I'm not sure who I am anymore
I have changed so much and so fast
You keep holding on to me
The old me, the person who I used to be
And the old memories we made together
I will admit that those recollections are unforgettable
They may be the reminiscences of the old me
But why should that stop us from making new memories?
New commemorations with the new me
I'm not the same kid from you memories
But I will always be who that little girl was
I may be older and wiser
But I still need  you
And I still love you
So please don’t leave me
Now is the time that I need you immensely
I’m just not the same person I used to be
And I lost and have fallen between the cracks
I’m still here I’m just trying to discover who I am

“Raging waves of the sea foaming out shame,
Wandering stars above to which is reserved,
As my obscurity shall befall me perpetually,
I know not how to contain me in this macrocosm,
    
As a quavering adumbration quirks my hands,        
The hard brisk hour of night falls upon me quickly,        
The swishing foam of the sea sashes before me,          
My first vision in all my nights will forever be of her,  

The barren quays at eventide feathered varmint gather,
If I were to think with acrimony of this once realm,
Of foremost loves that has passed me through my life,  
She has left me at the fringe of the sandy littoral,

As I have decided to leave my heart felt altruism,
It is my hour of adieu oh me the dissipated one,
Her coiffure her guise of such charm lips of lust,
I adored her all this love will never be restored,

A  Poet’s words of love penned on tattered paper,
All the words of love and pain that many fear of,
Expressed in through the ink drafted on paper,
Poets die but their words anamnesis is perpetual”
                   By AG 05/29/2018 ©

“We lovers are defined by things we share,
Lovers are better together then to be alone,
One does not own beauty it is conceived within,
In their dreams it is felt it can be obtained,

What can this be I say to the crux of this esoteric woman,
Alone in a dark nights rest all my thoughts of her,
Bedeviled by the lies of her hidden beneath,
I can no longer judge the veracity now her beauty dies,

The Calypso of death creeps upon me,
You are forlorn now with artistry of her deceit,
If a man think himself to be existent without the allure,
It will be the opulence of her beauty that will burn in his mind,

As the rosette has been plucked away from me,
I skirmish as thoughts of you grovel into my mind,
And as I repel to your touch or thought,
Aghast at of what loving you again I will find,

I prefer to melt in your arms in a chimera of thoughts,
I would be free from harm free from impairment,
As I once gave to you now I shall survive in,
Seduced in an anamnesis in a Garden of Bronze”
By A.G. (C) 03/2018

I'll think of you when it snows.

For a few years at least,
Who knows.

Maybe longer.

“RENDEZVOUS SONNET”  

“The long day wanes the slow moon climbs,
My pale enclave inspires me to write,
That of our midnight love rendezvous,  
As well as awful dreams of life’s hardships,  

All can be forgotten of travesty’s that followed,
As I easily compare you to a light of stardust,
Traipse of her breaching my mind of that day,
Thinking of your prompt nobility fills my days.

My love for you is the dedicated anamnesis,
Our heated times of past frolics of seasons,
Our summertime on the immense sleepy hollows,
The sounding furrows for my purpose holds

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down,
The prudence labor loving procured slowly,    
Whisking your rugged ways and thro's endings,
Subdued only to thro’s closure of laudability,
Ode to my rendezvous sonnet”


By Andrew Guzaldo 08/14/2018 ©

Let your shining beacon lead me to this foreign shore;
the sands are unfamiliar, but I know I've been here before.
I can recall the curves of this roof as if they were the ceiling to the heights of my own dreams,
with the layout of rooms teasing the deepest parts of my memory.
I've this thing for remembering details -
shapes and scents in particular.
Struck dumb in the shower as a long since past scene takes hold of me;
picking blueberries in the sun.
Playing on the swing set that still yet stands,
as if some ancient monument in a half-forsaken land.
We've both grown a bit rusty.
The chains creak from the strain of my weight,
but nothing ever truly gets forgotten:
I have before and always will belong in this place.

A figment of imagination
crawling through
night
day
and evening.

Frisking through meadows
of stiff hands
and painted numbers,
this concept so lightly known as time,
has lived to contrive the clockwork
behind the functioning world.

It doesn't stand still; for it plans
escapes as swiftly as radio-waves.

Melting clocks tick away
at the hourglass of our fate.

