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Old 06-21-2013, 08:51 PM   #1
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Old 06-21-2013, 09:49 PM   #2
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didn't even realise there was a crew section.

new collab?
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Old 06-21-2013, 11:30 PM   #3
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Down for that, too. This was meant for the PM project though.
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Old 06-24-2013, 08:21 AM   #4
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just hit you back bruh


i'm all for it

you should post this at ProjectRhyme too though, Richard corey tried something not all that dissimilar many moons ago...
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Old 06-25-2013, 12:17 AM   #5
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cool cool
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Old 06-25-2013, 03:09 PM   #6
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yeah maybe we'll move it over there. I have Thursday and Friday off this week so I'll be able to put something together for all of us to decide upon. Check ya PMs.
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Old 06-25-2013, 05:19 PM   #7
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i think its a stellar idea like i told you.. havent had a free moment to pick through the archives to do any sort of editing or employ a selective process for publication

but word to this. ill be in touch oats
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Old 06-26-2013, 03:49 PM   #8
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Yeah hit me with whatever you guys got, maybe like 5-8 pieces each (unless they're short). To be sure, I'm not assuming primary editor role, I would like this to be a collective effort (and as such, if there are any profits, they would be split). But I'm willing to take the lead on organizing it. Verses, poetry, prose poems, anything of that nature that you feel would represent your best writing.
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Old 06-26-2013, 03:50 PM   #9
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Also, feel free to invite anyone else you think would be a good addition to the project.
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Old 06-26-2013, 05:13 PM   #10
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who is topicaldood? I'd want to do the presentation of the book, obviously with ideas from y'all, I aalready got a few myself though
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Old 06-26-2013, 05:25 PM   #11
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topicaldood = soulstice
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Old 06-26-2013, 06:12 PM   #12
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@Seyance perfect, I'm horrible when it comes to aesthetics and shit.
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Old 06-26-2013, 07:27 PM   #13
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Is this crew pronounced "mermaiden"?
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Old 06-28-2013, 12:09 PM   #14
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No.

Mere-Me-Dons.

I'd probably just send like...
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Old 06-28-2013, 12:17 PM   #15
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"Elephants Never Forget: The Elephant Never Forgot


"What a splendid head, yet no brain."
Aesop

http://www.unexplained-mysteries.com...ephant_man.jpg

From the age of five,
My face comprised, of distinct growths that ranged in size ..
.. and plagued my mind,
When I’d hear the hateful jibes, my classmates devised.
The torrential torment was often initiated by,
Bullies that would take the time ..
.. To state unkind, spates and lies, until they had made me cry.
Empty tears cascade the sides, of my craniums strange design ..
.. And with grace they slide,
Over my shapeless guises grey confines.
The great despise I faced at times, would duly strip away my pride ..
.. But Mother often told me,
“Beauty’s nothing but a state of mind,”
And I held her sweet words with me, up until the day she died ..
.. As they were right,
And I was stronger than the pain I faced inside.
My father would later find,
A stately sprite, to make his wife ..
.. Who placed her spiteful talons, well in view of his grateful sights.
Her waves of white,
And ageing lines, had made her face refined ..
.. But she was as cold and calculated, as a sculpture made of ice.
Her severe disgust was noted,
Through each of her weighted sighs ..
.. And she’d leave the room at the faintest sight, of my heinous plight.
For months she gamely tried,
To exploit this great divide ..
.. Culminating in the deft ultimatum that came to light,
“It’s either I go, or he goes!” she’d proclaim with spite ..
.. And I raged inside,
When asked to leave our estate that night.
I found myself out in the cold world,
With no place to hide.
Followed by the japes and snipes, of children that raced me by.
My deformity meant,
Looking for work was a waste of time ..
.. As nowhere would accept such a disfigured face as mine.
Then to my ornate surprise,
A fly-poster graced my eyes ..
.. About a travelling freak show that sought my distasteful kind.
The pay was trite,
But so were most jobs in these days and times ..
.. And I felt somewhat insubordinate as they caged my hind.
The steel curtain was raised in time,
To meet the publics scathing pries ..
They never saw me, just the disfigured mask I’m portrayed behind.
When one day a saintly guide,
Would enter to change my life ..
.. “Dr. Treves” he stated quite, profoundly. I remained uptight.
His gaping eyes,
Fell on my hideous growths that had stabilized ..
.. And he informed me,
He could help to investigate their rise.
So I moved to Whitechapel Hospital, where I’d the greatest time ..
.. And Doctor Treves,
Removed pockets of flesh from my face and spine.
I yearned to be ‘normal’ again -
To sleep as I faced the sky ..
.. A comfort I hadn’t known in years, due to my heads weight and size.
It was during my attempt in the dawn of one fateful night,
That upon my own stupidity,
I would suffocate and die.
Empty tears cascade the sides, of my craniums strange design ..
.. And with grace they slide,
Over my shapeless guises’ grey confines.
The great despise I’d faced at times, had duly stripped away my pride ..
.. And Mother had told me,
Beauty was nothing but a state of mind.
I held those true words with me, up until the day I’d died ..
.. But these people never saw me,

