[Sporadic Thoughts]

Soliloquy II

Here I am, yet again, spending an allowance of my fine time in the static between the channels of life.
Here I am, yet again, holding it down as the whole world just fucking spins around.

Let us pace around the grounds in the name of our solidarity. Please, just keep marching on to the report of blood pounding deep inside these ears.

I am on the launch pad, and to my misfortune, standing about trying to escape in any other way plausible. Shall I join in, or idle for just a little while?

Mind the path ahead. It has an end.

Fill my cage with the felicity that will take my consciousness far below. This is self-manipulation in place of absorption.

Ready. Set. Reject.

Soliloquy III

This is it. This is what I want, and what I truly fucking need. Get out of here, because I can not take it any longer. Jettison this corrupt effigy that plagues my thoughts with your desirable facade. Burnt into my cranium, this is the unceasing agony of our dubious relation. Turn away, reject me, strike me down, and let my affection become stoic. This unknown possibility is ravaging up through my heart, ergo shattering my brain. This is what I call incompatibility, revulsion by confusion. Why not cast it all aside? Why not embrace for sake of all the longing? Nay, I am not in control. This power that I love is in lapse. Fie, extrinsic agents have arrived, and this leaves me with one question: What am I to do? Oh beautiful, what the fuck do I do?

You believe in iconoclasm; I believe in nihilism. You believe in dissipation until it desists; I believe in dreaming until it exists.

10:19 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

This is a Rhetoric.

Subjective in action now, nothing I can touch appears substantial. Studying oneself creates an egocentric mind frame. Where is this box that I am told to think outside of? Let us expand the walls.

Power is something I do not have. An inherent greed held by something deeper than my subconscious that permits any fashion of reason and rationale to be completely dismissed makes me powerless. I do not want to accept reality because anything else is more desirable. The truth I long to be fallacious makes me powerless. The negligence of my soul - walking alone without courage. I make Shane powerless, whereas all of this is me.

This is the nostalgia from my transcendent experience.
As I renew my lungs with the breath of earth, so the torrent of emotion releases.
This is a mantra.

Exclaim This

Muse me.

Look at these feet. Look at how they slog along this dirty path smothered with the dripping sweat of others before me. My neck serves only the brooding purpose of reminding my eyes that there is no where to go but downward. As I try to look up, the sky cracks into a thousand shards. The sky falls downward onto my crown, thence forcing my spirit to capsize. Do not look up, for everything tends to descend in sync with the ever so slight descry of hope.

Abuse me.

Oh, how difficult it is to encase this life in a demiurgic state when I am cursed to walk in the same bout as many before myself. To open my eyes in the name of juvenescence and all that is justly prolific is a sin. Suffering in subsequence, my body aches from the caustic property of creativity. This is a disease, nay it is a plague that I wish to spread. Feed from my limbs, desperate ones. The river runs red. Plebeians, drink this fluxing mead, whereas it is the fuel of shangri-la.

Muse me. Abuse me.

Your point being?

Letter to Myself II

What's so amazing? Tell me quick, because existence is fucking bland. Some day, I will find the connection. Why do we continue to lift open our eye lids each and every morning? Is it for pleasure, knowledge, or is it to fulfill a completely thoughtless instinct? God dammit, the pain of realization is far worse than any other I have come across.

Why should I wake up every morning to simply participate in a culture forged by someone else's ideas? Sure, after some amount of time I will have gained the maximum amount of freedom allowed, but until then what the fuck is happening? Nothing in life interests me at this point in time. The only aspect of life that justifies waking up to the aroma of a prepackaged morrow, is the social value I place unto others. There are certain people in this world whose interaction deems this existence a worthy state of being against the torture of time. Close friends and a significant other fill that socket quite nicely.

Everything else is shit. Essentially, any other activity in life has no real purpose to the relativity of it all, other than to pass the time peacefully with a shot of vibrant awe until that next encounter. The desire to understand, another reason to wake, is essentially procured from absolute apathy.

The Grim Reaper looms above each and every one of us from the very instant we choose to allow the breath of earth to enter our bodies - imbuing the ever-descending staircase that a human is cursed to stumble down with a definitive final step that lifts the burden of being. Give me a caprice to end these worn fidelities.

Vagrant thoughts from a wayward being.

Do I really have to explain

My eyes are in the back of their sockets. My feet are sunken into the concrete path. I am walking; as I move around this campsite, the view of these brick tents appears so simple. In this light, the shade of my emotion is pure. Monochromatic. Purity is the wavering flag of peace mounted atop this consciousness.

I am proud, yet this pride is not of myself. One does not shiver in lax formation out of appreciation for self-will. This is supposed to happen, and I embrace it all like I would a brother. Do not let a word escape your mouth. Those words will never do such an infathomable rhetoric its deserving justice. Breathe with me and share the infinite.

