"recommendations" poems
I'm seeking to amass a Collection
of the World's spiritual, mythic and philosophical codices.
I want to collect them out of veneration
for those who came before who have tried to illuminate the Paths:
The following is my library of such books of yet.
Entries in bold are my recommendations;
entries italicized are strongly recommended.
-Old Works:
**Egyptian Book of the Dead
Tibetan Book of the Dead
The Bhagavad Gita
Euclid's Elements**
Tao te Ching (I have 3 translations)
I Ching (2 translations and a workbook)
The Qur'an
The Bible
-Newer Works:
Plato and a Platypus walk into a Bar: Philosophy explained through Jokes
*Quadrivium: Number, Geometry, Music, & Cosmology*
The Pulse of Wisdom - College Eastern Philosophy Book
*Food of the Gods by Terence McKenna*
The Elements of Reason - College Logic Book
1001 Perls of Buddhist Wisdom
*Net of Being by Alex Grey*
*Art Psalms by Alex Grey*
**The Portable Nietzsche
*The Red Book of Jung
The Portable Jung***
The Subtle Body - Encyclopedia of chakras, auras and other personal energy systems.
Who are you? - 101 Ways of Seeing Yourself
--
I seek to compile this Collection
not to have a nice looking bookshelf;
nor do I seek to find which one is right.
I seek to learn from each of these
the lessons that are intrinsic in our Lives;
they're all matters of perspectives.
I want to compile the aspects of each philosophy with which I resonate
and integrate them into my own,
forging a dynamic and holistic individual philosophy.
All of these books are Mystical masterpieces.
All of these books provide insights to the nature of our Holy Reality.
All of these books ultimately attempt to express the same ineffability.
All of these books are interpreted then translated and interpreted again.
The way I see it,
I may as well do it for myself; draw my own conclusions:
Think for myself.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
You know, you just gotta love
poetry blog sites
Poetry sites make you comfy
You post a poem
and they tell you how
useless your poem is
with various comments and statistics
Like how? Like below…
You posted this poem 36 hours ago.
This poem is public and visible on your profile.
It has been read by 1 other person.
Loser!
(Actually, was that you using another account?)
Loser!
It’s been 36 days now since
you posted this poem
and 360 other poems.
You’ve had 1 hit –
****** loser!*
It’s all so consistent…
You’ve had no likes…
You’ve had no recommendations…
No one has favorited you…
Loser! Loser! Loser!
****** loser!*
You've no Friends.
You've had no Invitations.
You’re not on the
Most Frequented Poet List.
You’re not on the
Most Commented List.
You’ve had 390 poems
and none has been chosen
to be featured at our site
and none of your poems
ever became Editor’s pick.
Loser! Loser! Loser!
O, What’s wrong with you?
*Loser! Loser! ****** Loser!*
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 6:28 PM UTC
a cucumber sandwich
shouldn't be made ahead of time
as the liquid in the cucumber
will seep through the bread like lime
you'll have a wet hand
as you lift the sandwich off the plate
your palm and your fingers
will be in a saturated fate
always make cucumber sandwiches
immediately before afternoon tea
at this juncture of time the bread
will not become so soggy
your afternoon tea guests wont abide
the seepage all over their hands
it will make them feel like
jeering spectators in a grandstand
the most tempting cucumber sandwiches
are never served wringing wet
they have a dry bread covering
akin to an indoor carpet
to stop this sort
of sandwich irrigation
you must follow
these preparatory recommendations
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 8:15 PM UTC
Dearest Mr. Green,
It was an honor to have my heart broken by you. Your book, The Fault in Our Stars was one of the best recommendations I may have ever crossed. I thank you deeply for all the hours of pure giddiness and tortuous pain that you created in both Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters. However, I do have many questions about Hazel's future: does she ever loose her battle to her cancer? What happened to Augustus's parents soon after the loss of their son set into reality?
Your story honestly had my heart ripping slowly into pieces, the way you described how Hazel Grace and Augustus had crossed paths and went down a beautiful road into the hearts of all your readers... gave me the deepest appreciation of the young fighters of childhood cancers.
