"summarizes" poems - Hello Poetry

he, hardly fit, sleeps fitfully he, like a baby, up and down at 2am the cerebrum racked, like a street *** so needy, for a low caloric, non-alcoholic snack pickles - the almost zero solution, dill in particular, or even the slightly bad boy cousins, the buttered variety so in his customized original 100% sleeping skin gear, standing in front of the shiniest fridge gleaming, his unfortunate reflection somewhat steamy, indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose, which to eat, completely complete, to celebrate his dietetic restraint so she, the yoga ballerina lioness, finds him upright but not uptight, leaving him in an awkward so to speak, poem, pickling, naked and speechless, as the mouth is fully engorged and on point she summarizes most eloquently, the ****** and the crudités and the et. al., with a succinctly pithy observation: *"ah, I see (me wincing), still crazy after all these years* ...and other stories*

0

Apr 2, 2017

Apr 2, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC

stillcrazyafteralltheseye

**** pickles and other stories

he, hardly fit, sleeps fitfully he, like a baby, up and down at 2am the cerebrum racked, like a street *** so needy, for a low caloric, non-alcoholic snack pickles - the almost zero solution, dill in particular, or even the slightly bad boy cousins, the buttered variety so in his customized original 100% sleeping skin gear, standing in front of the shiniest fridge gleaming, his unfortunate reflection somewhat steamy, indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose, which to eat, completely complete, to celebrate his dietetic restraint so she, the yoga ballerina lioness, finds him upright but not uptight, leaving him in an awkward so to speak, poem, pickling, naked and speechless, as the mouth is fully engorged and on point she summarizes most eloquently, the ****** and the crudités and the et. al., with a succinctly pithy observation: *"ah, I see (me wincing), still crazy after all these years* ...and other stories*

35

I feel like God hates me Or stopped caring Ceased to provide Left for good And now I'm left here to straighten myself out for better or for worse I've met people who feel the same way Who surprisingly have the pincushion audacity to put all the blame of their misfortunes in the absence of the omnipotent one I just feel abandoned they feel betrayed Maybe he makes a chump change commission on every life he guides to a certain point then leaves them stark naked at the haunting hour I know all the preachers and secular teachers lie through their teeth They win the merit-less hoax award by a landslide They have no consideration of for the people they mislead or the ramifications their poisoned sermons causes They use emotionally charged language to increase the parish's numbers They're terrified of God, they live in fear And see carpal tunnel as a punishment for ************ and wish blindness upon all those who partake There is shared consensual hiraeth between those who have been through an invasion of privacy and the trespassing of private property They want their rights and their guns back They want their personal space They retreat to their happy place Let's go back to the Pantheon of lactose intolerant divine idols Of epileptic godheads Who's line of work is about incubated pie pans Can you make a tutorial that summarizes the resounding reduction of options using nothing but euphemisms?

0

Jun 28, 2014

Jun 28, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC

tommy-johnson

Catch My Drift?

I feel like God hates me Or stopped caring Ceased to provide Left for good And now I'm left here to straighten myself out for better or for worse I've met people who feel the same way Who surprisingly have the pincushion audacity to put all the blame of their misfortunes in the absence of the omnipotent one I just feel abandoned they feel betrayed Maybe he makes a chump change commission on every life he guides to a certain point then leaves them stark naked at the haunting hour I know all the preachers and secular teachers lie through their teeth They win the merit-less hoax award by a landslide They have no consideration of for the people they mislead or the ramifications their poisoned sermons causes They use emotionally charged language to increase the parish's numbers They're terrified of God, they live in fear And see carpal tunnel as a punishment for ************ and wish blindness upon all those who partake There is shared consensual hiraeth between those who have been through an invasion of privacy and the trespassing of private property They want their rights and their guns back They want their personal space They retreat to their happy place Let's go back to the Pantheon of lactose intolerant divine idols Of epileptic godheads Who's line of work is about incubated pie pans Can you make a tutorial that summarizes the resounding reduction of options using nothing but euphemisms?

