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Chimera melons Apr 2010
The most you left the house in a week
was a peek out the screen door
All those exposed scurry about out
there and falsely carry your irrational fears
You think they care to judge you ?
Are you reading their minds
from a passing bored glance?

half read pages cracked open spines
books don't talk back or have eyes
You watch tv all day long avoiding
real human contact .
So proud of the few phonecalls
that you make and take
as if you had allowed yourself
to meet outsiders from another world

Stop avoiding life and don't waste time on tv
organize , clear your clutter seize the days
these hopeful fresh days without obsessing
about things you can't change
exchange tv remote for will and action
come alive honestly out of your moonburned
pale skin
pity filled  shutin
go with purpose
brave worldly wounds and heal all at once

don't  be just a phonecall
Ruthie Dec 2014
Phonecalls
Late nights
Your voice
Taxi drives.
Cocktails
Beers
Apartment heaters
Christmas cheer.

I'm
F
A
   L
     L
       I
        N
          G
too fast
too hard
for you.

I CAN'T
Susan O'Reilly Jun 2013
Stolen kisses

just delicious

swollen lips

straight to hips

Wandering hands

my heart brands

whispered phonecalls

my soul falls

Commit infidelity

I’m paying penalty

my stomach growing

you, not knowing

Consumed by guilt

lust was spilt

can’t look you in the eye

kissing sanity goodbye
MelaninInked Dec 2017
I love the 3am phone calls when you pour out your heart to me
Tell me how thing are and how you want them to be
Tell me things about you that many people can't see

I love the 3am phone calls when we run out of words and sit in silence
When you lean on me for guidance
Even though silent, your emotions louder than sirens

Even though I love our 3am phone calls I know you are high
I know you popped some and downed some and when I say goodbye
You won't remember anything the next day

Even though I love our 3am phone calls I wish you'd see this is not who you are not by a long shot
What do you think would happened if you got caught?
Why do you want to throw away all the battles you've fought?

One day during our 3am phone calls you won't be on cloud twenty two
Then I can tell you what I've always wanted to
All the things I've kept inside for the sober you
I love our 3am phone calls and I love you too
Greyson Fay Dec 2014
If this is love
i dont want it.
long silences and light insults
bear no fun for me

where have we gone?

once so sweet.
i remember you described me as innocent
now i am anything but

where did i go?

you were so kind
your heart glew with passion
your eyes were bright.
happy.
now they are dark
they shine only with lust and jealousy

where did you go?
----------
i believe we are coming to an end
i remember bursting into joy upon your arrival
now i’m wary or your moods
there is no telling which i do not like
your arrival
or your departure
--------
Are we happy?
is this love?
do we want this?
what are we together for?
--------
you said it yourself.
this relationship is stress and trouble
---
i used to make you happy
---
on phonecalls
we would stay up all night
laughing and whispering

now your texts
are almost
-nonexistent-

where did the conversation go?
About none in particular. just an idea i had in my mind.
Christine Jun 2010
Lime green freezer pops
Swigs of senor Jack Daniels
My body gets hot.

-------------------------------

Jacky versus wine
Will fight to the death tonight
Victor gets a home

---------------------------------

Baby-making songs
(The world tastes like raspberry!)
Jazz flute Godzilla

-------------------------------

Little black cell phone
Glows modern techno at night
Rad leaks in my brain.

(I am now a spidercorn!)

---------------------------------

Idiotic cat
Sole bane of my living room
You should've been a dog

--------------------------------

Woman and man-thing
Flame haired goddess of cleavage
Mid-coitus phonecalls.

---------------------------------

Two shots of whiskey
One sibling revelation
Long night of country.

--------------------------------

Blood-baths, hair stylists
****** eye for the dead guy
Joanne: **** the man.

-------------------------------

A nice hairy man
Smirnoffs, beer pong victory.
Did I do a bad?

----------------------------------

I am drunk on you
And on you conversation
More than on the beer.

---------------------------------
Whiskey sours, full.
Half-**** swimming with strangers.
Attraction repressed.

----------------------------
Oh my pretty beer
You so inspire my mind
I can't stop giggling.