As a daughter of a cancer survivor, I've had my fair shares of visiting support groups with my mother while she was going through her treatments. I remember the panic I felt every time she went in for PET scans and Chemo, worrying for any ounce of her body to betray her. Thank you for making the pain and worry of cancer so beautifully worded, and the uncertainty of how quickly cancer can easily take the happiness away from someone.
Thank you for the hopes given to me when you wrote the heartfelt words, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.”
You are truly an incredible soul with a heartbreaking habit of writing books with main characters who tend to die of some serious form of illness. I find you to be both evil yet so perfect when it comes to your stories. You are my inspiration. However, I am slightly upset that AIA is not a real book. It would be quiet a wonderful rollercoaster to ride.
“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal” Yours, could not have put my thoughts onto paper in any more of a perfected way.
Yesterday, you gained a new fan. I adore you as an author and person. I really do.
Sincerely,
m.b
July 11, 2013- I have yet to hear a reply...
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Ashlei Cottom
Sweetheart, fine art is not about pride. It's about FINDING pride. It's about creating something and taking pride in the fact that you did. When I read your poetry, all I hear is "Me, me, me, I'm the best." That's not what poetry is... Poetry is not self praise. Poetry is taking the most hurtful, joyful, mixed, complicated emotions that you have and putting them into words that make everyone understand. You may tell write back and tell me everything that is wrong with my poetry, but I will not care. Why? Because I know that I have successfully been able to express myself in ways that other people can relate to and enjoy. Ways that they may not have been able to express the same feelings. I have confidence in your ability to realize your mistakes and fix them. I look forward to seeing these changes. So please, take this to heart and write. :)
Loghain Carvó
How laughable that one of my lessors attempts to give I art recommendations.
Ashlei Cottom
It's not so much your art I'm trying to change, but your character. It's your character that is reflected in your art.
Ashlei Cottom
And if I could ask, why do you assume I am your lessor?
Loghain Carvó
I am not assuming, you already have shown that you are a lessor human through your words.
Ashlei Cottom
By encouraging you to keep doing what you love and bettering your character? Sir, I'm sorry, but if that is your opinion, I don't think it is I who is the lessor human...
Loghain Carvó
That is not what makes you my lessor, You are my lessor simply because you lack the artistic vision to fully appreciate the magnitude of my grand works. Please refrain from responding to this message as I wish to waste no more of my precious breath on peasants.
Ashlei Cottom
And how is it that I am a lessor human if all I do is try and help? Some people cut down and criticize and make others feel like mere mud on other's shoes. I am not one of those. I try to see the good in everyone. I think you have great talent, but I wish you would use that and dig deeper. I can tell you right now, with an unbiased opinion, that you unfortunately come across as narcissistic, selfish and and as you so eloquently put it, a "lessor human."
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
pub magnolia
Friday night thoughts
remembering the dish
still dreaming of
savory eggs benedict
too many moons to count
the vibe
energy
remains free
spirited bliss
fires raging here there
smoke is ******* **** up
IPA is tasty
sausage is spot on
smiths playing
forgetting the turmoil
air is so fresh now
young goddess
recommendations
pan out
smart girl
so wonderfully pretty
the Cure love cats
classic moment in time
brilliance
so fond of your smile
shine on
precious gift
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 5:52 PM UTC
a cucumber sandwich
shouldn't be made ahead of time
as the liquid in the cucumber
will seep through the bread like lime
you'll have a wet hand
when you lift the sandwich off the plate
your palm and fingers
will be in a saturated state
always make cucumber sandwiches
immediately before afternoon tea
as at this juncture of time
the bread will not be so soggy
your afternoon tea guests won't abide
the seepage all over their hands
it will make them feel like
jeering as spectators in a grandstand
the most tempting cucumber sandwiches
are never served wringing wet
they have a dry bread cover
akin to an indoor carpet
to stop this sort of sandwich irrigation
you must follow these preparatory recommendations
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
What miserable circumstances these are I must say,
All seriousness awaits every young mind,
Dust turns to dirt,
And thy dirt turns to slime!!!
Lying in the state of orient,
Thine place of buckeye hatched Nazi's!!!
Thine place where flies stay nutritious,
And gamblers turn to yahzee!!!
Turnaround,
For pickaways thy decadent view,
Just as Shawshank there's no escape,
Just white t-shirts ,
Straps replace laces and mindrapists of me and you!!!
