Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
A Simillacrum Aug 15
Come, voice, back from the original black
Ness, Foot, Yankee Jim
I need a sign from a quasi mind not my own
Fiefallu dendress mazaiyato

Call.
Answer.

All
my answers
lead to nothing
absolute.

Call. Answer me.
I'll
answer you.

Not a compulsion
Never intended, just

Fiefallu dendress true.
Ken Rafiñan May 2018
In intimate spaces we co-create confessions
whispered
then
written
on the walls of our throats.

Cryptic messages
we encode and decode
in a language lied about
as it lays around in suggestive shapes
and gets mistaken as love:
the fatal distraction that traffics erratically in abstractions.

Together, the intricate taxonomy of hegemony that
suppresses,
oppresses,
and represses—
see…—
slices us ever so slightly
making microtears on the tender insides of our wrists.

And so we get by ******* ourselves with their bodies,
those sensual others,
each on a sin committed—no commitment.

Or so we like to tease and appease our precious palates.

Fleshing out a casual cling,
or an undefined thing,
that’s a little less attached
and much more detached.

Every day lived on the level of the supraficial: an anthology of escapist parodies—
our idle hours taken witnessing the weaponization of the human condition.

Asymmetrical power relations infect the non-linear ecology of digital space;
a pandemic of aesthetic proportions—the bourgeoisie fixation.

Acknowledge or pretend—
these are the representative orientations of the privileged.

The plural fluidity of a have-not culture transmitted—
processual, yet patterned—
a shaky stance while standing on shifting ground.

My only wish is for ideas and egos to be as they are: warm: malleable to the motions and outcomes of expansion and contraction.

We are a productive catatonia personified and manifested.

These are the semiotics of a soon-to-be-irrelevant decay.
This is history’s obsession with cyclical pragmatics. Eventually, a submission the psychotic use of political narcotics. The constant critique, endless in its scope, is our continuous expansion in the realm of possibilities.

In time, we will become as primitive as our ancestors.
NURUL AMALIA Aug 2017
aku mencoba memahami
setiap isyarat yang terbentuk
menerjemahkan tanda- tanda
pada tiap tiap elemen yang ada
menafsirkan tak semudah itu
teoripun wajib diacu

belum, aku harus menyelam lebih dalam
ini belum cukup untukku
aku masih haus akan pengertian
bagaimana ini bisa?
bagaimana itu bisa?
akupun masih terus menggali
untuk ku tuai jawaban

semua punya maksud dibelakangnya
warna, gerak, ujaran, tulisan
bahkan titik dan garis
aku mencari arti dalam arti
mengupas tanda didalam tanda

ini tentang makhluk berbahasa
aku, bahkan tiap insan punya identitas
ada makna yang harus kusampaikan
ada arti yang harus dipahami
aku memang bukan ahli
tapi ku mau pelajari
untuk para pecinta semiotics, yang suka dengan tanda tanda yang butuh pemahaman atau penafsiran dalam perspektif yang lain, sama halnya menerjemahkan cinta yang mendekat padamu, hati hatilah kamu akan sedikit bingung mengartikannya
Eilis Ni Eidhin Dec 2015
Words are like birds
Some more beautiful
Some impossible to catch

They fly into the sky
They are wonderful
There is no match

They say words make us us
They say they say

— The End —