23

She split minds apart when she walks into the room, the radiance from the scarlet fabric on her honey milk skin polarizes the world to a central view. Her competitors already know the battle is lost, because every man floats away like a helium filled balloon Her magic works to the max, when she waltz across the dance floor like a beautiful witch on a Sunday afternoon. they wonder the name of the architect responsible for her wicked curves, a unique type of geography, surely she must be new. They think to themselves. She's probably with a politician, maybe a star who's gone home too soon. I am not worthy, I stink of my experience with the last two. As they waste golden moments caving into self doubts and relationship blues, From the shadows, He steps up to stage to play the game of who's who. He build's her confidence with an honest joke or two, she buys into his bold point of view. He excuses himself; gives her time to process his residue. He makes his return to harvest the seed they grew, She indulges, he is a perfect distraction from her new fool. He steals her away for a chat by the pool. He whisper's some words in her ears, and she feathers herself to recapture her hue. He tells her "I have a drink that will make your lips think its hosting a party crew." He makes a gamble like romeo wrote the rules. With eyes locked, he shows her what his lips can do The heats building up, she's waiting on him to put on the other glass shoe. She wonders how to make the night fair and true. "Let's go" words, he summarizes in two. Envy and admiration storms up the crowd, only if they knew. Later they dig deeper searching for clues. He tells them and they look confused. Its not about her or you. Its about building a bridge that brings together two.

0

Aug 1, 2013

Aug 1, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC

mr-jay

The Bridge

She split minds apart when she walks into the room, the radiance from the scarlet fabric on her honey milk skin polarizes the world to a central view. Her competitors already know the battle is lost, because every man floats away like a helium filled balloon Her magic works to the max, when she waltz across the dance floor like a beautiful witch on a Sunday afternoon. they wonder the name of the architect responsible for her wicked curves, a unique type of geography, surely she must be new. They think to themselves. She's probably with a politician, maybe a star who's gone home too soon. I am not worthy, I stink of my experience with the last two. As they waste golden moments caving into self doubts and relationship blues, From the shadows, He steps up to stage to play the game of who's who. He build's her confidence with an honest joke or two, she buys into his bold point of view. He excuses himself; gives her time to process his residue. He makes his return to harvest the seed they grew, She indulges, he is a perfect distraction from her new fool. He steals her away for a chat by the pool. He whisper's some words in her ears, and she feathers herself to recapture her hue. He tells her "I have a drink that will make your lips think its hosting a party crew." He makes a gamble like romeo wrote the rules. With eyes locked, he shows her what his lips can do The heats building up, she's waiting on him to put on the other glass shoe. She wonders how to make the night fair and true. "Let's go" words, he summarizes in two. Envy and admiration storms up the crowd, only if they knew. Later they dig deeper searching for clues. He tells them and they look confused. Its not about her or you. Its about building a bridge that brings together two.

27

I like the way she holds my arm when walking… up high, under the shoulder, firm grasp on muscle, feeling the blood beat acoustically, in joy, sensually sensing a thrumming thrombosis messaging, this is a full bodied animation, liquid life, “strong to drink” “strength to break off pieces and keep,” a supporting mutuel pillar column post, given, taken, entrapped, enwrapped, ensnared, and enshrined, mighty fine feeling “indeed” pieces to mine, pieces of mine her taking is acceptable my taking reciprocal for her needs fulfill, I, walk taller, straighter, in fuller strides, and when she stumbles in the obstacle course of nyc crack-ed sidewalkslop, her whoosh of breath expelled when saved by the arm firmament, goes unremarked, for this is my purposed occupation and the occlusion of our skin cells in tight bandwidth is certification that our love is so much more than mere skin deep, or as she so oft summarizes, life is, “indeed,” or in deed. olp

0

Mar 22, 2024

Mar 22, 2024 at 11:21 PM UTC

onlylovepoetry

I like the way she holds my arm when walking...