Such colorful words used in a slander!!!
Falcons to replace birds,
Snake's here to smell out every tasteful salamander!!
No dancers,
No lovers,
No swings,
No palliation!!!
No invitations to weddings,
No wedded rings!!!!
Constitutional rights,
Forgeteth them thou reader of ohian laws,
Thy bloodcells extend,
Muscles bend to flex thy own callibur to thine jaw!!!!
Miracles of dark and lighted angels appear in sequences,
No recommendations,
Just case workers to fill bus help stations!!!
Proverbs to psalms will open to eyes that have not yet seen,
Where pearlied gates are out on display,
No movie theaters,
No freak like scenes!!!
All reality, no aura in the Catacomb of unknown kilter!!!
Pacification leads me successfully with a peace of minds own capture,
Prevailing to Sentiment,
To Amour ever after!!!!!
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
to print herself the headache of the magnolia
sometimes spreads up to the legs of the ripe mangos
in the water that creeps up to the horizon
the magic-deer of panchbati is sailing solo
under the neon-sun the groundnuts learn
the vow-tale of the deep lipstick
if in the centre of the mango-pith … standing on the hanging-balcony
there is a flower of guava … then …while walking along her sweet grievances
some day that handmade fan must be traced… to make the clouds that are swept in by storm more literate … the time to dip the painting brush
in the colour of whose recommendations is still……..
it happens… from the desire to get printed
the magic-deer… before reaching to any literacy-centre …
some dusts gather on her body…some part is eaten by the ants…
although there should have been some arrangements
to spray the red-rose regularly
and next … the winter comes
the hands want to be stolen
under the blue scarf
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:31 PM UTC
It’s Sunday morning, about 8am. My BF Peter and I we’re doing our laundry. Most of the time, we spent in my dorm common room, sitting side by side on a red corduroy couch, while our clothes washed, and then tumbled away in the dryer. If you want privacy on a college campus, or to do laundry in peace, avoiding the weekend laundry rush, do it before 10am.
"Why do you wear these," Peter asked, pulling and lightly snapping the hair-band on my wrist.
I pull my hand back, protectively. "If I don’t have a hair-band on my wrist I feel out of control."
There’s a new me. I’d decided - civilized, unemotional, clear-sighted.
"I've got a lot to do before summer,” Peter said earlier, “so I made a spreadsheet.”
I felt a shadow pass over me - our future is, at best, undecided. So, I shifted gears, the way the new me is trying to do lately.
“A Spreadsheet!” I said, like I approved, and he grinned. I’d made him happy. This is what adults do, I’d decided, they have civilized conversations where decisions were made or avoided - but there was a small, dark thing in my heart.
I got a text from our dryer saying our clothes were dry, so we headed down. I love the smell of fresh laundry and the feeling of shaved legs against fresh bed sheets - a luxurious combination no guy will ever understand. I made a mental note to shave my legs later.
The last couple of weeks I’ve been working on summer fellowship applications. A successful summer fellowship is one of those things I’ll need when I apply for med-school - like grades, faculty letters, physician recommendations, community service, a great MCAT score, bla bla bla.
My mom knows the 200 things med-schools use to cleave away pretenders and she’ll rattle them off upon request and sometimes over groaning protests.
What I need, ideally, this summer, are clinical experience hours. There’s not much at stake, just my future, the respect of the faculty, and the begrudging acknowledgement of my pre-med peers. My mom was quizzing me on my progress last night. I confirmed that all the applications were in and I ended with, “I haven’t slept with anyone yet, to gain advantage - but we’re still early in the process.”
She was not amused.
Feb 20, 2023
Feb 20, 2023 at 2:13 PM UTC
Exchanging
recommendations under flickering lights ! we transpose the nature
? of our insect-like movements
$
with the slick of our collars,
our dull-shine badges.
Eye
makeup
arrayed in sheens
to blow your eye's burn
away
back into
the cold of space,
where you belong
the skirt of the star's burn,
to sear you (un)clean
without alarm.
with a certain sweltering silent charm
Somewhere, saturations swell
in non-
casual ******** singsong.
Klarity is substantiated.
Forgive a whiff into cigarette dust.
