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Stones From the Breath of a Pre-Ghost [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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(no subject) [Dec. 5th, 2006|11:29 pm]
While slipping from one mad situation to another the brief moment of rest I felt as the past was hushed and, like an army of hobos awaiting the scraps of a single sandwich to be tossed from the doorway of a closing homeless shelter, was turned away, but before a new more terrible future slid itself like a dull sock around my heart, I took it upon myself to toss the sock.
Things have happened within me that have felt so violent, yet circumscibed by peace, relating to me the iorny of how the sun must feel about being a burning celestial furnace who is framed by a sky and three pidgeons.
I have a new compass, this Emily Dickenson poem:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain
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(no subject) [Sep. 16th, 2006|05:48 pm]
On occasion I have imagined myself eternally and fully deified before those who I feel incapable of revealing myself to, transfigured into a tragic, otherworldly martyr rotting on a cross of reflection, nailed by a consciousness sacrificing itself to beauty's sins. At other times however I feel like an impotent shrew. What determines which day it will be?

All at once I let out the thundering ugliness of all of my thoughts and bid them take refuge and seek repentance in a glorious cathedral, my mind which distracts me from my sinking heart.

Time fractures love and forces us to hand it out or recieve it in pieces. Eternal, immediate expressions are not possible for a mind that is plauged by reflection, like a knife wrapped in a rainbow.
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(no subject) [Sep. 8th, 2006|09:32 pm]
You scored as Postmodernist. Postmodernism is the belief in complete open interpretation. You see the universe as a collection of information with varying ways of putting it together. There is no absolute truth for you; even the most hardened facts are open to interpretation. Meaning relies on context and even the language you use to describe things should be subject to analysis.




Cultural Creative














What is Your World View?
created with QuizFarm.com
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(no subject) [Sep. 6th, 2006|09:02 pm]
Brittle knifey light, the excess of a floating furnace, bent back a set of wet eyelids.

"Sickening sickening sunday," pushed the lungs beyond the lips, through the cords and out the cracked lips into the bright afternoon like clear butterflies fluttering from the mouth of a chemical-filled barrel.

Groping the afternoon with his rough croaks he brang his 27th, 55 year old girlfriend to consciousness.
"Hellen," he said. "WE have many eggs to make!"

But we all know he didn't really mean eggs.
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(no subject) [Sep. 4th, 2006|08:05 pm]
Fishing a cube of dry eel from the spread of a tin spoon, its bulbdrenched rust glimmering like algae caught in a reef of yellow table, the weight of his bright teeth clamped down over the rim and let pass a nice slip of black coffee to obscure the taste of dessicated fish flesh.

A giant beast roaring with the lungs of a gnat, lines from his coffee stained notebook:

"Find where misery shakes hands with bliss and a nose full of cocain fits in with the creation of a mighty soul, which I have so far treated like a butcher with his meat!"
As the waitress poured his 3rd cup of coffee, she asked him 'Would you like more cream sir?'
"Yes please!"
'I have become that which I always feared,' he wrote as she pushed the cream towards his ashtray, 'a human.'
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(no subject) [Sep. 3rd, 2006|07:19 pm]
White like fluttering bones, star-dressed wings crossed the garden- moving like a mist of small apparitions of moonlight. I was on a bench, next to me was a notebook. Bent pages, scribbles, ripped: strange are the frames of beauty. A small heart beating in the ink.
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(no subject) [Aug. 27th, 2006|01:04 pm]
Ive been reading a lot of Nietzsche lately. I remember when I used to constantly steep myself in his books, and the old feelings that he once cast over me are reemerging, but in a new light. My thinking used to dwell more in his ideas of morality and god, but recent developments and revelations have made his ideas of Amor Fati and Eternal Recurrence more.. comforting.

Amor Fati (love of fate): "My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be other than it is, not in the future, not in the past, not in all eternity. Not merely to endure that which happens of necessity, still less to dissemble it... but to love it."

Eternal Recurrence: This is the idea that everything repeats itself over and over again throughout eternity since: 1. neither matter nor energy are created or destroyed, 2. the past reaches back to infinity, 3. natural selection accounts for human evolution (rather then a designed, divine purpose), therefore: every possible configuration of the universe has occurred an infinite number of times. If this is true, then you must ask yourself: Do I live my life as if every act, every moment of every day could be repeated with joy? Or does this notion strap me with a burden of nausea? I cannot answer this question, for the answer would make me sad. However, I am determined to try, to remake MY world in MY image, to be able to smile in the company of the moment, and not turn away in disgust towards an idealized future.

To distance myself from the past, not with hatred and resentment, but lightly, and with joy. Joy of a future which is not clouded in the weather of the past:

Every coral crumbles
And every seashell falls
And every love is broken
In the star beyond our earthly wall

As season sparkles season
So in love there grows a scar:
A knife wrapped up in rainbows
Laid in a tomb under brightening stars

In the past that weeps within us
Grows a garden of fallen things
Where the 1000 fruits of the stomach tree
Ingests the sadness a single root brings
Where anger hushes sadness
And Remembrance is crowned a Vampire-King

Oh, speak to me of happy things!
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(no subject) [Jul. 4th, 2006|09:31 pm]
Fireworks: Screaming cloud-storming rattles, gigantic fits in the sky. Loose shimmering froth foaming from cardboard domes: wild unnatural rainbows wilting under a moon's heel.

I moved into a new house yesterday. Praise Allah and his hateful, bearded minions.
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(no subject) [Jun. 23rd, 2006|04:57 pm]
Schubert is god.
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(no subject) [Jun. 18th, 2006|01:44 am]
Bridging the distance between reflection's womb and the light of action I sought thought's loin and lept: a bright speck of happiness clinging to madness like a barnacle on the back of a whale, glittering like a strangled jewel in a sea of failure.
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