I like the way she holds my arm when walking… up high, under the shoulder, firm grasp on muscle, feeling the blood beat acoustically, in joy, sensually sensing a thrumming thrombosis messaging, this is a full bodied animation, liquid life, “strong to drink” “strength to break off pieces and keep,” a supporting mutuel pillar column post, given, taken, entrapped, enwrapped, ensnared, and enshrined, mighty fine feeling “indeed” pieces to mine, pieces of mine her taking is acceptable my taking reciprocal for her needs fulfill, I, walk taller, straighter, in fuller strides, and when she stumbles in the obstacle course of nyc crack-ed sidewalkslop, her whoosh of breath expelled when saved by the arm firmament, goes unremarked, for this is my purposed occupation and the occlusion of our skin cells in tight bandwidth is certification that our love is so much more than mere skin deep, or as she so oft summarizes, life is, “indeed,” or in deed. olp

39

3am, the epitome of perpetual night. The hour of the wolf in sheep’s clothing Alabaster clocks, ebony needles for hands Walking to one-second beats on dripping wall paper, exposing the blood in the house and meat in the pipes. I see shadows of the malevolent past: Rings of smoke and cum-stained magazines Lies woven into eyelashes, sealing them shut Bleak figures made of shattered glass Transparency, their only truth. And dawn shows the new day A stage of light like sweet Arcadia The pages written for me to walk upon Every hour summarizes a year’s worth of turmoil, an abstract of vicious malcontent youth. Standing against usurpers and cattle-branding parents I will not allow the false punishments to continue Nor the raging strangulation subjugate my woe Sweating fingers penetrate the holes All while pleasure and pain in endured. As the sundial strikes noon, life meets the middle Leaves falling off trees while amidst the winter Hands tired and dry; legs crooked and frail I will wipe the dust of my friends away from me Like nothing and everything in between. The tomorrow won’t come this time The prelude to eternity will be a last gasp of air And I’ll welcome the suffocation like a lost brother And abhor the condemnations like a pious father And I’ll think fondly of that fading mother As the light of day segues to a haze of fire I’ll take those reluctant steps that I must Ravel my life’s threads into a warm coat And I will meet you at that cold and violent dusk.

0

Jan 2, 2015

Jan 2, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC

trevor-gates

The Cold and Violent Dusk

3am, the epitome of perpetual night. The hour of the wolf in sheep’s clothing Alabaster clocks, ebony needles for hands Walking to one-second beats on dripping wall paper, exposing the blood in the house and meat in the pipes. I see shadows of the malevolent past: Rings of smoke and cum-stained magazines Lies woven into eyelashes, sealing them shut Bleak figures made of shattered glass Transparency, their only truth. And dawn shows the new day A stage of light like sweet Arcadia The pages written for me to walk upon Every hour summarizes a year’s worth of turmoil, an abstract of vicious malcontent youth. Standing against usurpers and cattle-branding parents I will not allow the false punishments to continue Nor the raging strangulation subjugate my woe Sweating fingers penetrate the holes All while pleasure and pain in endured. As the sundial strikes noon, life meets the middle Leaves falling off trees while amidst the winter Hands tired and dry; legs crooked and frail I will wipe the dust of my friends away from me Like nothing and everything in between. The tomorrow won’t come this time The prelude to eternity will be a last gasp of air And I’ll welcome the suffocation like a lost brother And abhor the condemnations like a pious father And I’ll think fondly of that fading mother As the light of day segues to a haze of fire I’ll take those reluctant steps that I must Ravel my life’s threads into a warm coat And I will meet you at that cold and violent dusk.

34

*Excemption of extraordinary Night, lights kissing the untwirled sky Of illusions summarizes the horizon of once in a blue moon to be. Desired the longing touch of its hand Round the ticking time Elapses the hours Motion of a vibrant top.*

0

Mar 9, 2016

Mar 9, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC

jerelii

Solar Eclipse

*Excemption of extraordinary Night, lights kissing the untwirled sky Of illusions summarizes the horizon of once in a blue moon to be. Desired the longing touch of its hand Round the ticking time Elapses the hours Motion of a vibrant top.*