Just the disfigured mask I was portrayed behind.

- Joseph Carey Merrick
5th August 1862 – 11th April, 1890

"The Nightmare Before Christmas”

http://www.picturegrill.com/images/c...tachimney.jpeg


Don’t you just fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives?
That meticulous time,
When soft mittens comprise, snowmen of formidable size ..
.. From the thickets of white,
Sitting astride, the distant horizon.
The winds cold, briskly respite, navigates deciduous pines ..
.. Whistling by,
On its mission-less guide, where with pure intuition it finds ..
.. A lonesome snowman,
That glistens with pride, deep in the dark midst of the night.
Abandoned by his creator,
The young girl was forced to kiss him goodbye ..
.. Leaving him cruelly exposed,
To the adoration of which he despised.
His movements restricted,
By the barren branches that stick from his sides ..
.. And so he sits in the silence,
Bitterly frightened, with his pummelled face missing an eye.

I used to love it.
Christmas had always been a favoured fixture of mine ..
.. And often I reminisce on the times,
When anticipation meant the hairs on my neck would bristle and rise.
Mother was quick to surmise,
That I had to be asleep before Saint Nick would arrive ..
.. But I’d sit with my eyes,
Firmly affixed to the blinds, awaiting the glorious gifts he provided.
I awoke, both betwixt with surprise, and of startled relief ..
.. Heading downstairs,
Where my father would be, clutching the star for the tree.
With his assistance,
I’d place it on top as he marvelled at me ..
.. Then open up my presents as I sat perched on the arc of his knee.
I made a metropolis,
From our laminate flooring that was sparkling clean ..
.. My remote control car,
Traversing the length of our house and all parts in between.
Elated rapture exuded,
From my smile in the most ardent of beams ..
But one year in particular,
I could sense the pretence in her parlance of glee.
It was only when I witnessed,
My dear Mother starting to weep ..
.. That I realised,
She was harbouring me, from the darkest of secrets…

And I guess this is where my hate of Christmas derives,
I was six at the time,
When it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did - I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and Mommy could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
And this is why I fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives,
Cause now I’M the lonesome snowman,
Out in the dark midst of the night.
That puerile pile you’ll find out on the distant horizon,
Cold
Heartless
Unable to move on, and sitting in silence.
Abandoned by my creator,
But with his memory’s still rich in my mind,
I was six at the time,
And it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did - I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and her could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
My father had died from a multiple heart attack,
And that’s why all I want for Christmas THIS year is my father back...



"Washed Up!"


.
.
.

Do you remember when you would call me yours?
When I was the savvy sailor navigating those stormy shores;
And you were the burlesque barmaid we all adored,
The first female that I’d fallen for...


“...All aboard!”


