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Ines Rose Jul 2018
There is a bird on my window sill

So indecisive, sitting still

She could have been up on that tree

Instead, she came and talked to me

“Oh pretty girl you know things well

So tell me which one would be swell

To sing for a crowd that isn’t there

Or to die for a crowd that doesn’t care?”

I didn’t know quite what to say

And so the bird, she flew away
An old one I dug up from the archives circa 2012-2013.
Not sure where I was going with this but here it is.
Thoughts?
Ebony Apr 2018
Bite the bullet already!
Chew it, swallow it, make it you.
Embed the gunpowder in your bowel.
Dissolve the shell in your acids.
Eat the bullet already!
Dig your spoon into your bowl.
Bring the bullets to your mouth.
Wiggle the spoon to dislodge the milk.
You're lactose sensitive!
Buy some lactose free milk for once.
You can't keep having cow's milk
With your bullets in the morning.
Dylan McFadden Apr 2018
Welcome to
The theater stage,

          Where we are
          Made of dreams

Just acting out
The scenes of life,

          With laughs, and cries,
          And screams

Until the final
Curtain call,

          When we will
          Take our bow

And wonder what
‘Twas all about,

          With no one
          In the crowd...

.
Inspired by Albert Camus' "actor" in his book The Myth of Sisyphus.
Akemi Feb 2018
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.

Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the

In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.

i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery

THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk

THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS

Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.

the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
In this catastrophically worthless point of my life I find myself intersected by my failure to sustain a relationship, my alienation from left-wing collective politics, and my consumption of Faulkner and Ligotti, unto the birth of self-destructive pessimism.
Josh Jul 2017
I am a philosopher
Of folly
An astronomer
Of stars I dream
Into the sky
A painter, in the colours
Of existence
I am a dreamer
Dreaming into the void
I am human
Andrew Crawford Jul 2017
[Cat's Cradle (2nd Draft)]

Nothing greater than memory's patient nature
favors or succumbs to braving danger.
Whole hearted, half mast; a cat's cradle
wavering against a wagered anger,
finding harbor in explained behavior.
Painful presence tapered, later safer,
not enough for neighbors
and layers of paper strangers;
flickers framework, fainter.
Yet love's determination;
sorrow's single, soulful, saviour.
Indefinite by language
but the purest light's purveyor.
Saint and angel, arms and anchor,
though like snow, still dissipates to vapor.
Vague, but real; remembering, remainder
in wake of torturous erasure.
Never lost as love lasts long,
lingering through life and labor;
wild hearts, though hesitant,
still taught and tempered, tamer.
As portraits and their painters,
special moments froze in graver day's reclaimer;
recollected and replayed,
as something simply savored.
Unadalterated, understood,
the depths of what became here;
indulgence for abstainer-
dead but dear, dreams
shimmering for starlit aimer.
I had to put my cat Jynx to sleep in the afternoon on august 11th, 2017, five days before my 25th birthday and six before I wanted to celebrate his, unofficially (because the day after mine just do happens to be black cat appreciation day), but even after writing the following, still had three wonderful weeks with him in his best health and spirits before I finally did have to say goodbye.


"I hate that I'm already writing this before knowing for sure what has to happen like I'm assuming the worst, but at this point everything has pointed towards my having to put him down when I take him to the vet at noon tomorrow. Everyone I've talked to about it either says the same thing or won't risk saying anything contrary at the probability of false hope, it seems. And realistically, if it's what it seems to be and his kidneys are or have deteriorated, then all that can be done would be slowing it down and prolonging his suffering, which anything hopeful anyone has said either involves that, or seems like something else entirely. At this point he's been dehydrated, not eating or drinking much (and progressively less, though I've found a few ways to get him to do both), been lethargic and much less responsive, sleeping a lot but seems restless, hasn't been puking but definitely seems to be getting sicker and probably will be soon. Im not just prescribing to the worst possibility, I just couldn't bear to drag out something that'll just cause more pain for him than if it were able to be made easier, if still inevitable based on his condition when I bring him in.