9

~for my naturalist, Victoria~ *the poems all end up in midfield, yellow carded, the game a tied up, 0 - 0 unsatisfying affair, all the shots way wide of goal as I search for the perfect phrase to capture my *twiddling and twaddling, fussing and haranguing, harrumphing and bemoaning, my very own Brexit, postponed, the hard answers terrifying, the soft ones, humbug and ******* incapable of lifting a mighty pen, or a fully worn down pencil scrap, seen better days, but now, all leaden ashes, all fall down, my natural pointer taps only gibberish in my plain manila actuality folder, the cut off dates, ignored, so they cut me off too for good measure, plenty good bills to due in there, plenty good ‘orrible poems for company the pile of to do’s forming a party, social, democratic, and anti-septic or skeptic or semitic, perhaps all three, as they are two jowls or two cheeks, too many to the windy all this shilly shallying, or is it dilly dallying, is quite simply to say that my rooted U.K. naturalist a Sherlockian moors, traversing specialist cuts to the shortest quick, by jove, there it is, succinctly red beeping, in my garden, awaiting a good boiling I too exhausted from all the “scrabbling with the day to day” she so easily summarizes, though my poetic ego demands an Ameddican textual emendation* “hard scrabbling with the day to day” or just an all encompassing globalism “ditto” ah, Victoria

0

Jul 4, 2019

Jul 4, 2019 at 7:04 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

“scrabbling with the day to day”

~for my naturalist, Victoria~ *the poems all end up in midfield, yellow carded, the game a tied up, 0 - 0 unsatisfying affair, all the shots way wide of goal as I search for the perfect phrase to capture my *twiddling and twaddling, fussing and haranguing, harrumphing and bemoaning, my very own Brexit, postponed, the hard answers terrifying, the soft ones, humbug and ******* incapable of lifting a mighty pen, or a fully worn down pencil scrap, seen better days, but now, all leaden ashes, all fall down, my natural pointer taps only gibberish in my plain manila actuality folder, the cut off dates, ignored, so they cut me off too for good measure, plenty good bills to due in there, plenty good ‘orrible poems for company the pile of to do’s forming a party, social, democratic, and anti-septic or skeptic or semitic, perhaps all three, as they are two jowls or two cheeks, too many to the windy all this shilly shallying, or is it dilly dallying, is quite simply to say that my rooted U.K. naturalist a Sherlockian moors, traversing specialist cuts to the shortest quick, by jove, there it is, succinctly red beeping, in my garden, awaiting a good boiling I too exhausted from all the “scrabbling with the day to day” she so easily summarizes, though my poetic ego demands an Ameddican textual emendation* “hard scrabbling with the day to day” or just an all encompassing globalism “ditto” ah, Victoria

45

My ideal love is a love that catches me by surprise. The realization of intelligent things and conversations that literally take us anywhere. My ideal love is a love that expresses ideal. The ramifications that influence us to be who we really are in front of who we are. A love that doesn't mind bargin shopping and putting together hundred dollar outfits that really cost $10. The reality that its the most simplest of things that are most significant. A spontaneous love that doesn't mind the predictability of living today before exploring the mystery of tomorrow. Here after the after thought that we exist in the past as well as the present simultaneously. If ever in need I'll do my best to provide all that I can for an ideal love. Through these actions I believe the true miracle is achieved. An ideal love that is beyond ideal. Who sets the where and how we meet, the institutions of bliss where the masses are limited to love and longing. To find patience and compassion sitting on the front lawn on the same institution. As long as she provides a kiss that can send me outside of my own thoughts, and pull me closer to hers. My ideal love wouldn't be based on a B.E.T movie. A single expression that summarizes a scorned woman letting go. A cliff note of lust soon as the next sceen fades to black. Her ******* pulled down not knowing the dude is secretly abusive. 140 minutes gone by to realize the last 5 mins were the ones that made her truly happy. The woes of love. My ideal love is a woman built with ambition but with a heart big enough to understand that without sacrifice nothing is truly accomplished. A culture made in truth, ripped off by those who ignore that struggle is what makes us who we are. The courage to walk out in front and be who we really are. A real woman that doesn't mind lounging around the house that knows whom Budda and Huey Newton was. This revolution of ideal starts the moment I realize that I never stood a chance. The surprise of her lips against my cheek. I drink from this remedy each time you open your lips. So in silence I gasp. As you caught me off guard, My ideal love

