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~for Malcolm Gladwin, who wrote me that: “I write that what I know and know not what I write and in this I find the nothing !”~ <> struck down instantly yet again, by the less than strange realization that oft when we search for the substantiation that validates our individual existence we are courting and coursing into the realm of nothingness, our predecessor state, origin of the matériels from which we came my child’s memory~mind, reminds/me\recalls human existence, per ye a child’s first bible stories,* into the mysteries of the inexplicable, we humans were in time and space from nought, were created a syllabic component contraction of no and thought, like no-thing So take I, my head off, And tip it to Malcolm, For he helped me to realize In my voyage of self realization, The start and the end Are often the same And what’s in between Is Our struggling To keep a hold of both, “In the beginning,- & “In the end” Each beginning and ending and that stuff we call living come’s between, a way station to the other destination. nml 5/10/20. 26 in the early morning 17 hrs ago. f i n i
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May 10
May 10, 2026 at 10:15 AM UTC
writing to find the nothing
Movement II — Requiem of the Flesh and Flame Here, the body becomes an instrument: trembling cello ribs, heart a double-kick drum, veins humming like electric bowstrings. Desire rises in drop-D gravity, a hymn of flesh pulled taut between fevered eclipse and holy ruin. Where Skin Learns the Language of Fire This is the realm where the body takes the role of instrument— flesh singing in vibrato, veins humming like cello strings pulled too tight beneath comet-light. Here, desire is not tender. It is seismic— a tectonic drumline trembling through bone cathedrals and moon-kissed cartilage. Here, touch becomes a liturgy. Heat becomes a prophecy. Every exhale is a spark searching for a fuse. The cosmos itself leans closer when two bodies dare to harmonize— because starlight has always envied the way humans learn to burn. Enter gently. Every poem in this section is a match held to the pulse. The next note arrives in shadow. The Pulse That Broke the Lanterns Your touch was a fault line— a pressure-drop in the marrow that made the lanterns in my ribs flicker like dying stars gasping for reverence. Every breath between us felt like a timpani strike: hard, resonant, echoing through the bone-cathedral where my want had been silently starving. The air ignited around your silhouette— a slow-motion flare arching like a violin bow dragged across the edge of a comet. And when your hand traced my jaw, the universe lost its footing. Gravity hissed. Nebulae stuttered. The void clutched its throat as if learning the meaning of envy. You were flame, and I was the instrument that knew exactly where to burn. Drop-tuned galaxies hum between the ribs. Hymn of the Thirsting Fuse Your breath hit my skin like a minor-key invocation— a hymn dipped in molten starlight and wicked cathedral incense. The fuse inside me had been dormant for ages, coiled beneath dust and unearned hope— but your laugh struck the match. I felt it: that metalcore surge, that drop-tuned hunger rolling through my bloodstream like thunder wearing fangs. You drew heat from my bones the way violins draw ghosts from the hollow places they’re carved. Every exhale between us crackled like lunar wildfire. You didn’t ****** me. You re-lit me. What breaks also sings.
