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all mirrors serve a purpose
set me reverse a mean law
all mean men serve a ream list
send me reverse no meme law
all mean ones serve a reed nest
send me reverse no meme law
all mean ones serve a reed nest
poetry instruction:
you will need audio software capable of reversing audio, like audacity.
think of a sentence, phrase, or other series of words.
record this slowly, and reverse the audio.
transcribe what you hear as close to existing words as possible.
record your transcription and reverse that, transcribe again, and repeat as much as you like or until you reach an equilibrium.
Oculi Oct 4
While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The black tar envelops my unmanly sigh
A cigarette in the moon's light with a stranger
And the howling of an unsightly beast

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The fog obscures everything in sight
I'm questioning the night sky on its numbers
The forest looks in disgust and curiosity

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
I'm bleeding out, I'm bleeding out
While plucking feathers, my ear drum pops
I say my goodbye and flap my bare wings

An ornate door leads to the mausoleum
A huge crack showing the entrance of grave robbers
The youths wander inside to belittle their ancestors
And my ballad softly floats above the ground

While plucking feathers, while plucking feathers
The young man rests near his anvil
Opening his book of poetry on an empty page
Only to find the blood of the martyr seeping

While plucking my feathers
Will the youth remember my name?
Will I be forgotten as a nameless man?
Or will I be the poet of the next century?

Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!
Pluck my feathers or don't!

But do not forget me and the steps which I took
Do not forget my babbling, my bish and my bosch
Do not forget my gifts, you, receiver of blessing
Pluck them rhythmically, slave, rhythmically

My feather falls, slowly to the ground
It is the last of its kind
And as my breaths draw to a close
The children laugh gleefully
Unknowing the end is near
Extinction on my name once and for all
Pluck my feathers no more, slave,
I've just blood to give.
Ars poetica.
Di Verce Sep 20
Fear of lack limits us more than not accepting limits does.

Our FOMO creates walls.

More brain cells must be grown, english needs an upgrade from inside its limits!

Oexperiment! Where?? connect zee dots hombre
Fore!
It's evening. Everything is dark beyond my windows. The music starts to play, and I close my eyes.



The silken touch of a cloth
I haven't felt it since my childhood
Vaguely registers in my mind
Fingertips still roaming
Still trying to find
The crack in my hull
The fissure in my seams

There's a corner of my book
That digs into my hip
I only move it so I can go deeper
Into these blackened depths
I turn off the lights
So I can be one with the night
Then I'm alone in the darkness
With the fur of my blanket
Rushing over my feet

Dogs howl
Inside or out
I do not know
I rest my head back
And sag into the pillows
To close my eyes
Is to break away from reality
Left only with the stains of the light
Painted on the backs of my eyelids
To convince me
That I'm really alive



The music ends. My eyes have been open for a while now, but I'm still not sure if I can see.
Trout Sep 6
I am a console of good despair
And I only want to have you
No matter what the statutes
Bring me a bottle to capture air
But the room is full of sidewalks
I would rather be deadbolt

I wouldn’t ever remorse you just
To be satisfied with my life
I am not so deep in pride
That’s the way I like to think it but
There are all these things that I want
That I have never begot

Ten cigarettes in the atmosphere
There’s a lightbulb in the ballroom
The fixture sprays its values
Focus the times, nothing’s sacred here
Ridiculous, all these steps
It takes to get to world war
Culture is something unique to man
Sometimes I wish we’d go back
Anthropocentric anthrax
Now *** is something you have to learn
There’s no more animal instincts
You better know your manners

There’s this one person I want to see
Everything that I ever do
But forget some things in front of you

The fear, fear, the total fear
Trout Sep 4
Change your numbers for the fans
Lose a game it’s not so bad
Jumping sneakers cut to the chase
Andamanda pace the pace
Fill a fill a fill a fill
Bells are ringing keep it still
Towels wringing water spills
Smelly water in my mouth
It’s addictive get it out
Give me sickness trauma now
I am listening, open your mouth
What I said was not the truth
Open laughter paints the room
Invisibility, cage and broom