-----------------------------
Hank bones on the wall
A sad tale of pretending
Oh no! Demon feet.
Chimera melons Mar 2010
forgot to button up
veils,scales, umbrellas
see this dragon rained

couches where dreams are cats
no body
just discarded fur and echoes of purrs

after reading the label it rubbed off
maybe its tasty
pretend until the last drop

apologies repeated sound like dogs barking
attention slowly goes missing
a chair to block anyone from entering

holidays celebrate themselves easily
the grocery aisles let them be known
No wristwatch no calendar
window dressings tell parking lots their stories

faces bloom less then flowers
secret coffeehouses for shameful breakfasts
phonecalls peppered with obvious lies
surprise its your turn
all rights preserved with marmalaide
Sarina Sep 2013
Nobody knows how to say goodbye to anything, even the
sea has ruined edges
leaves its will to a muddy bayou. Our
phonecalls hang onto me after there rings a dial tone, a curly tail
of wires ribboned around my most important parts
thigh, artery, genital. The bed
is the whole bedroom, now. I am handcuffed from the ceiling
waiting for your voice box to quiver again
and am kicking and screaming –
I am heartbroken at nothing, not for no reason but for
nothing. Lovers are not versed in goodbyes
or else we would not be lovers. But I prefer the sensation of
suffocation to cold blankets,
rather heat them up with blood and guts than have a
mattress that has never smelled my ***. You do not know how to
ring my neck or drown me in sheets that’ll
just hide hide hide the word
goodbye. If this is your worst trait, not wanting to go,
I am happy to let you love and hurt me until I can float, too.
Corina Oct 2013
i remember
the phonecalls
the screams on the other end of the line

the sirens
the doctors
the bad news
the hope

the phone
was ringing ringing ringing
no answer
why were you not there?

the doctor
trying to give me new hope
the machine breathing for my child

and after the nightmare
we went out
and ate pizza

oh, what a great pizza
maisie khan Nov 2013
Stop.
Stop apologising for him not loving you.
Stop apologising for having
small hands and a loud mouth
and a big heart.
Stop searching for reasons why you're not good enough:
you are more than enough.
Stop expecting apologetic phonecalls
or his car parked outside the front of your house.
He isn't coming back.
You don't want him back.
Girls,
you're so quick to see being a woman
as being weak, used, desperate.
You confuse fragility with weakness;
yes, you are delicate
but you are strong
strong and beautiful
and I promise it will come to you;
I promise that love will come to you.
There will be someone
who is more in love with the fact you woke up next to him
than the fact you fell asleep next to him.
He will love you in ways that fill your lungs
and he will love you because you are you.
There will be someone
that adores your small hands,
someone who considers your loud mouth to be music,
someone that wants to love your big heart.
There will be someone
that considers your body to be valuable art
rather than a mere object.
There will be someone
that doesn't tell people you're *'just friends'.

There will be someone
who is proud to have you.
There will be someone who will love you
the way you want to be loved.
There will be someone who will love you
and cause you to finally love yourself.
Esther L Krenzin Sep 2021
no matter the distance
or all the missed phonecalls
and unread texts
in a way
a small piece of my heart
will always belong
to you
my first love
and first heartbreak.

Esther L. Krenzin
Nicky Feb 2010
We never entered into the
'No you hang up. No you hang up'
Game.
Instead we raced to end phonecalls.
Refusing to admit love.
Playing our own game.
It stopped when you cheated.
Games always stop when people cheat.

And it took some time to find a new game.
But one was found all the same.
Still teasing,
Still against eachother, rather then as a team,
Until you tired of games.
You wanted more.
Happiness had to have meaning now.
And so that game stopped.

And now the world seems dreary,
And it bores me,
But it's real.
And next time maybe I won't play games.
Next time.
Maybe next time.
Steffi Sep 2014
it's kinda ironic how i could think about thousand things when we were apart but suddenly couldnt think any when i meet the sunlight reflected in your green eyes turning them into some kind of wonderland and i got lost just like that
and i dont think you have any idea how unfair it is for me
How you could talk about your day, while i stutter bc your presence leaves me breathless
How you could order your favorite latte, while i'm lost in the idea of leaving traces of my fingers on your skin
How you could wrap your arms around my shoulders, while my ribs collapsing from the thought that you'd leave your scent all over my clothes
How you could crawl to your bed tonight and dream about seasons and falling stars, while i'm wide awake, dying to know if you ever say my name in your sleep,
i scream yours every single night.
It is so unfair that i built my world around you
It is so unfair that for me you'd never become an old photograph even decades from now
It is so unfair that being with you makes me forget about
every touch
every goodnight kisses
every strands of hair
every soul
every summer
every pair of eyes
every rooftop talks
every six hours straight phonecalls
every car rides
basically the life i had before you walked in.