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Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 5:44 AM UTC
II. Requiem of the Flesh and Flame
Movement II — Requiem of the Flesh and Flame Here, the body becomes an instrument: trembling cello ribs, heart a double-kick drum, veins humming like electric bowstrings. Desire rises in drop-D gravity, a hymn of flesh pulled taut between fevered eclipse and holy ruin. Where Skin Learns the Language of Fire This is the realm where the body takes the role of instrument— flesh singing in vibrato, veins humming like cello strings pulled too tight beneath comet-light. Here, desire is not tender. It is seismic— a tectonic drumline trembling through bone cathedrals and moon-kissed cartilage. Here, touch becomes a liturgy. Heat becomes a prophecy. Every exhale is a spark searching for a fuse. The cosmos itself leans closer when two bodies dare to harmonize— because starlight has always envied the way humans learn to burn. Enter gently. Every poem in this section is a match held to the pulse. The next note arrives in shadow. The Pulse That Broke the Lanterns Your touch was a fault line— a pressure-drop in the marrow that made the lanterns in my ribs flicker like dying stars gasping for reverence. Every breath between us felt like a timpani strike: hard, resonant, echoing through the bone-cathedral where my want had been silently starving. The air ignited around your silhouette— a slow-motion flare arching like a violin bow dragged across the edge of a comet. And when your hand traced my jaw, the universe lost its footing. Gravity hissed. Nebulae stuttered. The void clutched its throat as if learning the meaning of envy. You were flame, and I was the instrument that knew exactly where to burn. Drop-tuned galaxies hum between the ribs. Hymn of the Thirsting Fuse Your breath hit my skin like a minor-key invocation— a hymn dipped in molten starlight and wicked cathedral incense. The fuse inside me had been dormant for ages, coiled beneath dust and unearned hope— but your laugh struck the match. I felt it: that metalcore surge, that drop-tuned hunger rolling through my bloodstream like thunder wearing fangs. You drew heat from my bones the way violins draw ghosts from the hollow places they’re carved. Every exhale between us crackled like lunar wildfire. You didn’t ****** me. You re-lit me. What breaks also sings.
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Giddy goats gruffish and grumpish Groaning and growling for girlies Gay goats gagging for giant growths Gigantic and generously girthy Gentleman goats gifting glad girlfriends Good grass and great golden gadgets Geeky goats glitching in genius Glaring and gawking in glasses Girly goats getting great glances Graciously glitzy and glamorous German goats genetically gorgeous Generally guarding their genome Ghostly goats greedily groaning Grabbing at golden gates glowing Genderless goats gracefully grazing Gazing at other goats genitals Gluttonous goats greasy and grimy Gruesomely gnawing on garbage Gregarious goats gambol in games Giggling and gaggling in gibberish
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Jun 25, 2025
Jun 25, 2025 at 1:34 PM UTC
Goats Giggling Gibberish 🐐
Single story Raining Pouring Window broken Hearts are storming Lifeless floating Stopping nothing Everything going Raining pouring Raining pouring Gone.
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May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 5:50 AM UTC
Raining Pouring
Green Screen Door There’s something about Green screen doors Conjuring past summers The why I’m not sure Swing bang shut Bent out screen Surrounded By wood All painted in green Brings back Kook-Aid The bees all abuzz Mingled with flowers And Aunt Martha’s fudge By Bill MacEachern 03/28/2021
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Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 12:45 PM UTC
Green Screen Door
AUGUST 29----08:50am In a mild weary night When mortals in final seek solace With their earthly deeds upon them tight to encounter a burden bound for see Which apprise with unawares sneaks In many vision the world in view Then,range who in mystery pick May mordant or mellow with few Ascending instance as realm poke And a shrewd with cognizance attain ray Which those folly with volition smoke And in reality realm their mordant hay In a wild scary night; When mortals in finals seek solace And precious embraced in flight By fierce angel subdue case And mortals are all nature minded Of any trifle or prime revelation Destined,as of subdue minded Then a dream is a theme of revelation. #@T.G.P #@Salimon
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Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 1:52 AM UTC
Dream
I really want to talk to you And get to know all about you It doesn't matter what we do Cause i just want to be with you Take you out on a date And stay out really late For the chance i cannot wait For i know it would be great Does not matter where we go Be it high or be it low Be it sun or rain or snow There's just one thing you need to know I really want to talk to you And get to know all about you It doesn't matter what we do Cause i just want to be with Yes i just want to talk to you And get to know all about you It doesn't matter what we do Just so long as I'm with you Let me sing you something sweet Le me write you poetry I would be oh so happy Just as long as you're with me Won't you please give me a chance Maybe go and visit France Or even take you out to dance Your beauty has me in a trance I really want to talk to you And get to know all about you It doesn't matter what we do Cause i just want to be with Yes i just want to talk to you And get to know all about you It doesn't matter what we do Just so long as I'm with you Yes i just want to talk to you And get to know all about you It doesn't matter what we do Just so long as I'm with you
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Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 1:33 AM UTC
I Want to Talk to You
5 am blue reminds me how to touch G on the piano. there aren't many words i can think of to define it, really. but i do know it's like crying. quiet tears welling and holding someone tight to your chest, imagining what it must be like to feel something holding you together. it is gentle, the way you would comfort a snowflake, the center of a child's eyes. the shy flower that unfolds like precious origami in the dark. it is the silence, sound of breathing. it is delicate, like trust and empathy and understanding. it is what i want to play for you.