...I guess I’d always been too afraid of letting go;
‘Cos you never know what can happen when you’re caught in the ebb and flow.
But I was carried away by the current and swept to the side;
Where I found myself drowning in the deepest, dark, depths of your eyes.
As their replenishing grace lashed over me,
I embraced it strong,
And with a sharp intake of breath, I would gladly take the plunge.
You were the mermaid on the barnacled buttresses I braved collision,
As I courageously steered my stern vessel on its maiden mission.
But simultaneously I found myself in a strange position;
Because I’d always been careful not to go overboard with inane decisions.
Yet our relationship was as open and free as the oceans and seas;
From the moment you seized my heart,
Gone were my loneliest needs.
And I was thrown in the deep end where you left me amazed;
Where I leapt in elation while riding on the crest of that wave.
I was so desperate to make a splash, I kid you not, I did the lot...
...As you were the beacon up in the lighthouse,
That guided my ship to dock.
But I soon found it wasn’t all plain sailing attached to you;
Even though I’d gladly choose to do what you asked me too...
...And sometimes I’d call you a “Beach” behind your back, it’s true.
But much like the incoming tide,
I’d come crawling back to you.
Yet there was a lot more to me than the guy you’d always see;
Beneath the calm surface lay a cold, scathing, storm at sea...
...You’d drifted into the arms of another as I watched you float;
And up fecal firth with no paddle,
I decided to rock the boat.
But my emotions turned like the tides, and I fostered regrets...
...As you probed my turbulent mind, for what had got me upset.
And then I watched as you wept, on the docks with the jetty;
Before dragging your body down to those same rocks where you met me...
And waves of anger crashed over me alone where we stood;
As I thought to myself “If I couldn’t have you, then nobody would.”
But I was already in too deep,
And that much I’d admit.
I tried pushing her onto the rocks, but during the struggle – I slipped!
And I fell backwards, hearing her gasping screams suddenly stop,
As I hit the ground –The true meaning of Love On The Rocks.
Now I’m just deadwood,
Tossed and thrown around these stormy shores...
...And you’ll forever be the only female I’ve fallen for.
But you’ll never wash my blood from your hands,
No matter what you pass them through.
And much like the incoming tide,
I’ll come crawling back for you...


Beach.



"Deflowered Rose"

http://img1.imagetitan.com/img1/1/16/vandam.jpg


Under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless, guy who hides the carcass ..
.. of a seven-year-old school girl back in his high rised apartment.
She’d tried her hardest,
To escape the ropes he’d tied her arms with ..
.. before the tyrant started to divide her garments,
And molest the child regardless.
The violence started, once she’d rejected his evil suggestion ..
.. he beat her ‘til her cries for help, were little more than silent yelps.
The pungent stench of his stale breath, clung to her pale flesh ..
.. and she balled her fists at each sordid kiss,
Placed upon her by his morbid lips.
A single finger prised open the pink insides of this shrinking violet ..
.. and as his assertive hand plundered her cervic glands -
He barely blinked an eyelid.
Rose couldn’t bring herself to meet the glare of this demon,
So, tearfully, she stared at the ceiling - Feeling her innocence tearing and bleeding.
Her tormentor had climbed, the lengths of her thighs and ventured inside ..
.. Clenching the sides of her face -
To reveal the dark intent in his eyes.
Tensions were high, as the monster snarled through pristine dentures of white ..
.. And spat in the young girl’s face,
Where a mass of fear and resentment preside.
The animal lengthens his strides, as beads of sweat secrete from his pores ..
.. The heathen ignores her pleas for remorse -
His sickening lust still eager for more.
With arms that are strong and sculpted, and veins that feed him copious strength ..
.. he gropes for her neck, holds her over the bed, and chokes her to death.
Poor Rose had tried her hardest, to escape this violent hardship ..
.. Now her lifeless carcass, sits on a dirty mattress back in his high rised apartment.
And under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless guy who’s prides departed ..
.. His lone physique roams the streets,
While looking to find his targets…