Into reticulated (t)rust.
✙
How many leaves
connect
to form the tree's glow?
I'm sorry for asking
now
*I must go*
...
Forbidding madness
with a
keen
brow-
bent
glare
ballroom harpies
chase you backwards
down
a
flight
of
stairs
.
.
.
*what is this caution
here cushioning me
porous like bed foam
harm eating me slowly*
?
smirking consistent smart
a loneliness for hatred
.
.
.
Tear me up for what is holy in me
crumpled 'piss-poor' regard, it's a satin-shure smile
I am churning and I know (not the exit)
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
I wish you’d love me like I love you
A great fire within me burns for you
Something that’s never fully satisfied…
I listen to your song recommendations to understand you better
But it’s still not enough
I want to be engulfed by you
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC
I'm again in a transition,
A non-medical scientist by my schooling,
A writer, singer-poet, and author by passion,
These days I'm at Gorakhpur to join a new job,
For another new opportunity that I grabbed,
One of the many exams I cracked,
This job is that of an Assistant Audit Officer.
I marvel at what life has shown me,
Educated at school in non-medical sciences,
Physics, Chemistry, Math, English & Physical Education.
Then I undertook the first paradigm career shift,
Started my Bachelor degree in Biotechnology
Met with the unfortunate cataclysmic road accident,
Survived the 23-day coma against all odds.
Oh the odds, do you remember, oh life?
200+ beats per minute heart rate in the coma,
104°F+ fever accompanied the ****** injuries,
Fractured cheekbone just below the left eye.
Brain stem injuries sent the global doctors in a Tizzy,
Nobody was certain about my survival or the recovery,
But I survived.
The second paradigm shift here was my survival.
They had said at the hospital,
"Only the most serious cases come to ICU #2,
And the lost cases come to HDU #7."
BUT I DIDN'T DIE.
I survived everything that you threw at me,
Everything, even negative people,
Who made weird recommendations.
What did they recommend to my parents after the accident?
— to make me join an easier degree course,
— to make me train for weaving baskets,
— to set up a toffee shop for me to earn bread,
— and what not to discourage my family,
— my parents had dreams for their only child,
— all the whilst I was in the uncertain coma,
— and the pitiable vegetative state for 30 more weeks,
— where I endured immense pains.
Oh life, you've been so hard!
You gave me COVID-SARS in 2012,
I didn't die,
I completed my B.Tech in Biotechnology.
More loneliness followed,
I still didn't give up on life,
Completed my M.Tech in Animal Biotechnology.
The third paradigm shift was next,
When I cleared 4 recruitment exams,
And joined as a Probationary Officer
With the State Bank of India.
The fourth paradigm shift now comes,
I have shifted to the job of an Assistant Audit Officer,
With the Comptroller & Auditor General of India.
I defeated death,
But I seem to be fighting a lost battle
Against loneliness in my life.
Mar 12, 2024
Mar 12, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
Apartment recommendations for a city I’ve never smelled
in my mailbox. Empty wine glasses and static electricity
the air, the dust, the heart, the tip, the flotilla----------------
mercy.
me.
mercenary. bible camp.
jacket, jacket, hobble; ****** keys.
You’re a smudge, you doornail, tack.
Tack-- tack, tack. Honey, a floating bungalow========)
Pull off the danger, rose, it’s a time for campaigning.
Awash in grassy knolls, you hidden scavenger.
Grassing, grassing with watering hide, you scrivener!
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 8:05 PM UTC
The hurricane you left inside my heart
is crashing down all memories apart.
It's inevitable, now, killing me within,
when once reality faded like a dream.
*Unfinished poem. I going to finish this soon. So what do you think
of this verse? Any comments, feedback or recommendations?
Pleeeeaaaase. Thank you.*
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
Thinking back towards my childhood, remembering those tiny moments that broke my spirit. Conformity, the pressures of this square peg to fit into those round holes; barriers that put my agility in stasis forcing my mind to endure constant pummeling from both friends and foes. I was too afraid to stand up and embrace confrontation; those “reindeer games” that I didn't know how to play.
I believe, everything happens for a reason, even when the reason is ignorant. The days become years, rolling with the changing seasons yet the moments mimic one another. Surely there are lessons to learn within the complexity of triviality, the child becoming the adult still tethered to burden of ********
There’s this feeling of déjà vu again; the journey is filled with course corrections, navigation through expectations and recommendations to appease values not my own. The plaguing sense of accommodation to avoid confrontation becomes the eulogy at my funeral procession. Maybe it’s time to stop moving and let that thing I am most fearful of pull me into the center of chaos; to sit in the belly of the whale and let it all go.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC
Dear Dread,
Have you considered a fitness plan?
If not, I suggest to you look into it.
Your obesity is unhealthy.
I simply cannot support your weight any longer..
This document is your official warning.
If you do not adhere to my recommendations
Action will be taken
Sincerely,
Impending Mydocardial Infarction.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Ever since you came along
their light has dimmed
you are the sun.
My mind is chock-full of
love and literature
of music recommendations
of sleepless nights
of happiness and admiration,
and you
oh *always of you*.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
There was once a girl who observed the little things more than a normal person would do, rather, be capable of.
She paid attention to the rhythm of the tapping of his fingers. One, two, one, one. How there will always be three lines on his forehead whenever those thick eyebrows scrunch. Her fingers itched terribly to touch his forehead, just to take away those creases. It ached her that she can’t. She will at all times notice that same torment in his features whenever he knocks on her balcony door. She knows it’s about his father, drunk yet again. She feels his pain and embraces it. She saw the innocence in his eyes whenever he passes her his cup or food and after she takes a bite, he would eat it again. He didn’t mind if his own food was contaminated by her saliva – this was the thought that would keep her awake all night. Would he mind then if they kissed? She knows his car only runs by unleaded gasoline. She love when he asks for book and song recommendations even though her taste was weird. It jumps from classical to melancholy but he was interested at most and writes down every title she says. She is well aware of how his skin gave off immortality. Whether it was just a teasing poke or a caress that means everything to her.. This too, will leave a mark. She also knows about the tattoo of his sister’s name placed below his collarbones. She came with him when he got it. She’s conscious whenever he comes across anger or how he appears godlike as usual. She appears confident but she was good in faking it. Her soul’s cores are more live than ever. And how he looks at that very girl, the one surrounded with more pretty girls. He asks if she’s okay that he would leave to talk to her. She says she doesn’t mind at all. Go ahead.
He walks to that very girl with luscious fire-red hair and twinkling almond eyes. He gives her a smile she hasn’t seen before. She feels like she’s falling. Only there isn’t a place where she’ll crash down. Just falling. An eternity of it.
The Moon whispers to her, “I chased the Sun down too. Look where we both are, defeated and insane.” His arm snakes around that very girl’s waist. She’s pricked by the thorns of a red rose. All over her body. Slowly in, slowly out. Then again and again.
Ah, the agony of the little things.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
Standing there and observing from afar,
Life on the Earth is difficult, I must report,
Explaining, in part, why many lives are
Full of constant complaint and retort.
Anguish is obvious, but the Buddhists say,
Pain is natural and only part of life;
They preach one proceeds along a Way
Strewn with joy and with strife.
I would hold with another teaching
Of the Buddha:
One creates their own suffering most times,
Never searching inside a self
That can make all things known.
This, and more, I heard some mention.
My documentation points to inattention
To important things in life like recognition
Of Nature's gifts that receive little attention.
I have seen from prolonged observation
There is really much to appreciate,
Yet, most spend time cursing creation
Filled with anger and lamenting fate.
Great Spirit, my recommendations are inside
This brief that I humbly submit.
The evidence is clear, nothing to hide:
Humanity is a hopeless case, I now admit.
The extent of their evil is hard to believe,
Many even resort to killing in God's name.
That they possess promise is hard to conceive,
Violence, mayhem, and carnage are more their fame.
If latent good could yet emerge
I might well argue let them continue.
But, they are a lost cause, so, I urge
Transform the world into something new.
Yes, I recommend you start anew,
Let birds or lizards dominate, give them a try.
Whether the human species lives or dies is up to you,
Though while alive; Earth will moan and Nature cry.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
Sequester thee eternal sunshine.
The hummingbird does not speak to me.
Symbolizing a new beginning.
Harmony brings Destiny.
Doing the devil's work is heartless.