0

Aug 6, 2017

Aug 6, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC

kewayne-wadley

Huey & Jazmine (Ideal Love)

My ideal love is a love that catches me by surprise. The realization of intelligent things and conversations that literally take us anywhere. My ideal love is a love that expresses ideal. The ramifications that influence us to be who we really are in front of who we are. A love that doesn't mind bargin shopping and putting together hundred dollar outfits that really cost $10. The reality that its the most simplest of things that are most significant. A spontaneous love that doesn't mind the predictability of living today before exploring the mystery of tomorrow. Here after the after thought that we exist in the past as well as the present simultaneously. If ever in need I'll do my best to provide all that I can for an ideal love. Through these actions I believe the true miracle is achieved. An ideal love that is beyond ideal. Who sets the where and how we meet, the institutions of bliss where the masses are limited to love and longing. To find patience and compassion sitting on the front lawn on the same institution. As long as she provides a kiss that can send me outside of my own thoughts, and pull me closer to hers. My ideal love wouldn't be based on a B.E.T movie. A single expression that summarizes a scorned woman letting go. A cliff note of lust soon as the next sceen fades to black. Her ******* pulled down not knowing the dude is secretly abusive. 140 minutes gone by to realize the last 5 mins were the ones that made her truly happy. The woes of love. My ideal love is a woman built with ambition but with a heart big enough to understand that without sacrifice nothing is truly accomplished. A culture made in truth, ripped off by those who ignore that struggle is what makes us who we are. The courage to walk out in front and be who we really are. A real woman that doesn't mind lounging around the house that knows whom Budda and Huey Newton was. This revolution of ideal starts the moment I realize that I never stood a chance. The surprise of her lips against my cheek. I drink from this remedy each time you open your lips. So in silence I gasp. As you caught me off guard, My ideal love

30

i held the secret way out of control summarizes the eclipse, more vibrant color of its sunset shaded with orange, yellow vibes a perfect combination to be but more honest words emotions to spread out longing and embracing it.

0

Jan 30, 2016

Jan 30, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC

jerelii

all the contents

i held the secret way out of control summarizes the eclipse, more vibrant color of its sunset shaded with orange, yellow vibes a perfect combination to be but more honest words emotions to spread out longing and embracing it.

8

Oh, my god This poem! Whenever I try to make her stand on the reality line She flutters like Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the imaginations of men I tell her to keep herself on one meaning But she defies me While wearing the interpretation mask And when she tries to describe the battlefield She is looking for the effects of kisses On the collars of the soldiers who are tied down in their trenches With fear and hopelessness But if they were to be blown up And their bodies were every where Her words would be meaningless For she hiding behind symbolism She can’t sense the children’s horror from the bombs And their attempts to huddle against the remnants of destroyed walls Her cheeks do not hurt Like mothers’ cheeks dried of their hot tears poured while waiting for deferred letters from their absent sons She does not take the risk of thinking So, she can’t believe any truth She does not pay attention to my damaged life Which has been crushed by the harsh machine of days She is trying to make her words beautiful So, she sprinkles rose water on an erupting volcano She is too comfortable with death and even praises him She is summarizing all this loss, darkness, combustion, destruction, chemical weapons. black banners, coffins, skinning , deprivation, orphanages, curfews, warning, sirens, barbed wire, tanks, thrumming of planes, explosions. ****** blood shed on the side walk, death, ashes, displacement, emptiness, charred bodies, mass graves, coffins, body traps, yelling, sadness, anger, hunger, thirst, vigilance, slapping …. etc. She summarizes all of this in one ward War While I am, the poet stand in the middle Watching my body jump from death to death For nothing Just to let the poem come But after all this trouble She only comes imperfectly