"Neurasthenia"


My father raised us responsibly;
As great threads of gray swept through his rich waves of mahogany.
And he also worked as a salesman, so I safely acknowledged he
lied for a living and this was why he hated dishonesty.
His way was the common theme.
But this dictatorship remained a hit due to his smiling face of authority.
He wages on comically, playful and folly free,
While saving a stolid beam for the occasional modesty.
Pops was as neat and organised as any page from a glossary.
While my brother and me would disagree while playing Monopoly,
and David would often leave to create a ***ophony.
Heaven knows our Father must have had all the patience of Socrates.
After a stern talk from dad -
I was more ‘forced’ than ‘asked’ to make an apology.
While David was scooped up and placed on his knobbled knee.
Spluttering threats under my breath, I laid the table with crockery,
“Dad,” David sniffled, before I heard him say -

“Why did mommy leave?”


The atmosphere in the room grew so tense,
I prayed someone would hand me a knife.
As his candid, refined Cheshire grin became sadly resigned.
Before his so called stone-jawed expression was cracked and he sighed.
I sat at his side,
And he frantically tried to explain what had happened and why.
It didn’t make him any less of a man in my eyes,
to stand there and cry.
Because since her departure over a week ago, we’d been a family divided.
Standing in silence as empty tears traversed his great frown,
There was an upsurge of raised brows at the words that came out,
as his lips trembled “Your mother’s had a nervous breakdown,”
I reared up from his beer gut with a sneer but
my austere look was a mere bluff
to mask the disbelief which had sphered up in my tearducts.
It appeared such a clear-cut thing when dad had said she'd gone away,
So what was grating at me,
Wasn't that he made us believe she was on her holidays,
Nor the ensconsed distain which dislodged the pain,
But that he'd lied to me.
To us.
To himself on the odd occasion.
And because of his jejune job where the selfish fool
delved into whichever velvet ruse would sell to you,
Me and my brother held the view we should always tell the truth
When infact, honesty was a welcomed tool he seldom used.
I felt dispelled, deluded, cozen and course
as I spent a moment marauded in total discord with the sobering thought
that the grown man's tears he so nobly fought back
were the coldest I'd caught.
His eyes opened once more.
The pain etched within stretched the skin on his weathered face,
But given his present state,
And the wisdom he'd resonate,
I knew lying to his children was the hardest decision he'd ever made.
Yet even with his troubles part-considered,
I grew sullen, dark, and bitter.
And felt I'd lost the trusting father figure I'd loved with heart and vigour.
I felt crushed with hardened rigor.
But this huge hysteria soon deteriorated and grew inferior,
When I thought of the Mother I loved, being claimed to her Neurasthenia.
And I'll never get used to seeing her reclined in that chair,
When all that remains of the woman I knew, are the eyes that we share.
The pride isn't there.
Inside it's unbearable, but I hide it with care.
Yet since it happened I feel closer than we had been before,
Because I too have no real sense of who I am anymore.
My mood's altered by drugs,
The difference of course is you're administered yours -
While we'll both sit in our rooms 'til feeding time or a visitor calls.
So I'm glad when you'll send me letters,
to write back and pretend you're better.
But most of all i'm just thankful for the time we manage to spend together.

We never had much in the way of duckets or change, just the occasional pudding made for our cousins who stayed a couple of days. When our cupboard’s contained less than Old Mother Hubbard’s, lets say. But you would never hear our Mother complain! No matter how often we struggled to pay the bills, or budget, and save. No matter how often, or emphatically, she tried to juggle her day. No matter how hard she’d just worked to serve a hot meal up on our plates, you would never hear our Mother complain. Not even through the ruction we made! But maybe us being so dysfunctional gave us that strong, solid, structural base. That sense of family values and well-being you just couldn’t replace. And when you have nothing to lose, you start looking to gain. This is how me and my brothers were raised. We were told to go for the jugular vein, to give back as good as they gave, but that good things come to those who have the gumption to wait. Sure there will be punishing days, where you’ll have taken just as much as you’ll take. Where you’ll feel like a blundering great lummox that makes a hundred mistakes. But these testing times are where Mother’s are humbly made! In their multiple roles as a chauffeur, housewife, a cook and a slave. And you’ll stumble or stray asunder some days under the strain. But you’ll do anything to see a smile on that childs wonderful face, no matter how laborious the task or how long that it takes. This is a full-time job with no time to be squandered on breaks, and could even result in you taking a cut in your pay. Sometimes it’s all too easy to shovel the blame, but these testing times are where Mother’s are humbly made, and so I’m asking, if the roles were reversed – Could I really stomach the same?

