Stream of Consciousness
My Soul, Buffering
[buffering] my soul( it.it .wanders) through halls fuzzy, glitching rooms, with every You shifted oncetwiceagain…who painted You with baby blue eyes? the Y chromosome? phallus an aphrodisiac? your mother floating down an electric river of blood? [signal breaking] NO! i.hold.the.stories, the biblical arks, the wants, the heart’s slashed wrists broadcast from a.place you will soon forget. wait. wait. i want to bear the fruit of its screaming: torchsongs! violinstrings snapping! sexuallyabusedbody! a frozen jaw! man locked inside his camera! tiny poems! the devil on the floor! and [crackling] damn it! damn sadness(reliquary) edges f.l.i.c.k.e.r, this room cobalt blue trying to keep its Shape against coming&going, marrage.divorce.you, this body(another house)collecting taxes and Peter Pan stories, dragging hope, dragging drug addiction from rooms with skylights that could have held it, vivisecting vagus nerve. i confess!—what?— [fission] everything! everything stopped from fingers.feet.breath the whole place suffering, engines breaking down, Tiffany-gifted Christmases given back, Virginia Woolf’s Orlando in a raided park, little princes who can’t control the baobabs, astrology sun-sign obsessions… gone.gone.soon gone recycled and you, Soul: refusing to die, refusing anything but itself…so, tell me quickly, through the [self-destruction] 10, 9, 8…i think by feeling! which room holds me now, and which waits for the next signal, tuning itself toward your light? which dreams will walk away from this? i can see the eternal Footman carrying my shoes. it is a coldness i do not know! de tach please! i am not ready for
By Paul Aaron Domenick2 months ago in Poets
“I Had a Dream of Two Suns”
Author’s Note This little poem came from a dream that felt more like a memory, a soft glimpse of a world where light doubled instead of dimmed, where people remembered how to smile, and where the sky carried every color, it ever held. I wrote it simply to capture that feeling, the kind of dream that stays with you long after you wake.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 months ago in Poets
What's wrong with a little rambling?
So I have two pieces to publish soon, but I need the artwork finished for them before I can do that. So until then, I'm going to post this rambling because, what the hell... what's wrong with a little rambling? I've started reading Igi (thank you, Lana), and I've listened to a steady run of new music this year, as with last year. The cheat method on Spotify, but often on the day the albums are released—or "dropped", as the kids say. I'm going to do a digest of album reviews from January to July in August, and then August to December in December. Miniature reviews, with a clear theme of there being absolutely no sense of rhyme or reason when it comes to genre. Last Friday it was The Strokes and Charli XCX, and I consumed both with glee. I still need to listen to Meshuggah's remastered releases from Friday and the new album by Baby Queen. I'm still rocking the third album by Yard Act from a few weeks ago. And Fenian by Kneecap gets as many spins as Converge's Two and anything else I can remember or think of. As well as new music, I've also been dipping into the great catalogue of the past, with everything from Can to jazz, jazz and more jazz; Merzbow and Sonic Youth; the unchallenged Nina Simone to Gil Scott-Heron. From Warning to Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride... just everything, anything you can think of. Miles Davis is becoming a great favourite, as is Zappa, and that new album from Charli XCX is actually very good. Arty and clever. It has Martin Scorsese and John Cale on the cover and features David fucking Cronenberg on the final song. I shit you not. One of my heroes when I was far too young to be watching his movies. I've read Post Office by Bukowski and started The Elements of Style because nerd, nerd, nerd. I'll continue to read Igi and then post it to Lana, or wherever it needs to go next. My next two pieces are polar opposites. One is a chaotic dance with near death from dehydration, and the other is poignant and features balloons. Oh, and I need to publish my final entries for Sasha's challenge. Plans, plans, plans. I have another plan for another unofficial challenge too. But remember, you can still explicate the fuck out of my poem Ledger until next month. So many have entered so far, and two have gotten Top Stories for their efforts: Paul and Sara. At least one managed to make it all about herself—Cali. I was delighted with the experience. And three so far have slaughtered me with love: John, Diane and Jesse. Tim and Harper put in sterling work, and I am excited to see what everyone else does. Because I am an ego, living and breathing, and please don't look away or I might shrivel up and die.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