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Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
blue sounds
Let me die and take me to nowhere
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Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 8:36 AM UTC
Take me to Nowhere
EDIT Jyothilaxmi lolam Jan 30 Life's lessons Life can be sunshine On peaceful days with bright blue skies. It can be like raindrops, squeezed from tearful eyes. Life can be the heaven, that can be only reached through hell. You will not know you are happy, Unless you have been sad, Life you teach hard lessons, Which makes me wiser today. Because roses too, need both sunshine and A touch of rain to blossom. Life always surprises us, difficult times teach us lessons of life. life is a teacher.keep learning
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Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC
Life you a teacher
You ruined my life You're the reason why I'm mad But You're my sweet drug my secret boyfriend
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Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 5:56 PM UTC
My Secret for You
Remember the first time? I do, like it was the last time. I see us in every movie, I read us on every page. I felt you in a new guy once, he was bigger, but a worse lay. I remember you in bass and bars, in nooks and grazed skin. I look for you at skateboard parks, in airports, pictures, and other men. It's like my mind's wired around you, and the synapses can't be pruned. We're firing together, and you're wrapped up in me too.
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Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
Caved
She was broken, by herself Not knowing the cost of what she did Its hunting her, just like  her shadow It is consuming her soul Despite of all the run and escape, she will always be caught She wished her death once, but the demons won't let it She is suffering by her own, gripping on no one She is standing on her feet by her own but she is now crippled by herself
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Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
Crippled
To winding road I asked again, “Where did your journey begin?” It just kept quiet,as if to mean It didn’t get the crux of my concern! I asked Where does it  all end ? That too met with a stony silence, Making me meditate in loneliness . Silence has quicksilver toungue, I walked through inner labyrinths And the question echoed in turns, Then in me dawned as a whisper “Real story of the road of course Isn’t about just  begiinnings and ends” The wish to get it limited, is the Distorted imagination of humans! I am having a journey eventful, But have a problem to determine The starting and end points! When you are certain of a finis, There appears yet another beginning! A road never leaves for anywhere All you do is pass on through it. In a mood to go and find connections. To immortality, the final destination!
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Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
The road refuses to end, only bends.
well here it is: as a good-hearted crazy boy as I am I can be fixed only by a woman on the last gear of speed like a herd of mustangs in gallop to the abyss or to eternity a woman who dedicates me poems of hate in which I'm the last provincial old man the princess can fall in love with but actually the joy is shaking whitin any time she feels me arround a woman dressed only in swords of Toledo who can sing on a sword like Mariza making me climb on the walls like on the Chinese Wall on the moon a woman that resists any melalcoholical drubbing on rithmes of sirtaki with Zorba the Greek with her heart blowned out of her mind carelessly throwned like underwear through the room a long-time woman to lead my way and night in sleep and life in death and my god in all its demons of beauty with the most innocent baby smile a woman that on the last outpost of her ****** like a wild goddess will laugh and explode the night as if as if ordering the happiest end of the world
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Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 7:44 AM UTC
Turbo
Sometimes..... Man..... You think you're doing the right thing... But you ain't... And even though you try.... Success is nothing without a trail of upset and disappointment in your wake....... So I'll sit back, tilt the cap, playin with holy sap, gettin' up say your goodbyes, and just never turn back. Go good, go great, go hard, new slate. New page in the paper, but I ain't playin, what I did wasn't easy ***** it was labour. All pain, All truth, no love, it's brutal. I'm like Bin Laden, the Saudi and a Taliban with a 6 till 6, bringin' planes to the ground. Yet that's it, my life, a burnin' wreck, still to be found. But look at me now, when you've giving up on fallin', pull a fuckin' U turn, put your foot down and started ballin'. "Shut the **** up, man broke bank beggar looking to thrive, think your hard but you can't even drive".   You ******* right ***** gimme a lil money and time to fly, taking the edge off the **** and wine, and then we'll see who'll rise. Maybe you're right, surfing from bench to bench, from sofa to sofa, help was all I wanted and to my brother I'll always owe ya.