ps: i'm sorry.
Lily Jean May 2013
the first time you decided we should stop talking,
my heart handled it pretty fine.

one hundred and eighty two days later,
when you decided again we should just be friends,
my heart was ripped to shreds.

that day,
i asked three thousand and twenty six strangers on the internet,
how i could get you back,
but the most common answer i got,
was that i couldn't.

i never really ever imagined my life without you,
and your texts at 1 in the morning,
and the phonecalls that would last for hours.

right now i feel like a shadow.
opaque and lost,
wandering around,
looking for something,
that no longer exists.
KD Miller Jan 2015
1/29/2015
princeton thursday night
all out of coffee
and, sitting by wood slats of the
sad sunroom i
smile at a dead beetle

set the record down on
helen forrest and all she does it talk about
how she loves so madly

the sun sets on the west
sourland bramble downwards the cul-de-sac ridge
was in my line of sight long walks

but pulmonary bruises like the radiators
and that was in what? october? april?
no. april's too early

i close my eyes in bed and
i still hear that ****** song
enraptured i sink back and

i open again i open!
i can't afford to die or lose
same thing, just yet

i have dorms to sneak into and
cigarettes to put out,
more lifetime flatlines to complain about and

drain pipes to stand next to and
grass to sink into when it thaws and
unexpected phonecalls from past men
to receive.

month long in absentia you never called me first and now
i gotta go flip this record over, man.
stand up down the stairs off the bed
remind me not to blink for too long.
makeloveandtea May 2017
Distances and cardboard boxes;
Maybe I like to move.
The coffee was good today and toasted bread with salted butter,
Was perfect.
I have been feeling loved and alone lately,
What's with the neighbour's loud dog and
dishes that don't wash themselves?
Crazy —
the dates I don't go to.
It was romantic, what the girl I didn't meet said to me.
Distances and unanswered phonecalls;
Maybe I just
like to move.
Stuck in traffic;
I found it beautiful how against bright lights,
you were just hair, nose and chin.
Anyway.
The pile of dishes in the sink is making me sad,
But still
the coffee was good today
and toasted bread with salted butter,
Was perfect.
Puspanjali Sahu Jul 2016
For me,
love was
my favourite
pale yellow chiffon dress
or may be
my light brown hemp neck less

Brightness of diamonds
placed closely on my fingers
Or darkness of black lines
around my eyes

Love,
may be smiling, giggling or crying over long phonecalls
Or spending hours and hours
and someone’s savings
in a overcrowded mall

Tell me.
how could I realize love can be
more than my imagination,
and your life

It could be choosing
sleepless nights in dark forests
filled with pointed stones
when chances to throw your body
over a cushy bed
in a warm room
is still on

How could I know
how it feels
to take a bullet
directly on your chest
only to
protect the soil on which you were born?

And we, whom you left
in our five star rooms
to sleep peacefully
watch movies with bowls of popcorns
will never understand
what you did for us
even though
we are not related with relations


Today
When I saw you
sleeping peacefully
in the arms of tricolour
and 21-gun salute
could not touch your ear
Today when
thousands of bodies like me
with tear filled heart
raised their hand

I realized
my heart can never love the way
your heart does
and
your soul can never be touched
with my prayers

because

I have never been there
A trial to express the unconditional love every soldier feel for their country.....A tribute to Indian soldiers and and soldiers of any other country, sacrificed their lives for their nation

We can try to feel but I am sure we can never feel what a soldier feel for their nation because we were never in that situation..we have never been there
She wasn't storybook pretty
She wasn't even the plain kind of pretty
No mary sue or timid thing
She was weepy phonecalls at 3am
And smashing plates in kitchen sinks
She was thunder and lightning
Bright and burning
And you couldn't catch her if you tried
She was destruction and it was not
Beautiful, but it was enchanting
The type of girl who stole breaths
Simply for the enjoyment of watching
Us mere things gasping for air
She was a galeforce wind in winter
You couldn't look away,
And she couldn't stay
Even if she wanted to.
asg Oct 2015
It affects her:
The calls, the messages, the smirks, the frowns, the curses, the white lies, the missed phonecalls, the skipped dates, the whistles, the hoots, the whispers, the stares, the anger, the harsh truths, the words they use to describe a human being that just happens to have a little extra **** to her body, the comments that come from those of the same *** about a body that could be perfect but why bother if there's no one to be perfect for?

