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Norbert Tasev Jun 23
It is dangerous to investigate with suspicion not only the small, seemingly insignificant bagatelle secrets of the Universe - but also to observe from the secret corner of the eyes the apparent tricks of the present Reality as if nothing had happened. Blind luck can escape from the hands of a person who has started to get holes at any time; the momentary joy and happiness are so imperceptible, barely perceptible, like some strange, inexplicable series of states.

As soon as a person meets an individual who seems to many people, it is better to observe everything in detail; from the culture of debate to the logically constructed coordinate systems of reason. "Some" who are still driven from within by the greedy, visceral career appetite will fall into fertile traps, to spend more and more - hopefully - at the expense of others. Why did we have to experience that even the false sincerity of love, affection, and feelings can be replaced at any time, can be put into Procrustean beds?!

Increasingly, inevitable decades of unstable sandcastles may await us, which have neither end nor length, because in a somewhat nightmare-like way, one can imagine that one is spitting in one's face every second, and the universal **** is now less and less able to be wiped away. One always overdoes it, but at the same time pushes the degrees of misunderstanding too far, because the outside world no longer reacts to it as it should; empathy, tolerance, solidarity - I say so - have all degenerated into meaningless, shallow words. Instead of providing help, general A grimace turned into a raised eyebrow.

The smell of coffee makes you feel nauseous and nauseous, like it's another lice day that you have to start somehow!
It was impaired:
The thread between thought and mouth.
Is it nature or nurture?
  A crucified vulture
    Hung like a basketball

I watched it happen:
  Not loud, not sudden,
  But like sand slipping through clenched fingers.

This still fascinates me:
One’s ability to lose speech.
What's the antonym for "prolix"?
rick Jun 19
I watch her apply creams and lotions to her face through the steamed glass of the shower door before lathering, rinsing off and stepping out.

she greets me at the bathmat with a towel,
then towels me off and flashes me the most
beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I smile back,
feeling more understood and less misconstrued as she pats and wipes the beads of water away.

it’s moments like these that can make a man
crumble into submission, capturing the quick
glimpses of the joy and the gentle peace from
another beautiful soul when there’s so much
terror, fame & corruption reigning down in
this misbegotten world.

we stand there facing one another

we don’t have to be anybody
we don’t have to be anyplace
we don’t have to worry about anything
we can just simply enjoy each other’s company

looking deep into the eyes
she caresses my beard
she understands me
she takes care of me

& it’s nice to be taken of
especially after a lifetime
of taking care of yourself

I stand there feeling the good times pass
as she dries my ***** with this
lucratively warm towel.
first poem I wrote about my Vietnamese lady friend
Sometimes I have to remind myself what a monolith is:
  A slab.
  A structure too heavy to argue with.

It doesn’t blink.
It doesn’t beg.
It just stands.

I am not one.
But I pretend.
  I straighten my back,
  Hold my breath,
  And let people leave fingerprints
  On something they think won’t break.

But I crack,
  Only where no one sees.
Not like stone,
  But like anything that remembers being softer.

Sometimes I have to remind myself what a monolith is:
  Unmoving,
    Unmoved,
      Unreal.
As a musician, I am also a performer. Whether I am any good at it is up to debate.
A pair of glasses, shattered,
On the floor of a room that remembers nothing.
They weren’t mine, but I miss them anyway.
No one ever claimed what they left behind.

There was no sound,
Just the cold shape in the corner.
A chair pulled slightly back,
As if someone thought twice, then disappeared.

Dust settled like it had been listening.
I traced something into the glass with my finger.
A name? A date?
It didn’t stay long.

There are things I meant to say.
And one thing I never should have.
A hand I almost reached for, I shot in the dark.
A book for all, a book for none.
I wrote this one about nostalgia, but not the warm kind.
I woke up under the sun/in my throat/in a prison cell/on someone else’s bed.
The mirror said hello/goodbye/nothing/my name.
I brushed my teeth/stared at my reflection/spoke to the sink/bled a little.

She was waiting in my bed/on my roof/in my mailbox/not at all.
She said: I missed you/I made you/I warned you/I’m not real.
I said: Me too/I know/I’m sorry/Who am I?

I put on my coat/face-mask/body/new name.
Went outside/stayed inside/went sideways.
The street looked like a dream/a crime scene/a question mark/my old bedroom.

Someone grabbed my wrist/my leg/my shadow/nothing.
They asked: “Did you mean it?”
And I said: Yes/No/What did I say?/Who’s asking?
A “Choose Your Own Adventure”-inspired poem.
When I sat at my laptop one day, I heard my windows flip out. They weren’t happy with their salary.
  “Ours is too high! Give us less!”
  “Yeah, you’re spoiling us!”

I went on with my everyday tasks, however, I told myself:
  “Wait, why would I give them a salary, even?”

So I stopped paying them for at least 6 hours.

The next day, they were cloudy.

I said:
  “Where’s the sunlight?”

They responded:
  “Our salary is too low! Give more!”

I was, to be fair, extremely confused, yet it made sense. I opened a window halfway, and they groaned. I sprayed them with glass cleaner, and they wept.

I said:
  “Why do you always complain?”

The windows finally opened themselves, slowly, and said something that opened my eyes:
  “Because labor with no meaning is torture.”

Lazy *******.
If laziness had legs, it’d still ask to be carried.
You did this to yourself
Acting so tough
Crash the sky, it’s called corrosion
“Spread my wings and cut them off!”

Where is your gown?
What comes up will come down

So tall
Yet so fragile
So empty inside
And then it all shattered…

Where is your gown?
What comes up will come down

It was you
Why did you do it
For me?
This poem is about a person watching someone they care about collapse. Planning to make a song using this poem.
rick Jun 12
these people

I can’t see them anymore
I don’t want to see them anymore
I have no desire to see them anymore

I never think about
phoning them or
messaging them or
stopping by to say “hi.”

I don’t care about
what’s happening
in their lives or
who they’re dating
or what memories
we had together

yet they insist, they demand
that I visit them
that I sit down with them
that I talk about nothing important
with them

and I can’t say no

because I know how it feels:

during those times,
when I was down and out
and needed someone
to turn to, to talk to
but there was no one around
I felt the terror & the darkness
constricting my cold and lonely heart
as all the vitality and connection was draining
from my ventricles of ire
like blood from a stone

and so much of that
over a lengthy period of time
has made me a lot stronger,
more independent from people
and maybe even borderline aloof
from all human interaction

I no longer need them
I no longer want them around

but I can’t let anyone
feel that same way
that I felt

so long ago.

pitiful.
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