#components
cat gut, dried and twisted, sang out,
stretched and braided, worked by the hands of a master.
A mold formed its shape
released from the plaster.
They came, as do we all, from the earth and the rain,
the sun,
or
our .. pain
the origins of soft, meaningful refrain.
The echoes that remain.
recalled and loved by us all
without much
strain.
The origins oft considered now insane
those creatures whose lives were lost,
or even worse,
were
used
or slain.
The turtle, for its shell, used as a pick
not too thin, not too thick.
The human blood and ash put to wick,
the scholar’s ink
Don't dry too quick
Enemies skin stretched over the head of drums,
the sound of fire and bent wood as it thrums.
The pain it takes back to each creature ,
the creators.
The destroyers.
callused finger caresses banged thumb.
cries are carried within it,
our grief
it helps us numb.
We all howl still under the moon’s glow,
hearing each other and our connection.
Wandering
in what direction. ?
We feel what we feel,
but how do we know what we know?
The candle, made of discarded fat.
The vellum, made of less than that.
The strings of a bull, an ox, or a cat
tones that shiver, shrill or fat.
The thoughts and ideas, blood and lust,
capture
take us to certainty,
or lead us to
rapture.
The potatoes boiled, the insect crushed,
but once they toiled.
The lacquers and enamels and oils
we crush from the life of plants and leaves,
reminding us of the one
for whom
we still grieve.
The worst of lies:
that we are separated from this world.
We are one with it,
and we will share its fate,
its riches, its seasons,
its spoils.
From whence does brilliance come?
A desire, a sleepless night, an explosion.
The life that once lived sings back to us through the ages,
more than it lived,
more than what it had
to give.
We hear the tree of Stradivariuses' choosing
fight and cheat to have it in our hands.
Search far and wide,
for every one,
in every recess,
in every land.
Da Vinci, strokes of egg and wash,
make a material not often spoken of—gouache.
We are looking at an egg,
illuminated
by dried fat and beeswax.
We are inspired by a creature’s skin,
flayed
and beaten to a pulp,
paper-thin.
We are amazed by the ideas,
and inspired by the truth
within.
Do we see its beginning in us,
or our end?
What do we use?
For what we give back
What do we gain and what do we lack?
The energy
to grow
to achieve
to believe
to communicate.
Elucidate.
Try and relate
We ****
we suffer our art.
Still we feel our worlds apart.
Give back to me the howls of the alley cat
the munch of teeth in the endless grass
I'll take all that.
The rhythm of the river
the blood
the stone
the flesh
the bone.
But Alas
I will leave this world as I came
alone.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 5:54 PM UTC
Words are less important when there actually never together as one whole. Only a statement for something without thought. Coating different contents rationalizing the formulations of single added words. Words with single letter’s acting like separate components. Vibrating together like energy forming a magnetized exterior. Exposure to something higher than one letter keeping itself away from a fully fleshed out identity. Components away from fully established words, begin to understand faults of all sizes. Are they meant to form into a component beyond its state of letters? Or one single letter meant to form into a better juxtaposition? Cramming letters into words won’t make beneficial glances toward what’s really sounding each component out. Cramming is immature. Full of delicacies. Giving identity to something without time on its hand. The subject of time, will create the illusion of success. Something adopting without fair point involved. An unestablished, unfinished, uncredited maneuvering of stating the obvious blemish in formulations. Formulations become dotted without pattern. Pattern begins to separate juxtapositions away from the vibrations holding it together. Magnetized exterior becomes less wanted for survival. Survival intriguing sense of believe. Believe on the sidelines, acting as a stand-in for potential in-between gaps that focuses blemishes without identity. Formulations become less respected with time swallowing up (describing factors). (Describing factors) becomes less taunted by its own grip. Letting go the seriousness it’s been influenced to act upon. How does anything make sense without (describing factors)? Easy! Don’t think, by feeling. Just act on what you feel. Like instinct is more then words. More then single components. Something auto piloting in-between maneuvers. Juxtapositions lingering as the pattern forming a basin of after thoughts. Instead of thinking words haft to be orchestrated by volumes of thought alone. Fanciness will only make sense with a heart on (overflow)! Full to the brim with nasty, prolific, and incorrigible symptoms in the complexes. The complexes without undesirability, if it’s without merit when honing its balance fruitfully. A heart on (overflow) dumps all the rigid symptoms all over the complexes. Diverting thought for feeling. Feeling revving up different letters in the components that drive its formation proudly. Time swerves around every bend. Prompting the