(no subject)
poetry ive been meaning to post forever. im at SPoT coffee now.
still in a shitty mood, but less shitty.
The World That Is and Isn’t (human nature exaggerated). by sea
were it not for my generation,
I would not be limited
in my metaphor
but as it stands,
I am a deacon of the Church of comics,
of cinema,
of records and human nature exaggerated.
Struggle lies within Nightcrawler, and he lies
in my stomach, where some say the soul dwells.
alienation is never ideal, but sometimes it is yearned for.
You don’t know me. You never will. I am the escapable Other,
never to comprehend, but this road travels both east and west,
and I will forever be in a state of confusion and lack of comprehension.
I find pride in this, like a child saving face in a battle of independence.
the wind whispers ego.
God whispers false idols.
I am not foolish enough to think myself access to the World That Isn’t.
I am foolish enough to think myself knowing of the World That Is.
Nightcrawler, you survivor of That Is. a creature of demonic appearance, and saintly actions.
I struggle, as you do, with God and the World that Is. The Church has rejected me, as well as the community outside of the walls of God. Yet - my faith has no walls, and it has no boundaries. Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil;
for You are with me;
My stomach churns, my soul flips, Nightcrawler is fighting magneto and I question.
I have never questioned God, for he knows what is higher than the highest, and lower than the lowest.
I question my relation to God. I question my validity to God. I question my use and my mission. I question but do not doubt.
Nightcrawler has mission.
I have stumbling.
Nightcrawler is Blue.
I am extremely white.
Nightcrawler has magical powers.
I have my hands, and hope they are strong enough.
I have my words, and hope they are heard.
I have my heart, and hope it loves.
I have my legs, and hope they run.
I have my eyes, and hope they see.
I have my self and hope for the Other.
Human Nature exaggerated is imagination.
Struggle lies within my stomach, where some say the soul dwells.
action reaction by sea
What loneliness resides in thunderstorms,
other than complicated binary codes of guilt complexes.
zeroX5 one
zeroX4 one zero
Sarah was struck by lightning.
Porcelain dolls are quite possibly the most beautiful creatures
painted by small french hands,
with the ugliest of strings stitched beneath their restrictive dresses.
Perhaps it iis better that they are inanimate, but who couldn’t relate to that?
Sarah’s grandparents were thrown back twenty feet, unconscious.
bickering twins ego and confidence beat the living crap out of each other
while I try to persuade myself of neither. Memory might as well be a god, for we know GODS are fickle.
I was never close with sarah, most certainly not her grandparents.
what good is a fire with the constraints of a pit or a rock circle,
ignoring the obvious marshmellow and hotdog ritual, the circle of a few warmed,
when all one wants is to burn a destructive path.
The grandparents survived their granddaughter, despite their efforts.
A woman, no matter how it is spelt or meant, is uncontrollable and unpredictable.
traits I find warmth in, but painfullt obvious is the rock pit surrounding.
To feel broken is uplifting at times, because an intricate history is then created.
Sarah died on a mountain top, arms stretched out, filled with a the oldest of life forces.
If you are presented with anger, with sadness, with shock, with lightning, what would you do? How do we present ourselves to the greater world when we realize that the rock circle containing the fire is necessary, or at best, a comfort.
Sarah to miss you is inadequate, to celebrate you is appropriate.
the alchemist
Irony is about to ensue.
Santiago said, “If I can learnt his language withot words, I can learn to understand the world.”
Comfort is a hand on one’s shoulder.
I shake hands to connect and feel if your skin is rough from work, shaky with anxiety, cold with poor circulation, or gentle and warm with good intentions.
smiles happen everywhere.
when convincing someone of something, it is best to grin and nod often, for they will mimic said behavior and give you whatever you desire.
My back is straight to be presentable.
I sit on my haunches to seem primal and down to earth, and rejecting the standing majority.
A smirk of deception.
Avoiding eye contact is a dead give away, and vague stares of confusion will transfer to the recipient and create concern.
The inward shuffle of shoulders, and the head turning, the chin at a 45 degree angle from the neck, turned slightly to the side, and the covering eyes also displays discomfort.
Soften eyes, lean back, nod occasionally and keep your arms open, to your side, leaving all of your vital organs exposed to injury, and comfort radiates from you.
I can see when someone’s eyes flash that their thoughts didn’t make it to words.
I learn more from the pause In our conversation, because I find importance and hesitance. and meaning.
overabundance tells more than that resume you regurgitate to me everyday.
I understand the world, because I know that when you look to the left and tilt your head, youre up to no good, but if you tilt your head back and bite your lip, youre working something out, and when you look down you’re listening and wrestling my words in your mind, and when you look me in the face, you listen and comprehend and more likely then not, have a counterpoint.
a short little ditty
Say something genius
I don’t know but
Socrates whispered me comfort,
while enjoying some tea.
I reminded someone once that apathy was watching the trains go by then dancing in the ash, calling it a miracle that there was snow in july.