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Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC
Scribbles
Thoughts in a Garden                **** Crimson glow of the morning sun                             Along the rosy horizon                                            Set ablaze the floating clouds With edges embroidered In flaming gold, Ushered in a brilliant dawn. Sunbeams on the mountain slopes                      Uncovered valleys verdant and Gurgling streams: Darting rays through gnarled                                          trees Adorned with foliage of emarald                                          green, Illumined the serene garden                                         scene. Genial warmth of the morning                                             sun Opened rows and rows of white                                               jasmine And filled the air with fragrance                                            sweet While mother nature sprinkled Smiles in a shower of roses Of delicate hues. Hummingbirds and honey-bees Hovered over colourful flowers Big and small. Shy flowers,like blushing brides,  Allured passersby to pause A while and admire their beauty And bewitching smile. Basking in sunshine under The azure sky and stretching On grass in chequered shades, My questioning mind Probed in vain, The enigma of nature's creation, Its amazing harmony And violent ire And the aim of evolving human                                                life: Eager to grasp what the future                                              holds, Indulged in reveries undisturbed, oblivious of Fortune's ebb and tide Until twilight showed The early stars And the evening shadows                    looming large, Restrained my restless mind. In darkness dissolved                       the lovely scene. Soon, the vision of rapture Was a waking dream: A foretaste of life merging With the cosmic stream!               *******.  M.G.N.Murthy Hyderabad, India.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              .
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Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:34 AM UTC
THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN
Thoughts in a Garden                **** Crimson glow of the morning sun                             Along the rosy horizon                                            Set ablaze the floating clouds With edges embroidered In flaming gold, Ushered in a brilliant dawn. Sunbeams on the mountain slopes                      Uncovered valleys verdant and Gurgling streams: Darting rays through gnarled                                          trees Adorned with foliage of emarald                                          green, Illumined the serene garden                                         scene. Genial warmth of the morning                                             sun Opened rows and rows of white                                               jasmine And filled the air with fragrance                                            sweet While mother nature sprinkled Smiles in a shower of roses Of delicate hues. Hummingbirds and honey-bees Hovered over colourful flowers Big and small. Shy flowers,like blushing brides,  Allured passersby to pause A while and admire their beauty And bewitching smile. Basking in sunshine under The azure sky and stretching On grass in chequered shades, My questioning mind Probed in vain, The enigma of nature's creation, Its amazing harmony And violent ire And the aim of evolving human                                                life: Eager to grasp what the future                                              holds, Indulged in reveries undisturbed, oblivious of Fortune's ebb and tide Until twilight showed The early stars And the evening shadows                    looming large, Restrained my restless mind. In darkness dissolved                       the lovely scene. Soon, the vision of rapture Was a waking dream: A foretaste of life merging With the cosmic stream!               *******.  M.G.N.Murthy Hyderabad, India.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              .
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i see it all around me; stalking i can't help but notice staring. never blinking, never resting. its passion will never wane. all considered, i'm not insane. just because our eyes stay meeting, doesn't mean my mind is lacking. i can see the top and the meaning
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Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
Gee
Golden eyes drink dry Goblets of sunrays Swallowing gallows of Greed Guzzling and Gobbling Like fat cats gazing Down upon field mice Gallantly waiting for False Gods, redeeming Envy's green deciet
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Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
Gauntlet of Gloom
“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” - Einstein Everybody is born a genius and dies like a idiot Some of them have nothing to do And make exactly the opposite Nothing like kamikaze fish climbing the trees Because the crowd is to loud to hear his own stupidity Even though history remembers his achievements Jumping in the trees of power and greed It is really all from a monkey swimming In a ocean of rules of war in heaven And leaving it with a big smile on his face
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Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 5:08 AM UTC
The Genius of The Loud