Powerful words.

Psychosomatic Tendencies

Letter to Myself III

Where would a human be, in relation to the overall demeanor of oneself, with exclusion from the ability to analyze? More simply put - is the reward of scrutinization thereafter wholly redeeming? I have two choices in life when dealing with a situation: To blindly accept what is at hand, dive into the darkness and hope for the best, or to try to reach a mental yet emotional profit.

I often stray from what most inherently do, which is to just go along with a given scenario from start to finish, by after first encounter proceed to examine the variables in play and entertain my mind by figuring out why. Example A: Since I have been in recovery from cocaine, my social life has become naught. The only reason I gave myself to live [for years] was the self-inflicted illusion of an egocentric lifestyle. All I cared about was the party scene; nothing else mattered but meeting up with dozens of fellow members of the undead each night and absorbing the fallacious praise I so often received. For the latter 90 days of my life, cocaine has left and I pretty much just socialize with myself and one select friend, as to stay in the direct light of my sobriety goal. Already, you should be able to understand how regularly I ponder on this subject alone. Any more I have given up on the bullshit facade of a social life; when you are eighteen it is highly improbable to find substantial friends who do not drink or use. Alack, I attempted to restart this Friday. The plans utterly failed, for every plan of action to the night had fallen through. I was mildly depressed and nothing made sense.

Is it my present route of fate to continue this solo solidarity, or are there simply no beneficial friends that I will ever meet? Everyone fucking drinks and does drugs that I would hang out with based upon character and personality. Keep in mind I most often can get along with everyone from my personal demographic to the computer and anime nerds in the front row. The nerds are not good for talking philosophy and life matters. What the fuck is going on. I am becoming more perplexed as I write. The whole simple plan was in my head when I started. Now, I am even more lost. Haha, and now the title is reflected in this text: Through over analyzation, my actual self is suffering degradation from this conundrum.

Everyone is too fucking pretentious in college. You are not unique, neither am I so let's just throw down the denial curtain and be real. The absolution to this mire is the realization that this advertently correlates to all of my relationships. I'm a hopeless romantic. Such a qualm; can you feel this?

The path never settles.

In Light in Metaphysics

Soliloquy IV

Has this lapse come to an end, and have my lashes finally unlocked? I do not know how to entitle such an experience, for a true rara avis has occurred.

My soul has lept out of tangent and deviated this mind from transit. This is the ebb of my precedence. This is the origin virtuosity. There is no truth, hence there is no falsity. There is only the Tao - the infinite I have always held belief to.

This is my answer; this is my one substantiality. Is this the destination: where I get off? Nay, the end is naught, thus my quest will exist in a spectrum to which finite does not. Alack, the connection.

Holy shit dude...let us read a few before you continue to lay it on us...

With that said, I read a couple. Nice stuff...free-verse isn't really my cup of tea, but I do enjoy it from time to time. However, after awhile, all your stuff started to sound the same. And I know they're all Soliloquies...but still, I'd like to see some poetic structure and other vices being used...but nevertheless, still good stuff.

EXCEPT...how does one believe in Nihilism? (joke)

Hey, welcome to DF btw.

Usually things in that form are a bit taxing to read through in paragraph form, but esp in exclaim it still works and its very strong imagery. I enjoy and look forewards to more.

Entangled In Yesterday's Demeanor

Indecisive. Lowered. No, look at this - nearsighted.

The cat should exalt to my desire. You are doing it all wrong, security means nothing unless the instance is of my belonging. My longing. This is not pertinent. Bullshit, this means everything in conjunction with the subject of absolution which empowers the craving. Lust is the word that materializes as I crunch my teeth together in an objection towards gravity. Desire means control, and my desire runs wild.

Run with me, or stop breathing.

Give it up. When I wake in the morrow, nothing else matters. Hand me that cigarette; would you be so kind? Let this go. I want to let my fingers peruse over the fabric hanging on the round rack in store #32. I want to wake up with sun laying upon my cheeks, inciting the most subtle smile. Never let me off of this ride.

a premonitory memorandum

Free Verse II

Listen up, I won't sign on the line.
Take a right, keep your lips pursed and do not say good bye.
I would rather be alone tonight.
Come closer. No, enough now - back away.
The other one is telling me to abandon.
Fie, one more time, and my hand waves to the same recurring act.
Line five is about as clear as I get;
It is ne'er quite the dream I hope for.
Homonyms. They're as dull as you are.
My shirt reads out to anyone with an inkling of upright confidence:
Benediction.
I'm not your type girl.
Look at my chest, I'm already telling lies.
I'm the vagabond type.
When the glow of that burning baton smothers, so will you.
Do not get comfortable.
The flat behind my ribs is only for rent.
Thoughts of this one pass through like iambic pantameter.
Beautiful.