0

Sep 17, 2019

Sep 17, 2019 at 11:01 AM UTC

faleeha-hassan

unreachable

Oh, my god This poem! Whenever I try to make her stand on the reality line She flutters like Marilyn Monroe’s dress in the imaginations of men I tell her to keep herself on one meaning But she defies me While wearing the interpretation mask And when she tries to describe the battlefield She is looking for the effects of kisses On the collars of the soldiers who are tied down in their trenches With fear and hopelessness But if they were to be blown up And their bodies were every where Her words would be meaningless For she hiding behind symbolism She can’t sense the children’s horror from the bombs And their attempts to huddle against the remnants of destroyed walls Her cheeks do not hurt Like mothers’ cheeks dried of their hot tears poured while waiting for deferred letters from their absent sons She does not take the risk of thinking So, she can’t believe any truth She does not pay attention to my damaged life Which has been crushed by the harsh machine of days She is trying to make her words beautiful So, she sprinkles rose water on an erupting volcano She is too comfortable with death and even praises him She is summarizing all this loss, darkness, combustion, destruction, chemical weapons. black banners, coffins, skinning , deprivation, orphanages, curfews, warning, sirens, barbed wire, tanks, thrumming of planes, explosions. ****** blood shed on the side walk, death, ashes, displacement, emptiness, charred bodies, mass graves, coffins, body traps, yelling, sadness, anger, hunger, thirst, vigilance, slapping …. etc. She summarizes all of this in one ward War While I am, the poet stand in the middle Watching my body jump from death to death For nothing Just to let the poem come But after all this trouble She only comes imperfectly

35

Declivity noun: a downward slope ~ a perfect word for the world, the mood, the man. stroke of luck, *** an email arriviste, word-of-the-days all encompassing. what could go wrong, has happened, only degree unknown remains. don’t thing we can bend the curve twice, ours, and not just the coronavirus, but the virulent state of the globe. we are in a pandemic world, with plagues centuries old flaring. disease revived of ugliness,and selfishness, so, wilding, and you ask, where is God in all this, so I asked him...of course ***** has whimsically hit me back with an email containing this new word of the day that summarizes where we fall, falling, felled, signed *** Use in a sentence: The declivity, the angle of decline, steepens, and the human world, *** ***** even worse.

0

May 31, 2020

May 31, 2020 at 12:25 PM UTC

no-truth-login

Declivity (note to myself) ***

Declivity noun: a downward slope ~ a perfect word for the world, the mood, the man. stroke of luck, *** an email arriviste, word-of-the-days all encompassing. what could go wrong, has happened, only degree unknown remains. don’t thing we can bend the curve twice, ours, and not just the coronavirus, but the virulent state of the globe. we are in a pandemic world, with plagues centuries old flaring. disease revived of ugliness,and selfishness, so, wilding, and you ask, where is God in all this, so I asked him...of course ***** has whimsically hit me back with an email containing this new word of the day that summarizes where we fall, falling, felled, signed *** Use in a sentence: The declivity, the angle of decline, steepens, and the human world, *** ***** even worse.

17

In a dark cave I can see your bright innocent eyes. Eyes, Your strong hands becoming my candle, Remember? We’re running as fast as we can, to discover light. Fright, Fearful emotions coursing through me, while you remain brave. Saved, Like this reality summarizes your whole life. Secret life, Your strong broad arms clinches to me, like how my father’s once did. Live, Memories being animated, how my heart used to beat. So deep, I am grateful to feel the strength of your love. Free like white doves. Free from doubts of loving a stranger.

0

May 15, 2016

May 15, 2016 at 9:38 AM UTC

TheonecalledChris

"stranger"

In a dark cave I can see your bright innocent eyes. Eyes, Your strong hands becoming my candle, Remember? We’re running as fast as we can, to discover light. Fright, Fearful emotions coursing through me, while you remain brave. Saved, Like this reality summarizes your whole life. Secret life, Your strong broad arms clinches to me, like how my father’s once did. Live, Memories being animated, how my heart used to beat. So deep, I am grateful to feel the strength of your love. Free like white doves. Free from doubts of loving a stranger.