My mystic operation is a chance
An aberration for a living hand
The stripey lies all correlate with tears
A goose inside my foot i want to sear.
I want to itch and pray for mom my god
It’s what she wants it’s what she wants to hog
Her box is two-dimensional inside
My instincts tell me no no no no hide
Is this the sound of mouth and spit and chew?
It wants to beat, it’s serenading you.
Right now the eyes are glaring to the key
Don’t pick it up, it leads to fantasy

Three minutes till the castle breaks my ear.
Go home. Go home. Go home.
And And And And This And That
ThThThThS
End of sadness - Over - Time
Trout Sep 4
So it’s the time we will get together
It’s rebellious cuticle education
Don’t know why they said
“We are part of a great cosmic dance”
Surrender to future and make me feel okay

Amplify the taboo
Search for polished rooms
It’s a morphogenetic thing
My quotation indeed
Smile you gorgeous bean
Go back home to remind yourself that
You are beautiful wherever you stand
“I am talking about love.”
Trout Sep 4
My side is a candle that cannot be renewed
And I called it famous tillandsia
A baby blue
Fainting miracles to blame
Let the stakes all stir the eye
The prophecy is measured towards the sky
The tiny bible is so wild
The music on the floor is what I came for

A fantasy until torments come to life
It’s a funky feeling to hear
A grand illusion
With a pleasure inside you
An absorbent and multiply
A fish that melts the eye
A top hat and a quantum leap, it’s really weird
It’s a kind duration

With the cards played over
Gone tomorrow and seldom seize the day
Prophecies they fail you or
Imitate you
Seven dividends
And a bandit would sell you before anything ever gets in (rumbling pages)
Animosity selling frauds and plaster all is felled in
"THE BREAKDOWN COMES WHEN YOU STOP CONTROLLING YOURSELF / AND WANT THE RELEASE OF A BLOODBATH" - JENNY HOLZER

I. Vanitas Vanitatum
[The stage is set: a paper moon against a starless, greyscale sky. GINSBERG howls. He's nostalgic for all he'd assumed was forgotten; desperate to never recall it again. His numbered days are manufactured: ELIOT reclines, watching the world end.]

CHORUS OF PROPHETS:
In our own sins we trusted,
both in essence and in nature.
Hell was never an inferno:
it is an echo chamber.

We have nothing (-- we have nothing --)
but maxims and jumbled alphabets
and lightly-sparkling bitterness
when the cork pops feebly from the bottle;
(-- nothing! --) dripping saltine hate.

We've lived large and small, been tiny and tall;
always filling too much space in a too-big room
where our presence is ironically scarce.
There is nothing for you here,
bar vacant lungs and river water --
take a breath and join us
                               in sinking to
                                            (sinking!) the
                                               (sinking!) bottom
                                                  (sinking­,) of
                                                        (sinki­ng...) the
                                                             ­              Styx.

II. Et Omnia Vanitas
[Enter PLATH, SEXTON, WOOLF, BYRON, DICKINSON and VARIOUS PHARMACEUTICAL BRAND REPRESENTATIVES.]

You know not what you could be
but merely what you are
and that alone is traumatic enough.
Taste it, a slice at a time:

the disillusionment from having raised your hopes beyond rotting in the soil,
the anger upon realising this was your own fault and all you want to do is scream,
the bargaining, the denial, the scream (you were not born to live). The gradual processing. The scream!
Scream at the moon and scream at the walls and scream into pillows and howl and wail and hack away at the flesh and screech until plastic surroundings melt and it is only you and the void you willed upon yourself.

III. Epitaph (What Now?)
[A white-fur baby seal is camouflaged upon the ice
and, eyes closed, fools itself into thinking it survived.]

What happens next is no act of evil:
this is survival of the fittest.
We are bottom-rung of the food chain
and starving predators need to eat.

[We lick the ground and taste defeat.]

Ruby poppies reach heavenward --
small birds take their maiden flights.
I shrivel, putrid in the soil,
in the winter of my life.
pretentious *******, slash wallowing in my losses. sometimes feeling things is nice. for the most part, it's ******* ****
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