I doubt it.

Thank you.
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Old 06-28-2013, 12:27 PM   #16
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@oats

feel free to take any of the image links or quotes and w/e out you need too, i just straight copied and pasted what i felt best displayed what i did/do

i'd definitely like the last one, "Neurasthenia" in there though as it's dedicated to my mother and i'll never write to that subject againl. realest subject i've ever touched on.

word.
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Old 06-28-2013, 02:19 PM   #17
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awesome, thanks Lars.
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Old 06-28-2013, 06:25 PM   #18
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if one (or all) of you could provide feedback on which ones to cut, that would be extremely helpful and appreciated.


Astronomical Dreams

"All of us get lost in the darkness, dreamers learn to steer by the stars." - Rush, The Pass

in the beginning our existence was akin to a black void
then it happened - a crash of platinum and iridium alloys
since then the tune of evolution has been written from that noise
as life stemmed from the materials delivered on asteroids.
some call it coincidence, some divine intervention
either way it seems to be a hopeful cry for attention
so take a little dipper in the pool of Ursa Minor's reflection
and realize we're looking home when we read the skies for direction.

but now Orion's perplexed and Andromeda's furrow-browed
as they tippy-toe to poke their nose above the walls of a burning cloud
this smog could be solved if we were able to turn around
but we can't - we're in line for the iphone cuz the upgraded version's out
what was once a staple of discovery is choking in small seams
we've relegated the heavens to what most of us call "dreams."
the void has returned in the form of issues never resolving
a new darkness is upon us: Man, the measure of all things.

humanity is damned - it's Malthusian principle
since the peak in population's been confused with our pinnacle
now the internet is getting us foolishly cynical
look! even the Mayan calendar is moving to digital
we all got our problems - mental or physical - from Rasputin to Sitting Bull
though plenty red flags are waving we construe them as indigo
because our mood is our citadel: a tumor is minuscule -
if there's no blood then fuck it, that wound isn't critical!
so chew on this riddle next time you chew your McGriddle
how famine for the masses means a feast for few individuals
respect to Buddha and Jesus, and Confucius' teachings, but the truth is more visceral
the places food is allocated is what humans are driven to

this movement is cyclical, don't even bother to run
since the sins of the father are reincarnate in sons
amongst celestial bodies, we're what the bodies become
but the sum of the parts is only part of the sum
we like to think of ourselves as the heart or the lung
but in this galaxy, reality's we're just the gargling tongue
the divisions and mistakes that we live with and embrace
are indications of the monumental carnage we've done
a terrorist for many is a martyr to some
and when we label another that's what they start to become
yet we're lauded and applauded for the scars that we've won
it's a curse, so further into darkness we plunge
if we could only know that every star is our sun
then maybe we'd remember that we are all one


Open Letters to Physicists


To Whom it May Dismiss,

I hear the universe exists inside of proofs and formulas
as numerical reflections deciphered through your corneas,
which means the expanses I've traveled and tragically sworn to love
are simply masks in the attic mathematically boarded shut.
but too much has been invested to accept this rigid receipt
that each breath in its essence is just a set of digits repeating
every second stripped of its meaning, retreating to logic's ordered peak
and though the edge of the cliff is appealing, please...look before you leap.

