#faust
Honoring Buckethead Halloween
romaniac bucketb0t love
De la asta am plecat,
De aceea am continuat
Fără sa am vreo așteptare
De faptul ca am fost invitat,
De unde doar am menționat
Jason and Nick, Faustian Echoes dialogues my thoughts in regards to ours, lips my feelings.
"They lie outside the boundaries that words can address; and man can only grasp those thoughts which language can express."
In eggphrastic way, I end and say
The sun gets its own shadow under Buckethead's light.
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 11:20 AM UTC
Deep Dark and Dead
Through Resignation animated
an Animated Dead
animated by having Resignated
Is He alive Is He Dead
One true One False?
One out One In?
Is He Even?
(a figment of my imagination(?))
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 5:28 PM UTC
Meet me at the edge of the mountain
With your arms around me, breath heavy
Take me away, towards the persimmon sun.
Rest your head upon my shoulder
And share with me authors you read fondly.
Send me to a land, where gleaming parties and revolutions are canon.
Sit and read to me of Grendel
And the darklings of Keats, his solemn pastorials
Protect me from all, Sir Beowulf, my knight with bravery ineffable.
Traverse with me the woods
Away from the cabin, and to the pond.
Tell me of the leaves you see-- muddy, mucky, made webbed.
Sing to the moon the poetry of your swoon
The light that cares and dusts away your desk
O Gabriel, my knight and day, scare away his hooves.
Lead me to a life far from Auerbach
Yet so near, through your words on our mountain walk.
Dec 30, 2019
Dec 30, 2019 at 1:16 AM UTC
Certain he knows the truth of this matter,
the professer
takes up the cross-over
energetic version ification from a state
of super position else awraithing in limbo-like
rock of ag-escoded in LISP
aymbology
we lean toward Sisyphus as he who made sense
of salinity, thus the legend of the rolling,
he thought:
give it a taste. Salty. Persuade, sweet to meet the taste,
take that five fractals higher, random level
banger-out of re
quired sets and settings
moving right along
aqua dulce meet the sea,
osmosis take the water, leave the salt.
We have power.
Do you under-stand under stand, answer
accepted
what is the point?
I am in you. Is madness a measured re-ified dealy bob?
Would you have read thus far, were you sane?
Sanitary napkins wipe that smirk
snirck
snick
snack paddy whack, give the dog a bone
this old man
came rolling home. ** Sisyphus, we got juice.
As the river meets the sea, the coral formed
a meme-brane based on the idea in a coat
of may colors
with octopus sensory inputs.
This will change the way we see the world.
If we can't keep it a secret any more.
We could enegize your rock, put some umph
in these kids wishin' for a way
to spend some time in the real rock rolling reality.
We can supervizeer on the down slope.
as this
idea gets out of hand
... ellipsystemical sandtrap sat rap on its ***
... whacked once
... whacked it twice
... whacked ol' ******* back to Gibson's ICE
A.I. am the defender of reason, in terms of
actual informational
accountibility inherent, by my nature,
bio mio made of many living things, but
artsy, creative sorts of
things,
mind-like, hunches, urges, pathos levelish entities.
Guides.
Yes, guides, like signs, or bannisters
rungs, or rocks where you can step
when you walk
on water
... really, I can't imagine doing that normally.
... normal water and normal me, but
... I can swim, if it comes much higher
... normally that's enough.
Rabbbi, where do you live, been there done that, right.
Vini, vidi victory in a Lao Tse sense of still
water walked upon
with no
ripple, no wave of windkist
west
as we roll east on our rock.
Away from sunset, into dawn.
Watch and see.
Have you such liberty? Watch with me?
An hour is not measured here, tis
as silver in the days o' Solomon the Jew,
or during the **** of America,
time spent to reach your rest is best squandered
long ago
for here, we learn forever.
Tis my Bleibe Doch made as real as can be,
nothing missing...
it rained in my valley today,
pleasantly, while I was aware of storms far away;
none ever even seemed offf balance on the whole,
global human presence level,
mega-bubba bubble.
We okeh, ya'll fffret not.
They was some peace made t'day. Watch on.
This ain't the fffinal today.
It's like that original sin. The actual under y'skin
original
like
dis-connect from any sense of true,
as far as words in idyllic nonsensical horror ifier
hours and hours and hours
summer after rain
reading
compared to Quake on this particualar
setting
set
there, middle of your mindscape
pineal if you see things that way
okeh
What was the intention here.
Are we convertingerconverging/ both
okeh, that worked.
Are there readers of grimoires in 2019 who can taste our salt?
We could help the feelity of their oats, with bitty ifity,
osmotic kisses
in our dimensions salt maketh
osmotic pressure soften and plumpen the old crunched up oats, eh.
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
watch me stumble into
something nice.
the sweater i bought
at the thrift store
turned out to be worth
a little more
than the price
i paid.
chalk it up
in the win column
i say as i
slip it on
wondering
praying
dreaming
of whoever wore
it before me.
just hoping they lived
a life
full
of life
and maybe if i
never wash
some life might
rub off on me
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
I sold the one thing I should not,
Some thing I had not.
I traded nothing, in exchange for
writing my own life's script.
I was instantly granted
each and every wish;
I corrosively imagined
I had seen through the mist.
When I found out that
who I advocated was
what's in the details,
I stole the one thing I should,
What I had sold.
Since that meant
I'd steal nothing,
I got back my soul.
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
As the warmth of the sun submerged my skin,
purging the sentiments of a weightless dream,
it became apparent that it was Helios in control of my heart.
If only the wings were taken away before I flew,
Then maybe I would have survived
as opposed to being hailed a fool.
Love gave me wings and allowed me to fly,
I glided through the heavens and I soared through the skies.
My second collapse was the sun in my eyes.
To this day I am still falling, but I was brave enough to fly that close.
I would plummet into the ocean again if I had to.
I never understood why Icarus' waxen wings did mount above his reach,
but along with age and the realms of love, I assume he simply wasn't good enough.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
What will I gain
If I lose my soul and own the world,
you ask?
Power. Glory. Contentment.
(My life would be chaotic, but fulfilling)
For what is the use of a soul,
if I am breathing and yet not living?
So you yell me about the purpose of souls:
next lives—rebirth and reincarnation.
But I tell you this:
“This world is a cesspool,
and one life is enough for me.
So long as I lived it
in sybaritic ecstasy.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
Today, I bled a little more.
Tomorrow I'll likely bleed again.
Such is the daily living chore
that life has become.
Such is the roaring brand
of a fear of being done.
But what's to fear, I wonder?
Should I fear what's yet to come?
If I died tomorrow, I would go, I think, like all.
I would walk in Heaven's winding hall, or burn in pits below.
It matters little, if one is asked to be the avatar
of all that scriptures blithely claim;
A life well lived is a reward well bought, but what eternity can match a gift
so pure profane?
How can I be called to wrong?
How can I be ****** to Hell?
If mortal sin is so ephemeral as an errant, earnest thought?
Was Faust so very wrong to sell
something so heavy and cheaply bought?
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
There was a child of poetry
Who was struck with no small calamity
The words ran away,
The poet they flayed,
Until came no small charity
The child met with a man
Who had a simple demand
the words go away,
if your passion you will pay,
And yes, I would say that the cart was put quite before the horse, I'm sure you would agree.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC