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Micaela Tennis Nov 2013
I've been to the Garden of Eden
Where the sun and moon share the same sky
Where stars were
precariously placed
The suns rays reflecting off the water

Standing there
I felt secure
Peace overwhelming my body
I stood in a perfect world
A perfect place
I knew where I was

The Garden of Eden

Luscious green grass grew above my feet
The morning dew danced on my shins
All around me, the flowers grew and flourished
Colored in white to depict God's perfect
creation

All noises echoed in perfect harmony
Animals executing perfect melody
Not missing a single beat

With such majesty, the waterfall towered before me
Looking down I saw my inner beauty in the water
I drank
Words cannot describe the water
Uncontrollably I wept
for I drank
of the
living water.

As I knelt before the living water
A haunting thud echoed in my ear
Motionless, I saw the forbidden fruit
I longingly stared at the glossy fruit
As it pierced through my soul

"Eat of the forbidden fruit", hissed the serprent.
"No", I declared, "for it is forbidden by my God!"
"Your God", he scoffed, " He is the tempter, not I!"
Keenly he stared at me, knowing my every weakness
Holding the apple in his grasp, I longed for intelligence.

"Yes, yes, yes", he whispered, "You are mine!"
"NO!", I screamed, "I belong to God!"
Splashing the water in his face
He cringed and screamed
The serpent burned before me


I awoke.

With a sudden realization
The Garden of Eden no longer exists
For it has been abolished
Just as Satan has promised
The Army of the Dead has arisen
to destroy God's
perfect
plan

So now church, where is our victory?
Shall we hide in fear for the days to come?
With our synonomus Christian comforts
And generous lives?
No! We must rise to the battle!
For the Garden of Eden no longer screams!

Rise up Army of life
For you have the eternal power
Stand up against the darkness
For you have
the
marvelous light.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
god, if only the english could un-numb their R, and return to the rattle-snake trill... what wonders could be born... every time i hear an english person pronounce the R... i think they're about to swollow their tongue, as if rolling it backwards to numb the R... yes... swollow... swo-swo... only cockneys of east london say swa-swa swansey... *****... deep in essex you: ooh... ah, eric cantona... swollow, akin to saying the word: slow... rather than slough (berkshire, burp-shy-err)... **** me english is fun, it's like owning a g.i. jone action finger, and still playing with it aged 34... compared to all other languages (notably the european ones), english is like play-dough... you can **** with it so much that you can almost forget being bilingual; and no, whatever the upper-crass tell you... trilling an R is not a posh thing... it's talk of the 2nd serprent in the garden... the rattlesnake who warns you, rather than tempts you to try and eat from the tree he's wrapped around.

two words that spring to mind,
   out of the blue;
words that sound better in a native tongue
    than in an acquired tongue
of saxon descent
            mingled with norman -
the words?
    military instruments -
(a) originally *maczuga

   but with my diacritical stressors:
                     máczūga...
    i give it a rest there making
           the foreign word sound better,
after all, we have alternatives:
    cudgel, truncheon, cosh, nightstick
  & bludgeon...
   still... the m'ah-choo-g'ah (ga-ga)...
   i don't know... but i know what sounds
   better in
(b) topór      (acute o? t'oh-poor),
meaning? axe... now tell me the foreign
word sound more grave
                   than the native word?
  the (a) argument
  has worthy counterparts, but (b)?
        tell me you wouldn't feel a shiver
  hearing topór,
              when otherwise hearing axe?

p.s.
    the same with the word
                       for hammer -
    i.e. młot (mmm-what?) -
               of **** me, the tool has a baby,
the belittled henryk młotek miodowicz
        (henry - little hammer - honkeysuckling).
what is a cat is a cat is a foot in a sock
is a sock on a foot is a foot and sock
in a shoe
and there's walking involved:
or simply standing:
don't get me wrong:
but i "got" Knausgaard all wrong
when i tried to read him in English...
maybe it's just the same with Jon Fosse:
maybe English is an ungly language of translation
maybe English is something momentarily perfect
in an abstract:
i think of Septology like i think of
Doctor Faustus and Herr! mein mann!
my future bridge of bride to be
is weeping into the telephone and
i have no avenues of consoling her:
with all that Omine Patrii Catholic ******* litany:
i'm a lion sleeping on sheeps' cloth
and the sunlight is spectcular
like
like
it's almost orange: like the fruit...
but without the tecture o
full texture of the full:
ORBITAL...
       define orange... Frank O'Here.
O'There: Oh **** everywhere
defined orange as a bad... a "bad" colour...
once i needed a serprent and a garden
and i've watched so much *******:
i'm reduced to old father dragon:
a recluse salvation
of solo: a worm weaving its way around
a bookshelf...
i am that...
evil, i find, has become a subpar IQ testimony...
these rigid half **** wits
and
if i were to think of woman and the foetus
which
enlargers the prospects of the ******
birth
and if my mind was a womb:
my foetus: my my my.. not my foetus
would be the ego...
and well isn't that a welcome sunshine
for a sunrise to a parody like
all Norwegian writing is exemplar:
you strangulate the Poles from the POLANA...
you make them desecrate
the **** the grass...
like: who was that ***** that catapulted Samson's
ponytail along with the Mongol tribe who
only found out: figured out counting
by barraging Baghdad by sling
of dead head cope...
        i'm painting: with sounds: but i'm painting
without sounds being sounds...
it's not like i'm writing: ******* music...
i'm writing that what i think i think
might be: red...
         or orange.... or brown...
when my partner starts crying because her
samurai would be... was poisoned...
aparently cats have short memories...
but it breaks my heart in order to give me
two hearts: two lingos...
and two minds to match:
maybe Reyla... hmm.. impossible:
that sly ***** couldn't poach a ******* egg
but what if... suppositional dysfuynction...

but if i am the nothing womb of the birth of
ego... id aside...
i feel uneasy hearing what pain
is true and like... alike...
it makes me beg: to differ...
i hark i send snow and i even send the night
with all the frost, nail, bitterness of
the biting...
i juggle:

there was a concept of writing poetry and of music:
but that died with Nietzsche:
i think then i don't think:
then replace the medium of writing
like some journalistic cul de sac
and some ****** lackey
you ******* kidding me
i will burn this continent with thoughts
alone!
i will drive that ****-******* crucifix into
your **** whale-bone
you Kentucky fried IQ lost puck-puck-puck-ah!
you Jew herder!

enloghten the spirits they said:
so much for circumcision...
can't ******* **** into the toilet bowl:
can ye?!
oh but it's alright when males are circumcised
and leave bad hygiene habits in the toilets
for all else to see:
scrutiny of the *******:
or maybe... maybe that's like:
fried onion rings... more or less:
foreskins...
so fry: those... *******... foreskins!
make 'em TH chewy...
like porky pie ears and all
that deep fried gelatin unlike
the Scotch deep fried Mars bar
you ******* spandex in gravy lateral
navy oosh! you Scotach better
beg for my pardon!

    the sun          and her sons...
the moon: and her daughters...
no one preparers you make digestion of this
subterranean *******...
Norwegians tied to try:
if i couldn't stomach Knausgaard
in English:
i can't stomach Fosse in English:
sorry: not sorry: but boo hoo anyways
ghost Angevin...
           i'll ******* get that smirk of self-assurance
readied
for the torture chamber
and there will be not laughter there:
i'll just perfectly employ the *****
to the ******* device
and i'll itch with each
available scrutiny of pleasure:
to allow yourself to suffer...

        because that is my judgement
and all else:
a repetition of consequence(s).

— The End —