I may be a pacifist, but intention and creative outlets
like carefully picked words commit murder.
still in a shitty mood, but less shitty.
The World That Is and Isn’t (human nature exaggerated). by sea
were it not for my generation,
I would not be limited
in my metaphor
but as it stands,
I am a deacon of the Church of comics,
of cinema,
of records and human nature exaggerated.
Struggle lies within Nightcrawler, and he lies
in my stomach, where some say the soul dwells.
alienation is never ideal, but sometimes it is yearned for.
You don’t know me. You never will. I am the escapable Other,
never to comprehend, but this road travels both east and west,
and I will forever be in a state of confusion and lack of comprehension.
I find pride in this, like a child saving face in a battle of independence.
the wind whispers ego.
God whispers false idols.
I am not foolish enough to think myself access to the World That Isn’t.
I am foolish enough to think myself knowing of the World That Is.
Nightcrawler, you survivor of That Is. a creature of demonic appearance, and saintly actions.
I struggle, as you do, with God and the World that Is. The Church has rejected me, as well as the community outside of the walls of God. Yet - my faith has no walls, and it has no boundaries. Even though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil;
for You are with me;
My stomach churns, my soul flips, Nightcrawler is fighting magneto and I question.
I have never questioned God, for he knows what is higher than the highest, and lower than the lowest.
I question my relation to God. I question my validity to God. I question my use and my mission. I question but do not doubt.
Nightcrawler has mission.
I have stumbling.
Nightcrawler is Blue.
I am extremely white.
Nightcrawler has magical powers.
I have my hands, and hope they are strong enough.
I have my words, and hope they are heard.
I have my heart, and hope it loves.
I have my legs, and hope they run.
I have my eyes, and hope they see.
I have my self and hope for the Other.
Human Nature exaggerated is imagination.
Struggle lies within my stomach, where some say the soul dwells.
action reaction by sea
What loneliness resides in thunderstorms,
other than complicated binary codes of guilt complexes.
zeroX5 one
zeroX4 one zero
Sarah was struck by lightning.
Porcelain dolls are quite possibly the most beautiful creatures
painted by small french hands,
with the ugliest of strings stitched beneath their restrictive dresses.
Perhaps it iis better that they are inanimate, but who couldn’t relate to that?
Sarah’s grandparents were thrown back twenty feet, unconscious.
bickering twins ego and confidence beat the living crap out of each other
while I try to persuade myself of neither. Memory might as well be a god, for we know GODS are fickle.
I was never close with sarah, most certainly not her grandparents.
what good is a fire with the constraints of a pit or a rock circle,
ignoring the obvious marshmellow and hotdog ritual, the circle of a few warmed,
when all one wants is to burn a destructive path.
The grandparents survived their granddaughter, despite their efforts.
A woman, no matter how it is spelt or meant, is uncontrollable and unpredictable.
traits I find warmth in, but painfullt obvious is the rock pit surrounding.
To feel broken is uplifting at times, because an intricate history is then created.
Sarah died on a mountain top, arms stretched out, filled with a the oldest of life forces.
If you are presented with anger, with sadness, with shock, with lightning, what would you do? How do we present ourselves to the greater world when we realize that the rock circle containing the fire is necessary, or at best, a comfort.
Sarah to miss you is inadequate, to celebrate you is appropriate.
the alchemist
Irony is about to ensue.
Santiago said, “If I can learnt his language withot words, I can learn to understand the world.”
Comfort is a hand on one’s shoulder.
I shake hands to connect and feel if your skin is rough from work, shaky with anxiety, cold with poor circulation, or gentle and warm with good intentions.
smiles happen everywhere.
when convincing someone of something, it is best to grin and nod often, for they will mimic said behavior and give you whatever you desire.
My back is straight to be presentable.
I sit on my haunches to seem primal and down to earth, and rejecting the standing majority.
A smirk of deception.
Avoiding eye contact is a dead give away, and vague stares of confusion will transfer to the recipient and create concern.
The inward shuffle of shoulders, and the head turning, the chin at a 45 degree angle from the neck, turned slightly to the side, and the covering eyes also displays discomfort.
Soften eyes, lean back, nod occasionally and keep your arms open, to your side, leaving all of your vital organs exposed to injury, and comfort radiates from you.
I can see when someone’s eyes flash that their thoughts didn’t make it to words.
I learn more from the pause In our conversation, because I find importance and hesitance. and meaning.
overabundance tells more than that resume you regurgitate to me everyday.
I understand the world, because I know that when you look to the left and tilt your head, youre up to no good, but if you tilt your head back and bite your lip, youre working something out, and when you look down you’re listening and wrestling my words in your mind, and when you look me in the face, you listen and comprehend and more likely then not, have a counterpoint.
a short little ditty
Say something genius
I don’t know but
Socrates whispered me comfort,
while enjoying some tea.
I reminded someone once that apathy was watching the trains go by then dancing in the ash, calling it a miracle that there was snow in july.
I may be a pacifist, but intention and creative outlets
like carefully picked words commit murder.