To Whom it May Discredit,

I presume it's unsafe to edit an established axiom
and answer to the annals you'd have to retract it from.
you'll face a marathon of laughter when you suggest to subtract a sum
but perhaps another answer would advantage the path they run
for example: PE=MGH is one that's proved with ease;
if you stand tall, you should become what you believe
which makes sense, but the secret that is wonderful to see
is that potential increases when you're humbled to your knees.
nothing you achieve's simple as arithmetic progress
besides, reaching potential tends to be a kinetic process.
this systemic logic is a palatable scheme
but now you see not every formula's infallible as it seems.

To Whom it May Enrage,

The truth will stain this page, engraving its signature
and make you rearrange the names for what you label as miniature.
your preconceptions and intuitions may be wading within the dirt,
for every trait of nature you can't contain in an integer.
like how F=MA is a linear way to state the greatness massive acceleration delivers -
but some of the most persuasive statements came in shades of a whisper.
the truth can be raised or fade away like the banks of a river
needless to say that either way it makes a painful elixir.

To Whom it May Concern,

It can be a foolish way to learn, to walk the edge of unusual
but this message is suitable...
numbers and letters will never capture the essence of beautiful.
though curiosity compels you to discover how it truly works
I beg you - don't ruin the wonders of the universe.
like Y=X^2, a fact that so accurately maps gravity, it's brilliant
but not everything falls down - that's humanity's resilience.
knowledge without perspective is threat we can't afford to keep
so remember: look in every direction before you leap.


Ambition's Nails

I don't believe in nightfalls, it might sound dumb or obtuse
but I've only noticed darkness rising - a smothering plume
and while the sun is consumed by shadows that tug at its hues
I watch it, wonder and muse, like what the fuck should I do?
almost 24, a third of life is under review -
though most likely closer to half, with all the drugs I've abused
hailed as brilliant, but don't get me and my brother confused
cuz he's a legitimate genius who applied it for a functional use

me? I have a hunger for truth, but a squeamish digestion
part-time sunken recluse, tenured fiend for attention
cursed with unquenchable curiosity without equal dimension
behind a lonely, unfocused soul with a need for expression.
seasonal tension - I walk a tightrope on a lean to depression
countered with pigmented smiles, but don't believe my complexion
one-night significant others and my addiction to substances were means to discretion
just emotional coping tools; crutches for my ceaseless dependence

all these secrets I've mentioned have helped me come to the meaning
that there's 2 of me: one awakens while the other is dreaming
one's the CEO, the other shows up drunk to the meeting
yet neither can help but think that they're underachieving
Earth's magnetic exhale, feel the iron lungs of it breathing
defying gravity through the mass that governs its being
feet like stumps of a tree - frozen, sunken retreating
while my head suffers dreams held captive under the ceiling

still, a thunderous feeling echoes - perhaps it means I'm hollow
it tells me “lead with your heart, then happiness will follow”
so I do. I bleed through this art, pen and pad to ease the sorrow
but I can't remember a second recently I've had to tweak my novel
it's about my hometown and the changes we have to eat and swallow
it's about the charm of the rainy season, the magic of each pothole
the people stuck here with only drips of ambition to salvage from the bottle
it's either genius or it's awful - I'm so erratic with bravado

now I'm this backwards teaching model on the brink of insanity
the beach erodes while the marsh is slowly shrinking in vanity
meanwhile my novel's dying with them - everything is a tragedy
and I guess it's all my fault because I think in analogies
these manifested connections bely a simple reality
that EVERYTHING - our very existence is shadowy
afoot the curtails of a golden orb, dependent on alchemy
we're tossed and twirled about by the whims of its gravity

thus ambition's a malady for a fatalist body
so I awaken every day and stick my face into coffee
complacency taught me not to swim, just drift with my peers;
all I need is love...job security and a fridge full of beer
the picture is clear, night continues even at the shadows end
it’s not that dreams don’t come true – we just grow out of them