From Cheek to Cheek

Free Verse IV

Dance quietly
A flag to fold
Staring down my fingertips
Streams its audacious zest
Desensitized nerves awaken
Nostalgia's liberty surpasses
Individual freedom

This is something positive
Equating prolific phonetics
This is an uprising
My cast is being torn
Insidious organs synthesize
Limbs cry to the unsung melody
This is the connection
Yesterday was sound
Today is deeper than New York's print
Fly through, rush in
The arcane linoleum creaks as
Fashion incites your occult glamor
Inside my eyes read three letters:
Yes
Rip my ticket
I am walking inside

Now, would some of you more seasoned poets mind critiquing my work, please? My structure is confused. I started out some time ago just allowing the pen to disperse letters as it saw fit. I did not worry about structure, and I still do not [to an extent]. I am very interested in blank verse, yet have not tried it yet, but free verse and soliloquies are what I love.

Basically, please critique yet allow a tangent focused on structure. Suggest. Thank you.

The feel of this may appear static, yet I am doing just that. My goal was to completely explain a feeling, an experience, and just that.

My fingertips could not feel it
The nerves strung from collar to ear could not sense it
Emotions familiar could not recognize it
A thought could not catch it

Gusts blow through my hair and under palms
Grasping the wheel
I was being thrown from last minute's trace
Sand could not mold to the print
Suspended above an engine
Conserving suit

Eyelids closed
Opaque only defines current angst
With a white backdrop
The arms stretched outward
And our monolithic creations planted
Such silhouettes carry a descry of ink
Surmounting comprehension
Everything stretches in formation as my lips form a grin

I am drawing the landscape
As the observer
My experience was seen
As the virtuoso
My experience was created

Out with the dreamers
Of a beating heart
Body born into sub sequential felicity
Experience this and put the psilocybin to rest

Forget the epsilon
Burn your lexicon

All i can say is WOW.. Very strong words in the few that i've read (the first three). I will continue reading what you have written in what time i have, and i eagerly await to see what else you might write after those first few.

I love those lines, I read through them all.. well glanced through.. they all have a simular feel to them until the last 2 you have wrote.. honestly those were the ones I liked the most. They were easier to read and yet still strong and still powerful. They also seemed more focused and less trying to cram a tonne of super wierd/long/obscure words into a paragraph. Honestly may people would need a dictonary to understand your stuff and most wouldn't try. You can still do free form poetry but with fairly regular line breaks. Now I am not a big fan of structured poetry.. so will not speak on the soliloquies part of it. I love poetry that has feeling, imagery, that is connectable and that can draw me in. I like poetry that tells a story or paints a picture of something, even randomness. I also know that alot of others like poetry like that as well. I see you have been posting and reading other peoples threads.. that is good. but you probably noticed a lot of comments like good imagery, or wow you drew me in etc..

Honestly discription with words can be hard. you have a lot to say but you say so much in a short time.. try focusing on one or two key things and then really getting into them. Describe them, feel them, draw the picture of what you are saying.

Good things about your stuff.. you have a very unique way with blending words with out rhyming. that is awsome and often rhyming is the first vice that new writters fall into... you also do have some great lines, such as those I quoted.. I shall look forward to seeing how you develope in the future as a writter.

Thank you Ynys for commenting, and White Lily for critiquing. The last two or so are when I put my ideals aside and tried something that looked a bit more normal. Everyone says all of mine have the same feel, but does that mean style or what? Each one is about a different experience in my life; rarely do I just write with inhibitions instead of promotions. Yes, I do have a lot to say in a short time, thanks for pointing that out; that is the sort of things I am looking for to correct. Once again, thank you for taking the time to read about my work and tell me, in good conscience, what I need to work on [in your opinion].

I will add more as I write it.
Peace

the same feel can mean different things to different people, it can mean the same format, or the same phrasing, or the same types of imagery or lack of, or the same emotions or lack off.. depending on what people pick up from your stuff. When I say it I mean the same style of writing, the same phrasing and the same emotions it expresses in me, the examples above are personal to you, so you will feel and see different things in your words then others who did not live through it. so to someone, they can all sound simular, where as to you you relive that time in your life again. A note of caution with that, when you ask for a critique about something personal, it may be hard to accept that the critique is about wha tis written, not about your experience. it is not fair for anyone to critique your experience, but how you describe it.. that can be critiqued. just try to remember that when you read the comments about your work, we are not talking about you.. just what you wrote. At least that is what we should be talking about. though you will always find people that say your a great writer, or you suck..