But aside from the obvious sickness, hes still entirely himself enough to purr every time I talk to him and slowly close his eyes as cats also smile, stare at me in between sleeping when he opens his eyes before I've even noticed, picked his spot on the futon right next to where rose and I already were and didn't choose to withdraw, and finds some degree of comfort and trust in wanting to stay by my side in that.

But if anything were to make me believe in any conception of god, it would be my cat. He was the runt of his litter and always stayed somewhat skittish by nature, but after my stepmom moved in with her dog and cats, chose to stay with and love me, going so far as to constantly follow me around my parents house always, and as skittish as he's always been, had never acted or tried as though he wanted to flee or run away in any ways but found comfort in retreat and especially with me, anytime he'd been scared so far as hugging me when I held him. And for so long now, he'd become less afraid and more trusting and loving towards my friends, and eventually completely trusting. To see that sweet center in his eyes when he looks at me, or the adoration in how he looks at me.

And I could never articulate the degree of which he'd done the same for me. Having had him since I was 9, he was my friend before I'd ever even made any human friends, and no matter how lonely I'd been through all the years, months, days, hours, I was never really alone, and always had someone who loved and missed me the most when I was gone. Through the years of being a painfully lonely kid, to moving and being a socially isolated adult, he was the one constant friend through every manner of alienation and sadness, no matter the circumstance. He was one of the two reasons why I felt like I could never **** myself, and by extension why I no longer want to.

I couldn't be happier to have been able to make him feel as happy, loved, and comfortable as possible always, enough to have known he felt that way through expressing it constantly. I only want him to be at rest and know this in his last moments as himself, as the same sort of comfort he needs now more than ever and as a final respect for him as his caretaker, too. I don't mean to just prescribe to the worst, but he's by far the best friend I've ever had and the most pure sort of love I've ever known, and in this is by magnitudes both the worst and best sort of pain I've ever felt, pretty significantly. But if I have to put him down tomorrow or don't, this will be no less relevant and also a major deciding factor in the possibility of having to watch him deteriorate and decline slower instead, as a final respect and act of comfort for towards him."
Josh Jul 2017
I consider myself fortunate, that I discovered absurdism at eighteen. It seems to me, one of those things, discovered in old age when you wish then, you could go back and do all differently. I don't have that, I am free to live the absurd life, maybe I will feel I should have lived otherwise, when I am old. But absurdism makes sense, for right now. I've tried religion, I was scapegoating, putting my problems onto a deity rather than taking responsibility. I suppose, I must live. And we will see.
Josh Jul 2017
Camus asked, his question
A cup of coffee
Or death?
Because life has no meaning
So the absurdists said
These actions are equal
They mean as much as you decide
So why choose death
I guess its saying
It's no more or less
Than life

So every day
When I wake
If I'm feeling, like i normally do
I have a cup of coffee
Because coffee burns
It is bitter
Truthfully though
It's over quicker
Than a noose
And why
Should I
Die?

When the universe
Will not
Cry
For me
Another insignificant
Human life
To fork no lightning
And to vainly
Oh so vainly
Rage, as Thomas said
Against the dying of the light

So instead
I strive
To be free of my darkness
And to live free
Live a life so meaningless
Yet filled with beauty
This I will do.
Absurdist ramblings
Josh Jul 2017
I often stare off, into space
Like I'm thinking, intensely
But I'm just musing
On the concept
Of, me
The genetic flaws
Chromosomes
That make my body
My home
This vessel
To contain, my essence
The childhood impressions
That shaped
And changed, my essence
Into what, it is today
And I think
Of containment
I am an essence
Thus contained
Inside this body of mine
And this body, is contained
In these four walls
Most of all, I am
Contained, held, constrained
By my lack of belief
In my own infinity
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