A Piece of Glass


it all begins in the sun, the musical movement
of helium and hydrogen bonding in nuclear fusion
a truthful illusion, heat released to coast Earth
oh such beautiful hubris, look how Helios smirks...


rays of light sparkle and glimmer, each telling him to rise
shades of night partially linger 'neath the bellies of his eyes
sleep whispers sentimental lies, a con artist in disguise
so waking REM deprived for him is hardly a surprise
Dream's a martyr he despised, a sniveling pander
the most malignant of cancers selling visions of grandeur
but Dream has a foil steeped in innocent candor
a native of the day - his name? Ambition the Answer.
(let that picture meander through your brain for a minute
cuz sometimes things can be so much the same that they're different)

...all molecules seem to come alive when heated
so when the sea meets the sun, it will rise to greet it
evaporated particles in righteous asylum
finally! Aeolus reunites with Poseidon...


water splashes his face, the warm air is malevolent
his identity pleasantly draped in arrogant elegance
his name's irrelevant - call him whatever you like
he's every faceless stranger never met in your life
with one exception, he was blessed with an exceptional sight
so he could see the messages that Destiny writes
but that perception is blight, a horrid taste of death
to see the outline of your footprints, before you take a step
no reward from Fate could help him clean the stain of his vision
till one day Destiny presented him a painful decision

...the saturated winds begin their rapid ascension
water droplets cool to match the clouds they condensed in
cumulonimbus shrouds billow as they stack to the heavens
armored in the storm, mighty Zeus steps down with a vengeance...


the sky darkened his apartment as Destiny confronted him
from her spindle she removes a single thread to weave his punishment
her energy is thunderous, cloaked in a cloud
silence crescendos to an echo when she opens her mouth:


"Though you won't be allowed to use the eyes of the gods,
before you're blind you must decide upon a prize for your loss.
For undermining our laws, you owe a debt to our pride,
so we must change your fate, but I will let you decide.
If you want a long normal life, where happiness is yours,
then the tapestry I weave for you will have to be a stork.
Or you can die young, in the honor of fame,
and forever men will sing along with songs of your name.
If then, I'll weave a bull upon the fabric of Truths,
and the animals will take you on the path that you choose."

what a masterful ruse! a riddle free of rational proofs
so he looked within to see which one his passion approves
Ambition points to the bull - he's invested in the lie
but Dream the Question arrives and beckons him to fly
a respectable try, but greed is etched into his eyes
Destiny sighs, and weaves his lesson in the skies
lightning strikes, the bull is unrestrained and loose
no place to move, he's taken in the chains of Zeus

...the storm dissolves and the sky regains its bluest mask
a dark tune is no way to serenade a lucid past
if you can't see the difference, beware of foolish acts -
myth and science are the same, depending who you ask
Destiny's blessings always come with secret traps
and it takes a lightning bolt to mold a piece of glass
when your flaws are transparent, it's not wise to be great
now everyone sing the song of he who tried to cheat fate



Where Canterbury Stops

my life has been a storybook of unfinished chapters
an undulant path riddled with blunders and laughter
yet if I summon the shadows of every wonder, disaster
I birth versions of myself waiting to publish their answers
they compete with each other, treading puddles of past words
another Eric trying to surface for each month I've meandered.
scientists, teachers, liars and cheaters
different narrators vying for a rung on the ladder
I feel them argue for control over my lungs and my stature
ghosts of moments passed too close to grasp succumb to the
cancer
humbled, I grasp for the agency they've hunted and gathered -
I fire back with pen and pad to try and muffle the banter.
but I'm stuck in relapse, overcome by the clamor
spurts of progress operating like a bunt to a batter
this autonomy I've stumbled with and hungered to capture
feels like the stories I would read under the covers, enamored.

drunken with passwords for my wrinkled derision
this is no "once upon a time" or "in the beginning."
protect myself from myselves, on the brink of addiction
hostage to nostalgia - such an intimate prison.
instinctive division we mark as past and present
blurred into a vertigo of masked direction
so I look foolishly for future me to answer questions
like what happened to the magic of my adolescence?

