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Filmore Townsend Nov 2013
hunger slates itself of this one's
vessel. demanding piety, demanding
existence. requesting change of
scenery, seeking change for
firm foundation. that of trench
burrowed deep and reinforced in ma-
ster fashion with land unfamiliar.
Filmore Townsend Oct 2013
early morning funk,
cold comin' in, winter's here.
waiting the minutes.
Filmore Townsend Sep 2013
realizing now, real-
ized always. souls empty found,
eyes see not behind.
Filmore Townsend Sep 2013
ginning grins at end.
mind vacant, soul's been writ clean.
sins of pre-dawn bliss.
Filmore Townsend Sep 2013
in same place as last writing, wondering
what context this end of sweating will
bring. what this one's lackadaisical - to
juxtapose, let's write Bardical - musings
are found to be. treacherous thoughts pa-
tterned, knit in pearls of alternating colors
from the many revelized experiences of the
months since fleeted. this one's catacombed
mind filled with ex-grievances, and a once
real question of primordial retaliation. of
how to revoke Nature's iron grasp thought
to be called deity's divined fate of this kilned
clay vessel. and wondering on creation, life
given only to spite slaves formed of fire. and
now to leave aside psychpomic thoughts, and
now to return to ground. to stand firm upon an
earth that is essence entirety of this one's base
of creation. only, blood absorbed in place of
retained in circulation. going back, traversing
thought, bringing forth the white man's implic-
ation as ruler of time though known always that
circulation must cease, must become no longer
fluid. and with history being that of the sole
victor. that of labeling, defining, forcing selfish
perception as truth. and this one realizes reason
in fire's hatred of earth. to need to burn out, to
need to consume, but fire lacks choice of will to
action. this one can never leave aside idyllic thou-
ght of a primordial war of elements merged.
digressing, even though the end must find full-
circle. I the Destroyer writing in hopes of finding
thoughts on We the Emerging, all the while
Gregorian has foreseen existence from time beg-
inning. guaranteeing only that structure will
survive time's ending. history of sorts pre-writ
day for day for week for years for aeons of never
ceasing circulation. all the while, victor shedding
for the earth to absorb. Thoth the great, the great,
the great; of lacking elemental composition. the only
one in this one's knowledge whom defies either
circulation of absorption. We the Emerging consume
of the firmament. He the great, the great, the great
witnessing from without the firmament. He the
ancestors taking trice-form to malleate clay from
perpetual fermentation. and digressing more, but
again stating the achievement of culmination of words.
this one stating understanding that perceiving self
as a psychopomp stems from earthen forged vanity.
and all writ is true in belief of prisca theologia.
perhaps this one's words are found to be Hermetic,
found defying interred ideologies as ink rushes to
awaken We the Emerging before dreaming mind
collides with the dawn. and perhaps only Nature may
be found as decided for those taking their cycles of
mindless bliss. and digressing, merging trained-thought
into the next. merged here to be found, We the Emergent
modernity with open palms for another's thoughts. and
here to be found, this one, of I the Destroyer choosing
a percepted chaos to the permanent pre-dawn bliss.
Filmore Townsend Sep 2013
words through time-eyes,
and life thought left long
with mind for days while
this one sat deterring soul
from body in a foot-lost
night. sun's end, son's end,
and the day's typewriter
just hours from death of man.
awaiting knowledge of grou-
nded truth. ground vessel of
a soylent variety, without
thoughts on past word-loss.
summer existence, like young
girl's expectations of world's
blood left in trashcan. place the
heart, forced sweating to free self
of longer lost sleep. feel right, sleep
longer during the long dark. true
waiting and lack ******* reason
when this cat has gone, been got,
has lost a white-year of quiet memories.
times destroyed, knew to rise hip. knew
to rise onward with cigarette lit of matched
flesh. sense the repetition, remember
away the flesh. blue smoke of fire in the
long dark, in the coming white-year.
sense the memory, ending waste but
still losing knowledge. gaining chaos of
thirteen out, of this one's will to be six out.
Filmore Townsend Sep 2013
Morrison mourning,
wailing quarter-century,
death puts forth footfalls.
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