localized fissures of spaces without the muck invading it’s practices. Components of different formations attach the letters to the already imprinted silhouette of magnetized exteriors. Something clicking without measured volume. An instinct rush’s past visuals becoming unkempt and untamed. Never taunted by logic sounding too bland for everyday practices. The heart now empties to a crisp! Shows its formulation as a cauldron that assists the formulations of pure emotion. Emotion being the final victor of formulating words acting as components. Why haven’t we described anything about words acting as components, instead of letters acting as words instead? Simply because you follow a simple manual meant for visuals without thought. What does this imply? It doesn’t. You haft to find a center under the hood of your own (writer’s bug). A bug fueling an (instinctive formulator). One not ruled by thoughts. But by feeling. Feeling coats the improvising stature of a heart on (overflow)! Polishing the cauldron repeating the nasty, prolific, and incorrigible. Undesirably feeling balance rescue your merits without rut blocking visuals by thought. Thought ignores speculation. Taking all pride from feeling. Feeling knows all. As it doesn’t take brain power to figure out regular stimuli taming time before thought has even interpreted details alone. Everything’s been described. BON VOYAGE! To the ones spreading out repeated processes never redeemed by thought alone. Except I deceivingly left out the most important part. What happened to the rest of the fully stacked, brim cauldron of hearts content? It’s necessary when it’s never necessary. Cryptic locals understanding the bad details from the good, are everything wrapped into one bundle. I never said components have to be the littlest fraction in the complex. Describing components not ready for its magnetized exterior that’s already suited to formulation. The (overflow) is secretly the instance of formulation. The (emptying to a crisp), is cleansing every detail in question. Showing components without time attached by statistics. Free to roam willingly. An identity for labeling attires by feeling alone. Thought never abstracting components in a round up of early formulation. Existing close ties in magnetized colours harnessed to each letter in the bunch. Colours surging like a rope hanging on for dear life! Like a soulless thread never understanding what close encounters with the capability is all about. Colours interpreting the non eligible into understanding alone. Except only one (overflow) happened. And another in repeat. And another! Cleansing each component to form into words. Words repeating the constant process of joining into more words. Words acting as single components back to back. An endless cycle of repeating formulations. PS… Are you a letter waiting for it’s other components trying to gain single passage to identity? One rule complicates the (overflow). Do not overflow the heart to a crisp, before it hasn’t even dumped the full brim yet! It will collapse in on itself. Manufacturing a vocabulary too rotten to tell who’s free. Or who’s making up diagrams in the after claims of thoughts distinctly different then what overflow’s the opposite of brimming fully. Or who’s truly still trapped in a fixated rush of thoughts!
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 8:04 PM UTC
The savior
The perfect partner
The dominant
The free spirit
The fiancé
The parental substitute
The anarchist
The sweetheart
The nice guy
All of these aspects of myself
Yet none of them are fully me
These are the roles I've fallen into
In order to match my various partners
And though all of these may be
Different components of me
None of them feels quite whole
I do not feel whole
All of these personalities
Exist on a spectrum of time and space
None interacting with any others
Each signifies a distinct point in life
Each has its own home
It's own experiences
Attitudes and viewpoints
Behaviors and habits
Yet what do I do when
Two of my contextualized selves
Decide to overlap?
When my ex who knew the fiancé
Moves back to town where I live
As does my person
Who's heard stories of the others
But who only knows the nice guy
How do I begin to heal when
I do not understand what is real
And what existed solely for others?
How do I continue to grow
When the fiancé is fighting restraints
And the nice guy is exhausted
The sweetheart does not exist
And the anarchist screams for revolution?
They seem to be fighting each other
Just to have a chance to breathe
A chance to take the wheel
A chance to control "me"
Yet who even am I?
Are all of these selves fabricated
Or are they hyperbolized aspects of me
Connectable like puzzle pieces
Into one beautiful picture?
The problem is
The picture I see is not beautiful
I'm trying to be nice to myself
But all I see and feel is darkness
I am an abomination
An evil person who cannot be trusted
A dark soul inhabiting an empty body
A person who is not a person
A human with a lack of self
It's almost like I'm not even alive
But even death would be a relief
So I can finally end the confusion
And stop hurting people along the way
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 3:40 AM UTC