static severance manifesting into massive dependence;
forsake what makes you happy for a vaginal entrance
books used to be my lamp until the shadows ascended
now staying up all night means I'm too trashed for repentance.
immaculate sentences allowed dreams to ignite
dreams of Jurassic Parks, Rats of Nimh and Wrinkles in Time
I had romance with the world, full of meaning and life
it gave me sincere belief that whatever I could think could be mine
everything would be fine - nothing is broken or stained
so long as I could hide myself once I opened the page
even the loneliest days weren't empty, those words were my
passport
they were the truest, wisest friends any person could ask for
the hurt didn't last more than the error of doubt
emotions were there to be understood, not embarrassed about
I learned that nothing’s unimportant, every thought is a pearl
and that love was all that I could really offer the world.

but now Chaucer would hurl at the sight of the bodies
given flesh by the memories that smile and haunt me
I've tried to move on, but I still hold to my youth:
my life's a comedy of errors and a porno of truth
stories were windows to new worlds till I closed the panes;
trees never lose their rings - they prefer growth to change
every note that I claim is a temporal stick-up
you've grown up once you realize how great being a kid was.
so here I am, another rat waiting for trap feed
too lazy to be angry, too afraid to be happy
fascination fades like all imaginary plots
I turn the corner of adulthood - where Canterbury stops.


Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?

for Bob Dylan

Dear Eric,

you don't know me yet, but I know you very well
in fact, I know you better than I'd ever care to tell
like those vests you'd wear to Sunday School, such an arid smell
or that time you split your head trying to get on a carousel
the way you made your parents swell with anger, oh you were troublesome!
the youngest son, with 3 brothers, it's a wonder their marriage held
your cumbersome careless self, if only I knew what to say to you
but I'm older and I don't know how...it's all over now, Baby Blue

by all accounts known, you were a truly wild tike
but you've made it to a lot of places for someone who couldn't ride a bike
I know - you weren't taught, plus it wasn't your style
at least that's what you'd say with an uncomfortable smile
you always loved your denial, mixed in with some truth
like when your mom had the peach tree that glistened with one fruit?
you took a bite before it ripened - tossed it in the gutter
which clogged, so all your brothers were lined up to see who might snitch
you had to lie quick, even if it was generic
so you pulled a sly trick and blamed your "friend Eric"
not the smoothest maneuver, but it proved you wouldn't cry for help;
when the pressure was on you always knew to look inside yourself
only the sky could shelf your potential, nothing else would be able to
but those rolling clouds can hold it down...it's all over now, Baby Blue

I bet you're recognizing that these moments are slowing
so don't let 'em go, because you know where they're going
hold them as close to you as the Pope holds to his rosary
then maybe you'll avoid the disappointment you'll grow to be
the heartbreaks and mistakes, feeling smothered from the skies
now ashamed of the name that claimed you by the color of your eyes
the scars that you carry, partially buried, the heavy grief you shoulder
whatever keeps your soul on the road that's unpaved for you

With Grateful Inspiration,
the future Baby Blue

PS, it's never really over



thanks, Myrms.

@dead man
@Lars
@Seyance
@TopicalDood5
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Old 06-28-2013, 06:39 PM   #19
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So this is how I was planning on going about the publishing process:

http://support.apple.com/kb/PH2808

I can use my apple ID, or we can all make a new one to use collectively. Idc. But I'm decently familiar with iBooks Author so I figured we could use that. Thoughts?

Also, would be easier to do this on another medium other than NC? Email, Facebook, etc. lmk
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Old 06-29-2013, 09:43 PM   #20
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i'll publish it into a pdf file format using indesign. probably be able to upload it to ibooks like that.

i'll mock up a little taster of the aesthetic asap.

roster - baron, blacketh, oatmeal, seyance, soulstice

inactive - iglosone, sephiroth.. anyone i missed off?

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