Grain by grain...
time escapes the void we call life
and deceases us through the midst of anamnesis
and ideation.

It is all in our minds.

That absurd thrum,
The rhythm of all things
                (beneath all life)
an ancient yearning bubbling up
              (as could-be memory)

for M.S.

The blinds drawn, she vacated her life;
Through grieving lips she exists within the future,
Half-alive in an unconscious tongue
That allows paragon hopes to thrive:

She was whole.
No--

Blotched out and blurred,
She became a lacuna,
A Platonic *anamnesis;
Believed to have believed:
The conviction of faithful mourners,
Her expulsion from Honesty.

               .     .     .

The haunt of our occasions--
Ghost of my reflection! --
Brown eyes never shone so bright.

We were walking around the town
A blissful night with friends
And the thought of you still bounced its way back into my head

The thought of us making a way down to the Hippocampus of my brain
We were something, we were everything and in one snap
I lost you; I lost someone that I used to call my world, my stars, my moon and my sun
Like Lang Leav said It was like losing everything all at once

The breeze caught up with the way I was breathing
I was broken once again

See this is your affect on me
This is why I keep myself busy because it is the only way I can distract myself
It is the only way that can keep me going
It is the only way, the only way I can somehow forget
But you are not someone worth forgetting
You are someone worth keeping
And that is why I gave up on forgetting
Because I’d like you to stay somewhere in the deepest part of my heart
To remind me even something as sweet as love can still hurt like hell

Eyes swollen by a lust for change.
A hunger; a desire
To force myself back through the gapless barrier
Preclusively demarcating reminiscence from reality.
Why can’t my anamnesis be my actuality?
Even if it is verisimilitudinous,
Lie to Me!

for Malani*

1.
The blinds drawn, she vacated her life.
Through grieving lips she survives our futures,
Being kept half-alive in an unconscious tongue

That allows a paragon of hope to thrive:
She was whole.
No—

Blotched out and blurred,
She became a lacuna,
A Platonic anamnesis.

"She is now in the company of angels":
The faithful mourners' conviction
And her integrity's fragmentation.

2.
Haunt of our occasions—
My musings' apparition!—
Brown eyes never shone so bright.

Just one touch from your hand...
I would be sold at an instant
Never let me go and linger
Stay with me for a while
For I am nothing without you
Just a passerby, a stranger
A mere fleeting memory
Gone eternally within seconds

Etch me deep within your remembrance
Let me be forever known
For I am nothing as I am now
Put me to use, initiate me to be

Cody Shull, 2019

“As I watch her words undulate off her tongue,
As words gyrate like raindrops upon my brow,
Our plight embrace shall never be severed,
We are driven fervently with passion as we gaze,

As we embrace in an avidity of passion,
With deep fervor engulfed with luminance,
Caressing soft silky innuendos of lasciviousness,
A gulp of cloying surrender of fiery passion,

Always be with me the in littoral of my anamnesis,
As Neptunian waves ripple along the shoreline,
Standing obscure vigilance on the shores anamnesis,
Even though we look as tides drift to our costal shore,  

As the immenseness of the sea allures to its depth,
As does your soul allures me to the fervor abyssal,
You emerge as my vitality as the chimera of lust,
Now dissipated of your caresses have sealed my love,

With no contrition we ardently agog to embrace as one,
To be consumed with an Avidity of Passion”
      By AG 4/18/2018 ©

Your faithful betrayal
Of love and all its colors
Your truthful denial
Of hurt and all the stumbles

Your fight against the world
Your fight for us
As you went against the world
Your fight for us
Lay in shambles
Just as your heart did
Just as my heart still does

I surrendered ere long
To this sweet misery
And sweeter despair belongs
To our story

Your ferocious cherishing
Of life and its ecstasy
Your eternal anamnesis
Of you and me

Your fight against the world
Your fight for us
As you went against the world
Your fight for us
May not have saved us
Neither our serendipity
Neither our inseperableness

not wholly betaken
as a person, disgusted
forever expecting
and drinking the poison

not wholly betaken
a dead-perfect graveyard
of memory, of sun
and of promises soiled

nothing was waiting
no, nothing was worth it
nothing, no
nothing
—no other things

yet no other person
could ever have been
so wholly betaken
or so it seems

no, no, no—no!
not so wholly betaken, no
never, not ever
so wholly betaken
     so wholly betaken
     so wholly betaken
never, not ever
     so wholly betaken as I

Q.309 is the fire of existence pushing to action transforming the ideological Materia in revolutionary spirit.