It affects him:
The blank stares, the condescending voices, the cheers, the tears, the jeers, the insults, the absent father, the oblivious mother, the useless job, the harrowing boss, the old flame, the aches, the pain, the fact that he can't seem to make things work right when it could benefit him, the assumptions by them that he should be strong enough to carry the burdens of 12 others plus his own.

We need our girls to be smart but not so much that they become overconfident
We need our men to be strong and tears are meant for boys
We want our girls to be pretty
We want our boys to be handsome
We want our girls to understand their role in society and that they must not cross an arbitrary line made by those who fear them
We want our boys to grow up and understand they must provide, provide, provide and if they don't it's a sign of weakness
We want our women to provide children but oh no no no they must not work, where is the father?
We want and expect our men to be fathers to children, but not the ones born out of wedlock
We want, want, want but never ask our children anything because while we've strived hard to help their brains grow
we don't actually want them using that knowledge

We oppress our own people
And wonder why we see little success.
Redshift Oct 2017
phonecalls on facebook ******* trigger me
transports me back to last semester
like some sort of sick boat ride
to the magic kingdom
perverts dressed as mickey mouse
asking if i want a selfie

and i get angry.
angry that i can't use those little plastic eraser guards
we used to make patterns on paper with
as children
to erase your fingerprints from my flesh.

i rub at them regardless,
smudging away at my own contour lines
losing contrast,
value,
scale
my repeating shapes are starting to look a lot
like a pattern my mother wore
reflecting off her red cheeks
as she laid on the couch late at night
her arm over her face.

and i'm terrified,
honestly.
i'm terrified of the damage i've yet to assess
once i make it outside myself
i'm on my way out
this month
and there's only a few days
of october
left

my mother spent the month of june watching fruit rot on the countertop
before she put it all in garbage bags and left
and that is how i feel
late at night
when peace evades me.
Bansi Adroja May 2021
I would take every fight
every single heart break
for those three am phonecalls
wishing I could call you home

I would take every single disconnect
every time we tripped
falling in and out of sync
over ten long years and more

I would hold your hand
on the sofa in front of the TV
while we talk about nothing at all
disappearing every evening like a bottle of red

I would do anything
to relive the moments we missed
all over again
because after all this time
you still have my heart in your hands
And I will always wish yours was mine
Reminiscent
Ingrid Midd Jun 2018
Frying pan to fire,
Escape into a trap,
Of course the grass is greener,
'til you stop and lay your hat.
She monitors your phonecalls
and every move you make -
You will always say it's greener
In your prison with no break.
Tina Jun 2017
i try not to live with regrets,
ive made alot of bad choices but ive learned from them.
day to day struggles but i grind for mine,
i live and breathe for mine,
ride or die for mine,
would **** or die for mine.
a teen mom no help from the father,
did my best to transform into a mother,
had help from my mother and brother.
til God thought it was better to take them both,
left here alone to figure it out.
grew up with my son tried to raise him right,
busted my *** day and night.
motherhood doesnt come with an instruction book,
but its the hardest job i ever took.
having to learn as i go,
make mistakes as i grow,
taught myself everything i know.
multiple personalities i had to take on,
disiplinary, friend, teacher, dad, mom.
another child born into my quiet storm,
here we go again, dam shame fatherless children are becoming the norm!
it dont make no dam sense,
dont care who takes offence,
once a week phonecalls dont pay your childs rent!
hold up im not done let me ****** vent!
donating the ***** dont make you a parent!
dam shame, i, yes i, a woMAN, has to raise these boys into MEN!
With no help from these so called MEN!
a vicious cycle of fatherless fathers,
acting like your protegees are stress and bothers!
welcome to the world of  the woman, the single mothers!
Having to pick up the roles as you so called fathers!
but ima do my best, to raise
my boys into men,
real men !
and if i cant break the cycle i tried my best,
at least i tried to raise these boys into men!
so there kids dont feel the fatherless stress!
so baby daddys, ask your selves, did you try your ****** best!!!
Spear Jul 19
He believes he is not ready
Yet he doesn't see how much shes adores him
He says he couldn't afford a relationship
Though he doesn't know she would be fine staying exactly how they are
With the late night phonecalls randomly and there letting each other know when they'll be unavailable
She loved how he seems to remember the small little things from their conversation
She loves how he has the same interest as her
But she cannot say she loves him though. Because that takes much more time to know.
She knows she adores him with her whole heart but never tell him
Nobody Feb 2020
Up.
I dont know if you remember that night at the park after prom.
We layed together on the hood of my car, it
was 2am and we were just there looking up at the stars.
I remember you telling me that there are trillions upon trillions of stars in our universe and that each one represented a reason why you loved me.