He can believe liars to this day.
For the biast lies about me the mediator had to say.
I thought heresay was irrelevant.
Her recommendations to the judge were sent.
I was not chosen.
My parental rights frozen.
Demons in human form in the courtroom posing.
Judge Gerald Jessop retired without remorse.
His senseless verdicts concluded it's course.
Who does he think he is to say
or think how we deserve to be separated this way.
At my side is the only place for Ariel to stay.
To take a child from their mother as a baby & a little girl is not for their best interest.
It was traumatizing enough everytime I had to leave just to work my shift.
The judge & his minions at Madge Bradley Downtown can drink giraffe ****
For what they did to my daughter & I's relationship
The devil horned one of red flesh can escort them with his pitchfork to hell as a trip.
Another sunrise they can skip.
Some evil is so bad that not even fire can destroy it
The natural order of things this way is meant.
The biast liars be ****** & die endless torment.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Words can do wonders —
Ink in your hesitant insight,
Chart the peaks and boundary of your sprawling mood,
Assemble arc-lights
Around the moment when everything changed.
Words will help, but you cannot command them.
Show them a specification and they will smile, and turn away.
So be gentle; invite them to roam through your estate.
Do not cry out if, in the small hours, you hear them,
Padding along, in the secret places.
Wait patiently for their final recommendations.
(Yes, truly, definitely final, this time.)
Then learn at last how to sing your past to sleep
And celebrate the person you might yet be.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
Pupils that were once constricted are not prohibited from running backwards towards the beginning of the end, where it is possible to rediscover the pathway which leads in a forward direction.
Have you ever received new shoes and permitted your attention to be captivated by the end of a desirable carriage as she meanders her way into the distance of nostalgic regret and bypassed opportunity?
How resentfully blissful is the reality of fantasy as she unfolds her callous plots and recommendations in the face of embryonic visions of legitimacy.
Let us take heed to our every step, as the clock mechanically communicates her loud reminders of presumption.
Incense may or may not have burned in our walls with glowing prohibition, whilst sorcery lays bare her blatant fornications.
As we engage in this dichotomous game of chess, let us now discuss the outcome, my toxic companion of allegiance.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
www.
I searched for your name
I searched for the famous
words of your own oppression
to learn a valuable lesson
of why you are yourself
I searched for your name
I searched for explanations
and recommendations of whom
you admire to know, whom you
aspire to be for yourself and others
I searched for your name
I searched. For what pertains
to a complicated mind
if I can't understand my own rhymes
for myself?
No. I searched for your breath
I searched for the air in your lungs,
the restless fuel waiting upon your tongue
so that I my breathe and feel
the reality that truly is surreal
in the brilliantly mind within you.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC
once upon a time, in the grand excavation
of tome,
you could actually,
put something of(f) yourself on
a shelf,
and be allowed the dignity
of: commentary
in the posthumous realm of:
the discovery of ideas;
can someone even
comprehend being stuffed...
by the current taxidermy
of the comment sections?
came the comment sections,
taxidermy & claustrophobia...
please: no attention ******* here...
the most addictive aspect of
listening to a radio station?
you can't rewind, repeat...
all and any song...
some say:
there are all the positives of
the audience being able
to interact
with the byproduct
of the person...
but it byproduct
rarely enjoys a per se status...
given that the person behind
the byproduct is always invoked...
like a demon with a bad
elocution of a spell...
books do not understand
likes, dislikes...
comment sections:
recommendations?
sure...
this whole, modern taxidermy
of the comment sections...
you'd start thinking that
alcoholics anonymous was bad...
wait until anonymity anonymous
comes about...
i just find it horrid,
that any book i own,
could also have a comments
section attached to it,
without, say,
a mediator,
akin to an english teacher,
the agora of a high school classroom...
and...
nothing of the sort
of cluster-fuck of
random commentary...
with nothing the sort
of a signity of: handwritting,
a postage stamp,
an envelope...
not even a d.m.,
but... a morbid caucus
of... nothing short of
raucous boat trip
over the Styx...
where, eventually...
half the people wouldn't
even make it to Hades,
instead: drowning in that thick
splotch of the mongrel-souls
cast into the waters of Styx:
purgatory.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:03 PM UTC