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#meander
Can I tell you my dreams? Will you stick around long enough to understand what each means? Should I skip over the nightmare scenes That flicker through like 8mm on pull down screens While the essence meanders by like dust through projector beams Two extremes Two cerebral regimes Strange themes Nothing's as it seems Importance only found beyond the streams of screams No, I don't think I will mention my dreams ©2024
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Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 7:13 PM UTC
~•§•~ Streams of Screams ~•§•~
Quest or journey? One has an end in mind, which? I wonder? A step, a line to cross; who laid this line? In my mind, I imagine I am several, if not many, opposing mental- beings, persons, suggests a bird, there... can you, no, you can't. I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters. At the moment you next notice me, all I knew of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the softening cellular barriers, holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being in contention for contentment, with godliness {undefined} how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live institutelary as gods, mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue of your choice. Sort. ---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice, Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit --- did you finish the line, must have here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my name, the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack. Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance of in for by, all manner of pre set positions, adding weight where weight is wanting, lifting lightly where denser matter crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined} the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers give and take that makes this world of mere words flow through and through, over and under, one way or another. Here, join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave, a reflective wave, I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest. This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey from the east. West is west, keep going. Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive, but then the dog goes silent, and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow by whose authority, do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek no peep. It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only when the peep stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on be yonder when the role is called, say I, I am here, waiting with the rest that remain from Eden, back in the day.
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May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 3:46 PM UTC
Go to the dot, and wait
Quest or journey? One has an end in mind, which? I wonder? A step, a line to cross; who laid this line? In my mind, I imagine I am several, if not many, opposing mental- beings, persons, suggests a bird, there... can you, no, you can't. I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters. At the moment you next notice me, all I knew of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the softening cellular barriers, holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being in contention for contentment, with godliness {undefined} how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live institutelary as gods, mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue of your choice. Sort. ---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice, Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit --- did you finish the line, must have here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my name, the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack. Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance of in for by, all manner of pre set positions, adding weight where weight is wanting, lifting lightly where denser matter crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined} the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers give and take that makes this world of mere words flow through and through, over and under, one way or another. Here, join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave, a reflective wave, I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest. This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey from the east. West is west, keep going. Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive, but then the dog goes silent, and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow by whose authority, do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek no peep. It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only when the peep stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on be yonder when the role is called, say I, I am here, waiting with the rest that remain from Eden, back in the day.
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Look at me So carefree Frolicking in the flowers Skip around On the ground In the lushness of the bowers Here we go On tip toe Dancing in the breeze Arms out wide Nature's bride No better days than these From day to dusk I do lust For your grand display Orange and pinks Days last wink A vibrant color soiree Then I sneak To the creek Splashing with delight Mistress moon I do swoon In your beams of soft moonlight
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Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
Breathe
If there is no point Then Perhaps I will take The meandering path And Perhaps I will double back To the gray matter house Despite how far I made it Today Yesterday A month ago A year ago I always come back Perhaps I will stay there This time Make it home Quietly waste away As energy leaks out And effort is exhausted Time flies by And I will sleep To my tired heart's content.
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Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
Gray Matter Home
There are, for sure, a few certain things I miss We could destroy each other's sense of self And then be twisting in a broken bed How did it feel? Do you sometimes remember, too? Reverse genitals, you ****** me, deliverance My first *********** you went deep And I could feel you had an IUD How did it feel? Let me try to find the right words to describe This hole of dissonance You helped build this empire Now it is burning, lost to ash Unending hatred begins with vehemence And pauses when I'm on my back I can still feel your mouth on me And your fingers in my ***
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Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
Meander Dance
My hands have become raw. The constant digging has made me complacent. The tools have been scattered. Just as the thoughts I sift through. Glory to those that have found the treasure. Trinkets of blight and misfortune is all that is left. Do I cherish what remains.. Consume those that are truly nameless. Faceless. The definition is lost on me. Yet I find solitude in the despair it brings. A constant that always keeps its promise. The lighting strike has found its mark. For just as fast as it has come. Lighting up my eyes. I am left with only the afterimage. A burn that is slowly fading. And soon. It to will be that of my imagination. Hinting at a past with static charge. Will this Phoenix rise. Or has the fire finally been extinguished.
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Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
Craters upon Craters 122915
O, Row from the tabletops if, If, if Row from the tabletops if, or when O, Burn at the fun'ral pyre, pyre Burn under heaven's fire, fire Stop me if you hear this one, under the flesh heavy wantonness, energy light to dance moves behind your lid undo the flesh future corpses do dance do dance O, Future corpses do dance do dance
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Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Meander Mass
Inside the drainage basin Bounding my soul Fluid dynamics Condense Phases of water Gather in the Mountain towers Over time Gravity plus precipitation Converts Into snow pack Come spring That snow pack Braids it's way down the mountain Co-mingling with groundwater Bubbling up in springs Gathering momentum In mountain streams A constant conversion from Potential to kinematic Energy Streams make their Way into prairie rivers Meandering along Through riparian pockets Of biodiversity Reaching a levee Then breaching Local, national, and international boundaries Are no match As my soul Finds it's way to base level In the ocean of your love
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Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Base Level