Each reason you listed seemed more ridiculous than the last.

I think alot about that night,
I think about the diffrent outcome of events if I told you that each of those stars is dead by the time it reaches our visual prowels.

Just like how you saw me.

I could tell things were changing,
Our frequent phonecalls became less frequent and more rare than anything

The texts kept getting shorter and shorter.

Your smile was gone

I felt alone in your presence
I knew this was it
I miss my love, she IS my everything.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
you might try: like i have, used various translation
tools...
   but none can compete with investing in
a £20 book on a topic...
                            
                   not that i am boasting:
   can one boast about amassing a private collection
of books?
can one boast about amassing a private collection
of music records?
            
               maybe i should boast about having a library
card? or owning a radio?
perhaps i should boast about investing money
in stock of a cat food company?
   or... whatever it might be: a Ferrari?
                             property... perhaps i should
boast about that... a portfolio of properties
that i'm currently renting...          hypothetical: of course...

but the private library is very real...
   and the private music collection is also real...
i really can't believe in either the Christian or the Buddhist
sentiment for complete: abject: immateriality...

ever since i was a young boy...
my ****** ****** off in that great labour drain
after the collapse of the Soviet union...
(the intellectual drain came much later,
circa 2005)
                   so instead of a father from the ages
of 4 through to 8 i received phonecalls
and packages of gifts...

    one time: a Nintendo came...
   that very first type...
                  i used to be a sharing child...
all my neighbours came round and they played
and i played too but sometimes i just watched...
and as i watched i had this...
INDESCRIBABLE sensation in the tips of my
fingers: watching other people use my things...
it wasn't NUMBING it was:
TICKLING-NUMBING...

bewildering... as the Taoist says:
what are ignoble, yet must be depended on?
things...
         from that brilliant passage
being there and giving room...
                        hmm... it seems i've made full circle...
or rather... during the heat-wave i was lying
in the coolest place in the house come late morning...
and to my surprise i was lying
"upside down" (which is impossible when
you're laid on the floor)...

but then again: it isn't... i lay one way...
but when i woke up... through the heat...
i managed to do a 180° twist...
break-dancing in my sleep?
    i toppled a chair in the process (since the coolest
place in the house was beside the dining table
in the living room) - of note... my mother still
makes fun of me when i said as a child:

the civil room... the "living room" for me
was the CIVIL ROOM... pokój cywilny...
how else? you're not being civil in the bedroom,
certainly not in the bathroom nor the *******
kitchen... made sense to me back then
as it does now... nothing's changed...

      but it has truly been years! what a grand return
to my original lessons... i remember picking up
my first book on Tao...
                         back when i was a brat...
just turned into a teenager...
                 how many tribulations since then:
and i'm implying: intellectual adventures...
two years of Heidegger -

   how is it that people merely "read" books?
can people read-meditate?
                                   meditierenlesen?
well... for that to happen? Descartes construct
of the res cogitans and the res extensa has to
disappear... the self-narrative construct of the ego
has to disintegrate...
    the res extensa remains intact:
           hence my pseudo-schizophrenic experiences
of auditory hallucinations...
but... the res cogitans disappears and in its
place comes the RES VANUS...

and no: it's not a thing of vanity...
                                       it's a thing of vacuum...
mind you: dealing with this impoosion
and the rampant res extensa: that caused be some
worry... bilingualism helped...
and once bilingualism helped: came the adventure
into becoming a part-time polyglot...

with a fetish for the German language
and the Japanese script (although i still think
Korean... i still think Korean... is something special)

hmm... two years of Heidegger...
and the concept of dasein:
i always found that grammatically complicated...
oh... i understand the concept:
of concern... most modern people interpret it
via the acronym of F.O.M.O.:
fear of missing out...

                        but that's FALSE CONCERN...
that's not genuine (i wouldn't stretch it as
far as TRUE) concern... ergo: if it's not true
but false concern... i.e. it's not genuine:
then it's logically provable to simply call it
a FAKE concern... that's how synonyms and antonyms
work... with a sort of algebra-esque dynamic...

i tried to work around this un-grammatical
vision for some time...
i broke dasein up along several lines...
i even intruduced the very English hyphenation
of words... da-sein...
    but by doing so i couldn't but help myself
in having to think about introducing the "pluralism"
of the apostrophe S:             's

i.e. there's being...
                                  da ist sein...
hmm: what now? there's existence... there's also
non-existence...
                    no no... muddle muddle:
spaghetti entanglement...
       i need something simpler: something clarifying...

lo and behold!
in my de profundis nadir i remember standing
in a queue to the bank-machine with some guy...
randomly we chatted about "this that and the other"
when i exclaimed:
the best plan, is to have no plan...

