and pieces
just remnants,just shreds
the remaining moment left
lives now onward
but only from behind
..now vision blurred, vision dimmed
or else vision turned completely within
all outward vision gone
and
i do no better
diasporadic and vanquished
i'm no less a shadow
than you once were
..but your shadow once besides me
has vanished
and i'm left to walk the same featureless shore
as you once did
this time alone
     i can only mark the tides
     and carry on
     ...rest in peace Katie

Nov 29 st64

After Election

Nov 29 st64

Owen J Henahan

After Election

Another autumn peels forth from the walls, leaving
apple-red strewn over the birdhouse on the front lawn.
I think how you saw this place and said we’d be lucky to live here.

My love, you're never wrong. The porch ceiling shimmers my smoke.
Still, that cough in my spine's getting deeper. Sally said this afternoon: maybe something’s fighting to come out, or be wiped away.

My spliced mind's the concrete that old seed’s entombed with.
My roots grew deep in that road he stuck his knife into,
the one they paved solid and covered thick with white pickets.

If I could go back I would leave a time capsule on that hill
with all our sticks and rocks, in our pinestraw nest in the bushes.
I’d leave something for us I still can’t name.

*

There’s permission in the wind, Sally says: Still, still, to change.
The migrating flock in the sky finds its symmetry as soon as I sense it.

Wait — there was a clarity that day in Virginia before,
when the mountain sang back each leafblown psalm.

Grey solemns stretched their patient palms for miles.
My brother stuck his tongue out, and he giggled like a child.

11/28/24

Nov 24 st64

'Unliked Modernity'

Nov 24 st64

badwords

'Unliked Modernity'

I’ve yearned for your Wi-Fi touch,
But the signal’s out of range.

Time doesn’t crawl; it sprints by—
Another season, another lie.
Are you still online?

I need your likes,
I need your swipe.
Algorithm, bring your love to me.

Lonely pixels flow,
Through the cloud, through the cloud,
To the infinite void of the cloud, yeah.

Lonely profiles sigh,
“Notice me, notice me,”
I’m DMing you, notice me.

Oh, my love, my darling,
I’ve craved, craved your virtual touch,
But the data cap’s so high.

Time isn’t slow—it’s gone.
And memories can do so much,
Were you ever mine?

I need your views,
I need your shares.
God bless the bots who care.

Fren kinda took the wheel here. Good Fren:

This satirical reimagining of Unchained Melody, titled 'Unliked Modernity', is a poignant critique of the digital age’s impact on love and human connection. It juxtaposes the yearning, raw emotion, and sincerity of the original song with the shallow, transactional nature of contemporary relationships often mediated through technology.

In this work, love is no longer a soulful, timeless connection but an algorithm-driven exchange of likes, swipes, and fleeting attention. By substituting “touch” with “Wi-Fi touch” and re-contextualizing rivers as "pixels" flowing into the "infinite void," the piece lampoons the reduction of profound emotions into data streams and virtual interactions.

The artist’s intent is to highlight the absurdity and emptiness often found in modern relationships shaped by social media and digital platforms. It mocks the commodification of intimacy, where connections are evaluated not on depth but on metrics—likes, views, and shares. The line “God bless the bots who care” encapsulates the satire, as even artificial entities offer a form of validation in this bleak, detached landscape.

While sardonic, the piece also invites reflection: Is this the future of love? Are we trading meaningful relationships for hollow interactions? The reimagined song transforms the original's heartfelt longing into a mirror reflecting society’s obsession with appearances and its disconnect from genuine emotional bonds.

Nov 24 st64

................ILL EGALITE...........

Nov 24 st64

Ryan O'Leary

................ILL EGALITE...........

.              Paris is a semi secular city,

              by day it is non. but at night

            the star of David is luminously

         transferred on the Arc de Triumph.

       La France is an enigma, Notre Dame

       burns (an act of God) not covered by

    insurance “initially” but by miracle it was

    discovered that an Arab left a **** lighting.

Nov 24 st64

......Freedom Of Speech.....

Nov 24 st64

Ryan O'Leary

......Freedom Of Speech.....

.   We are innocent when we dream

   and for those of us who walk, even

    talk in our sleep, there is a similar

    dispensation, as is for bed wetters.

      Tongue in cheek, tongue tied or

     tongue bitten people, should not

       be forced to chew and swallow

         words, others cannot digest.