17

string theory summarizes the way we are nothing vibrating like something, becoming diamonds residual consciousness burning like millions of onions ministers of death set the test, reminiscent of themselves exceptions are everywhere, so elevate the burning flag and raise the consciousness, as jah is my witness your mind is a prison, simple living is eloquent like swinging from a vine into water, that is cleaner than your heart tragic embankments push the plow through heavy piles of clouded dynamics communication is complicated when there are no parties involved who are present

0

Jan 3, 2017

Jan 3, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC

ganesha-michael-shapiro

As Jah Is My Witness

string theory summarizes the way we are nothing vibrating like something, becoming diamonds residual consciousness burning like millions of onions ministers of death set the test, reminiscent of themselves exceptions are everywhere, so elevate the burning flag and raise the consciousness, as jah is my witness your mind is a prison, simple living is eloquent like swinging from a vine into water, that is cleaner than your heart tragic embankments push the plow through heavy piles of clouded dynamics communication is complicated when there are no parties involved who are present

13

listening to singles is inevitable, you're bound to listen to singles, but... for the most part... they're overrated anyway... i found that i have a much larger attention span to digest three songs worth 3 minutes a pop, i'd rather stick to the progressive rock / jazz quartet / quintet behemoth of... say... 9 to 12 minutes... just like i found with the valley of the sun EP... for me EP is the way forward... because it fits in nicely between a single and an LP... it just tickles the atmospheric feel of an LP, but offers you so much more than what the single is... a footnote, a snippet... an erosion of the mind... with the valley of the sun EP? the last track... butch... and i don't mean lesbian butch... i mean - butch... grizzly butch... but that's the beauty of the EP... it's a generous sample... 3 minutes turn into ~30 minutes... the last track summarizes the whole pouch of sounds... but you only think this, because you think the last track will be something mellow... like the lullaby track on *dry **** logic*'s debut the darker side of nonsense... goodnight... most last LP tracks are fadeout... or thereabouts... but an EP last track? a absolute corker... riding and dunes?! come on... but you don't appreciate listening to this one track... the idea is to listen to the EP back-to-back, and let the last track surprise you... that's what's great about an EP... the element of surprise... and the variations throughout... with singles you have to pack in several... have a playlist and what not... a ******** carousel a carnival of too much variety... and it's like watching American football... but instead... you know... you're listening to this constant... stuttering... there's no smoothness of either an EP or an LP... stop, scrum, shuffle... throw ball back, throw ball forward... one lucky ***** catches the ball... runs on... or doesn't catch the ball... ball hits the ground... repeat... eh... singles are overrated... obviously it's inevitable that you'll come across them... but i hope the EP makes a comeback... if it hasn't done so already, at least for me it has.

0

Nov 11, 2018

Nov 11, 2018 at 6:59 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

music: the EP overshadows the single

listening to singles is inevitable, you're bound to listen to singles, but... for the most part... they're overrated anyway... i found that i have a much larger attention span to digest three songs worth 3 minutes a pop, i'd rather stick to the progressive rock / jazz quartet / quintet behemoth of... say... 9 to 12 minutes... just like i found with the valley of the sun EP... for me EP is the way forward... because it fits in nicely between a single and an LP... it just tickles the atmospheric feel of an LP, but offers you so much more than what the single is... a footnote, a snippet... an erosion of the mind... with the valley of the sun EP? the last track... butch... and i don't mean lesbian butch... i mean - butch... grizzly butch... but that's the beauty of the EP... it's a generous sample... 3 minutes turn into ~30 minutes... the last track summarizes the whole pouch of sounds... but you only think this, because you think the last track will be something mellow... like the lullaby track on *dry **** logic*'s debut the darker side of nonsense... goodnight... most last LP tracks are fadeout... or thereabouts... but an EP last track? a absolute corker... riding and dunes?! come on... but you don't appreciate listening to this one track... the idea is to listen to the EP back-to-back, and let the last track surprise you... that's what's great about an EP... the element of surprise... and the variations throughout... with singles you have to pack in several... have a playlist and what not... a ******** carousel a carnival of too much variety... and it's like watching American football... but instead... you know... you're listening to this constant... stuttering... there's no smoothness of either an EP or an LP... stop, scrum, shuffle... throw ball back, throw ball forward... one lucky ***** catches the ball... runs on... or doesn't catch the ball... ball hits the ground... repeat... eh... singles are overrated... obviously it's inevitable that you'll come across them... but i hope the EP makes a comeback... if it hasn't done so already, at least for me it has.

76