SHE IS GODS **** AND MOUTH

Q.309 is the confirmation of the enlightening action above the primordial waters found in the structure and in the function of the eye.

BEYOND THE EGO BURNS INEFFABEL APHRODESIA

Q.309 is every union originating from dissimilar things with adulterous spirit.
Our anamnesis nullifies the liturgical and ritual tradition; the attitude in us pushing to the repetition of the ritualistic gesture intended as an offer and as a proof of the memory is amplified by the life itself.

CHAOS AS RITUAL

Q.309 is the radical conflict with the existing world and a new identity to be achieved through a process of identification with the will of the abyss that contains all: through this conflict you become a concupiscent being.

I PUSH HER **** THROUGH HER THROAT

Q.309 is the cult of the slough whose common thread is constituted by the constant sexualization of the human world and of the divine sphere, bringing them closer till the overlap.

A RESIPROCITY OF ******* IN MUTUAL EXCHANGE

Q.309 is the energetic foundation and dynamism typical of the devolutive systems.

HEAD ABOVE THE HEAVENS FEET BELOW THE HELLS

We turn our gaze to the underlying face of the Materia and we consolidate our desire in her; the concupiscence is our vis generandi through which our gnostic process of emanation is activated.

I AM EVERYWHERE WITHIN  HER


The Flesh of God melts with the one who creates him.



[From MEQOM YAD/Assur #1]

Don't play me that Egyptian stuff
it sets my spirit weeping
for I was gave to Horus once
when I lay softly sleeping.

I am the Audience.  I write
to hear what I have to say.
This jumble of verbs and
adjectives, this conglomeration
of images is my body.

These warts and crevices, the pocks
of my life roll up into
words.  I copy them in the winter
and I write with them in the
long summer mornings.

But you, you predate my vocabulary.
And I say to myself you Are.  I
make you from the letters of
experience.

How else to tell the world, and
I must tell the world, that I exist,
that you live.  You are the noun.
I write to keep myself formed
into the story we made.  You
are the Subject of this
safari through my bones and I
am the Author.

My pen spills, a diary of tight
lighting firing through the
ink.  I write to say you
exist.

I scribe this plot thralled
Gothic romance.  
The story is always the same.

You, you are alive somewhere
in the world of words
I create.

And I,
I am your god now.


Caroline Shank

Breathing Seed                           If I was here

Sprouting acres                          If I was Worldly Deed                             If ISetting Tracers                          IfShouting Chords                       IClanging Mashing                     ExistedWitching Hour                           Would you be hereTidal Power                               Would you beMicrophonic                              Would youHibernating the meaning           WouldSweeping away hopes                The world standWhen faces light                        Stand on it's ownIn dawning moon                      Shoulders Eclipse tune                              Would the skyAnd anamnesis swoons             Fall as pieces ofSupple tower                             Puzzles onto theRiddled hands                           Floor, anxietyOf lovers on frosted steam        Swims currentsEmpire grounded down to wire  Through theSpiral Staircase                           Myth that isRounds chambers                       Me and youOf mindful states                        And all ofStable gates                                Us we are lostRelease all fate                            In the earth

"Unprepared I wondered into her burrow,
My endeavors were useless as her beauty,
Plod into my conscience,
Aghast at what in your beauty I might find,

I couldn’t resist in going and touching her near,
If she were to resist what would I do in interim,
The closer I had gotten the more she toiled my soul,
It is as if I had entered a dream and wit not to awake,

Than finally adjacent deliquesced in each other’s embrace,
Free from iniquity I gave myself deluded to her,  
An archipelago had opened before with her tenderness.
No longer live in dark places as she has brightened all,  

Illuminating my soul with each one of her embraces,
A heart once cold and cruor with such from melancholy,
My only assuagement bad anamnesis gone from mind
For she comes to me in a mystifying incognizant way”

“Once I did love her as everyone knew,
And the Elysium can adjure to such,
Globules of love still trickle in my soul,
And benevolence of pain fills my heart,

I loved her endlessly even of her cynically sense,
Sometimes hesitant and at other times resentful,
Loving her regardless of her ambitious benevolence,
As tears is infamously brief the brow of my cheek,

She was the shadow of darkness that hid from me,  
Will a new love me with an obverse passionate fervor?
The globules of anamnesis drip from my heart and soul
Are these pieces of my soul that still cling to her?

