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Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
Does each of us
see the universe
from our own perspective?
If so,
does each of us
live in our own perspective-universe?
If so,
is objectivity impossible
and only subjectivity happening?
If so,
to achieve a cooperative society
does each of us
have to empathise
with each other's
unique perspective-universe?
Anderson M Mar 2018
The stars are always in disarray
But at the mere thought of you they sashay
Before you twinkling and mingling in collective merriment.
How you whip up this loyal admiration is a fascination as ancient
As yesterday’s headlines. The sun wondrously
In isolation marvels at your brilliance that clearly
Manifests as your countenance. You thrive
On immortality’s soul as each nerve
On your body is as ageless as the sun.
You’re full of cheer and so much fun.
Yours is an incomparable beauty
My lovely and charming cutie.
A celestial masterpiece you are
Your eccentricity spreading wide and far.
Beauty's in the eye of the beholder.
Piotr Sordyl Jul 2017
Whenever one lays their eyes upon us,
What is perceived is something that exists
Only at the peripheries of their mind, while
Things that makes us, us, are the opposite.

One would gasp in awe at someone's beauty,
Shiver in excitement about their courage and might,
Imagine countless friends and lovers they have;
How success is their husband and joy is their wife.

Surely, for them, talent blossoms like a flowers,
And everyone knows when and why they laugh, and joins;
And if they ever cry(why would they at all?),
More than one soothing arm awaits their call.

While what is unseen lurks beneath beholder's delusions,
Who wants to see what one envies most and searches for
In oneself in vain. As how they see us is the opposite
of us, true, but the opposite of themselves at the time as well.
I lay here waiting in my skin for the tearing of the membrane
that seperates this world from the next one and I let myself
get carried along by a fresh stream of reasoning until I
flare up in the dark like a new species of amoeba

this balancing and spinning around on an atom and just not
falling off it becomes boring at times and maybe because of that
sporules once landed here to grant us the possibility
of another possibility

I lay here waiting and I manage not to drown just like only
an almost newborn baby can and being born in 1983
means nothing here in the swelling infinity
of the abnormal

my skin has been waiting for new atmospheres for decades
and the touch of unknown forms makes me shudder with
raw impervious happiness because invisible energy
effervesces alongside my arms and the eyes in my skull
could be anyone’s right now

suddenly the waiting is forgotten and I wallow myself
in the gathered fairy tales of every soul that preceded me
carelessly astonished and uncapable of understanding
the seriousness of this absurd life

inside me irrational poetry dances
like a tribe jumping around a bonfire

outside the universe
dances her own eternity
round and round
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Met Kali today on a descending escalator at the Galleria. Her six arms juggled assorted shopping bags, purse, cell phone, three children, and a fourth in a stroller clearly not hers. I stepped down in front to help balance her baby buggy. No sooner had I reached out for the rubber bumper that I felt lash of her tongue against my cheek. It was hot and frothy, smelled like a tall, non-fat  latte with caramel drizzle, and quickly wrung itself around my neck. I was soon dangling from the precipice of an oversized potted fern where I had been perched by my assailant, high above the food court. I dangled dangerously as I saw chinks of chain giving way. The glass ceiling was begining to crack and about to cave in on me. I swung out and with all agility I could muster, landed in the Bagel Nosh's assorted schmears. Hisses and jeers decried. An angry mob of mothers chased me to the nearest exit. I almost didn't make it out alive.
Though your intention may be innocent, all is subjective and may be misconstrued.
Akemi Feb 2016
Dead bee
The moss grows round it
Water spray
Purify it
Pest is relative
Coming from where?
The cat stretches
Common sense
Rock bottom
Delve deeper, come on
There’s no soul here
Empty it out
Start again
Transcend yourself
Transcend transcendence
So yeah, there was a gardener
Wielding a pressure blaster
Which ripped the moss from its roots
The sun peaked
And the moss turned dust
Because the aesthetics of the pavement
Supersede existence
Who the **** cares?
Dead bee on the pavement
Blast it into the bushes
It depresses the school children
A hedgehog rots in the gutter
Flies lay eggs in its flesh
And create a home
Isn’t that beautiful?
What the **** did the moss get?
“China would have done this in a day”
My father says
Watching road workers rip apart asphalt
“It’s quite nice, though”
Looking into the concrete river
As mayflies hatch deformed
Due to the heat from the channel
Half the students stare at their toes
Wishing they were cuter
Because narcissism has become the new desire
Things are rotting everywhere
But we pretend they’re normal
**** man, rock bottom
The children pick up the bees
And stick them in their mouths
Until the moss completely coats their hearts
5:10pm, February 26th 2016

some philosophers believe utopia to be a place without suffering
all beings severed from pain
it sounds awful
Akemi Oct 2015
No, that’s not how it goes.
Start again.
Do you remember the tree on the lake?
It was a forest.
No, it was black, like tar. It tasted like broken glass.
I remember the incense on the drapes.
Yes. It clung to our clothes.
You cried.
No, I smiled.
You cried smiling.
I hate it when this happens.
What happens?
You know?
Um. Sometimes it feels like the world is too crowded with words. Like it's too dense to speak.
Like there’s something in the air that pushes against my throat.
There was a black dog, just then.
Outside. It’s gone now. Sorry. Start again.
Do you remember the tree on the lake?
There was a raven.
It was black like tar.
It caught a worm once.
Ravens don’t eat worms.
Yeah. It just sat there, with the worm in its beak. The worm squirmed, wrapping itself round the beak, over and over.
Is that why you were crying?
It wouldn’t stop. It kept going, digging its flesh deeper into the edges.
What was your father doing?
He’d filed for a divorce earlier.
Right. I wasn’t there.
No, you weren’t.
Do you regret locking the doors?
Sometimes I can taste the rain before it comes. It’s a skill I’ve had for as long as I can remember.
I’m lost. So your father was smiling?
No, he was crying.
Sorry. I swear I just--nevermind. Start again.
There was a storm in these parts when we were young. The worst storm in a hundred years.
I don’t remember.
You slept through it. I held your hand all night.
Because I was alone.
You still are.
I hate it when this happens.
What happens?
You know?
Where have you been?
Everywhere but here.
And where will you go?
Sometimes when I look at you, it’s like looking through static. It’s like I’m looking at an impression of a person.
I get that a lot.
It’s like all my memories of you have blurred together. Vague feelings rise out of the haze. Feelings I recognise, yet cannot describe. I cannot connect them with who you are, what we were, or where we’ve been. It’s--
Like exiting a dream.
Yes. Exactly.
You feel a gap in your soul. One that has always been.
Always been. You held my hand, once.
During the worst storm in a hundred years.
When was that?
Every night.
2:34am, October 12th 2015

We're all just playing a language game.
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