Taoism was forever stirring in me...
my mind just supressed it for a while while
having to learn *******...
chemistry, history, French literature: *******...
my admiration of Ezra Pound soon disappeared...
he was a staunch anti-Taoist...
well: one must change to allow for "things"
to happen...

ah! and there it was... a lighthouse in one
of Edward Hopper's paintings...
everything Norman Bates implying...
    
                                                                     在

zai... or rather: zài                       right...
                 but how do you say that?
it's a grave-a: that indicator atop the A is just
that... this is where the English use of the apostrophe
(oh **** me... the English apostrophe
and the hyphen is probably the only chance
to see "orthography" in action in the English
language... the apostrophe and the hyphen
are the only "diacritical" marks in the English
language)

   zài?                                  it's za'i

no! the dot above the iota and the JOTTA
do not count: since they disappear when the letters
are elevated from first to in the middle...

but that Mandarin "character" up there?
that's my release from Heidegger's grasp...
it's the correctly grammatical concern of:
being there...
                         rather than there-being... concern...
blah blah...
     i'm either there: or i'm not...
i'm either concerned or i'm not...
like with the twin fires at the gateway of
the Thames...
one fire in Bexleyheath - south of her majestic
lake like stasis and Bermuda triangle tide in tide out
a river that behaves like a ******* sea...
and like a lake: just sitting there...
and a fire in Wennington: a village i tend to
sometimes cycle through... SIMULTANEOUSLY...

ha ha: a scene...
that boat scene with the fellowship going
down the river of Anduin...
two pillars of smoke: Isildur and Anárion...
it was amazing to watch: i must admit...
oh the heavenly: sometimes there's nothing one
can do but pay compliments as a terrible
narrator to what's happening...
or plagiarise... that's the worst:
then again... of the cyclic truths...
    must memory be eroded?
perhaps that's the original sin:
we would think we were the first...
and the only: EVER... in existence...
               we thought we would be special...
unique... the one Adam Schwarzstein
   among the many Adam Smiths...
                         i think that's original sin:
the sin of originality...
                            we either get offended or become
proud when someone copies us...
personally? i love the idea that people have
copied my way of cycling... actually making sure
that one is visible in the rearview-mirror
of a large truck...
    behaving like a REMORA to a bus that's a SHARK...
imitating bike-riders...
seriously: once i started to display my
"arrogance" when cycling in central London?
i haven't heard of any cyclist-deaths...
prior to? oh: you heard it all the time...

sure thing: copy me... after all... we've gone past
giving a **** about originality...
we're already contemplating if not already
establishing cloning... perhaps it doesn't simply
end with sheep: no... i haven't been living under
a rock: in h'america i already know people
are cloning their pets...

ha ha: the doubly original sin... the original original sin
   the originally original sin!
exactly! that's what happens to the intellect
when the heavenly and the inactivity by purpose
meet: inactivity and inactivity meet
and create activity with a focus for "dasein"
with outcomes of: thank **** i'm not there...
  t.f.i.a.n.t.   (defiant)...

                            i'm just happy i returned to the purist
Tao of old... Heidegger muddled the waters
a little... but... i have to admit...
the narrative increased my ability to concentrate
with a greater focus to not concentrate:
the dialectic of paradoxes / contradictions.
charles Jan 2022
all in all,

only stars left above,

all i can't change or create,

asking for phonecalls,

but they all spin away.

gone are the days,

i am asked if i'm okay,

now i just sit and think away,

every drunken thing i cannot say,

until stars have long passed,

then i say im awake.
MissNeona Nov 2020
I show up to downtown just as everyone starts heading out. It was such beautiful chaos and carnage. Wigs, masks, bits of feather boas literring the streets. The lost and fearful gaze of those trying to locate their brethren. Panicked phonecalls, fights over cabs. Glass and debris everywhere... The stale stench of smashed beer bottles mixed with the thick scent of ***** that you can blatantly see trailing down the asphalt from the alleyway. I kind of like the after-hour societal decay more than I might have enjoyed the night itself. Gross realness. I mean that as two meanings... The sheer amount and the level of filth. Glorious.

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