Nor can I descent from despair from this I once loved,
Inescapable moments of life are as sure as leaves fall,  
As clouds form before a storm and the sun sets in eve,
As glacial flowers have fallen upon my latent heart,
And from ethereal hopes to a crevice of vicissitudes,    
By Andrew Guzaldo 06/25/2019 ©

It's the thinking that hurts,
The cavity of x and y
Which drapes proclivity
In the way
My words work,
Almost Bro-
                  ken.

Slightly when spoken
From dorsum,
I welcome you
To the Stitches
Of other halves-

The part I dampen
More than antediluvian revoke
And- Anamnesis wrinkles,
Spitting essentia spirit
Until all I am is-
Eighty-six

At no time have I repressed your voice,
At no time have I repressed your eyes,
At no time have I repressed the essence of you,
Like the essence of sweet flowers in time of autumn,

I am a prisoner with ambiguous memory of you,
I survive still with the pain the wound you have cajoled,
I shall live with such pain for without the anamnesis of you,
Would mean no more adversity to perception of thee,

We have now Celestial perimeters between us,
But still cognizance of you quells my heart and soothes my soul,
I anticipate the flames that were ascertained as we touched,  
Fervor born in utopia but known to man as titillation,

I have loved you for many years my beauty of Nacre,
My words cascaded upon you as I caressed your body,
It was then at long last you slept in my arms as shadows came
And it was then I realized you were a conclude Cognizance
Of my once LOVE"
By AG 03/29/2018 (c)

“Banish if you will the rancor,
And its profound rooted core within,
Memorialize that is was this rancor,
That induced the agony in your heart,

Nestle the anamnesis that healed your heart,
Hold all that inclusive what made you feel right,
Bring the recognition of your auspices;
Push aside the despondency of the agitation,

Sunshine will Nurture the wellbeing of within,
Preposterous as it may seem it is the placebo,
It is the manner that you will adhere to your dreams,
Love will be the palatableness in your laughter,

You will postulate all your dreams now imminent,
All the people that you believed in and loved,
To that every tear you have cried due to rancor,
The future now of your canticle of emphatic dreams”
By Ag 03/10/2018 ©

I see and hear it all this dreary night. Sirens of many varieties under a sickly pale green moonlight. Police, ambulances, firefighters, hell, maybe even the army is involved. And all for such a little, insignificant, measly thing with no ramifications at all. Looking at the moon unbound by a window is far brighter but I float back inwards to see the gorgeous, yellow, orange and red flames licking my former room and what remains of my belongings. There is nothing left of me, but it was over quite quickly, so there is no need to complain. Some little ghoulish figure set a fire under my bed claiming it would finally warm me, then blamed it on me when the flames consumed both it and I. Nothing is better now than it was before, yesterday and the day that preceded or the day that came even before then, although the lord knows I can't even remember that far back. Nothing is better, as I was saying, because there is nothing to do, and nowhere to be, no one to see and nothing to look forward to. The heavens wouldn't take me, but hell rejected me too. It was a few minutes ago that I learned that those wise crazies from centuries ago, who had called the soul undying, were right, but anamnesis simply wouldn't come and I was not worthy of apotheosis.
So even what little I could hold in my hands, the sparks of warmth that I was given oh so rarely, had moistened and turned to drops of water, and I could not even join the fire and the cosmic jubilee. I looked upon my scorched abode once again and sighed. Or would have, had I lungs still, but it seems incorporeal beings have their limitations. No matter, limitations and disappointment were nothing new to me. I floated onward to lament and hope for another day where maybe, just maybe, some body would need a wandering, lonesome soul. Eventually, after hours became days and those days became weeks and those weeks became months and those months became years and those years became worthless to keep counting out to myself, floating turned into such a **** chore. Sitting was impossible, so that was out of the question, as well. And it simply wouldn't come. I eventually forgot what it even was that I was waiting for, and with nobody around, nothing would even remind me. Alas, existence can be tedious, but non-existence is just such a bore.