< 7/16/2011 spin cycle >

all these thoughts are just water droplets
in the washing machine of this ideological world
tossing, tumbling in a furious swirl
trying to eek each other out of existence, in some cases
trying to brighten the mood or soften the pain
while dancing between frays and articles of dirt
and all the while turning and twisting and bunching
spun endlessly against the walls of existence
but still there, still there
as existent as the laws of nature state
the importance of water
and the vivid color of ideas.

and we, vessels that could be
are just like the newest of shirts
tossed without warning into this brew
resistant to the first drops
as they gather on us and weigh on our threads
but eventually they soak into us
make us heavy and moist with inspiration
(one could say soggy with enlightenment)
and we are burdened.

but these clothes never seem to soak forever
as the tide runs out for a time or two
and we are pulled headfirst out of the soup
no longer straight and flat and squared away
but, hopefully, brighter than ever before
softened and
ready for more tossing and turning.

two bodies on a dark bed

Words from the mind of
Hurshel 'todolos' Dunn
A redditor

Two bodies on a dark bed
appear singular.
Fused.
She astride he.
Her head, his chest.
Her legs curled under ribs.
She, slumbering, sinks
into his metronomic breathing.
His breast rises and falls;
she dreams of the ocean.
He lies awake
looking.
His arms a circlet around his world.
Sweat on their skin has dried,
lightly bonding one to one.
They breathe.

intristic experience (one of many)

:: the clash of ideologies/regardless of what they would have you think/can be as beautiful as it is violent/and as revolutionary as it is regulated ::

:: right when the chaos will surely overtake the establishment/surely crush your creative complex/surely turn your dreams to dust/calmly draw your spirit over again/for refreshment is coming ::

:: perhaps wisdom comes/not from the assurance of one's own knowledge/but a recognition of life's infinite complexities :

(untitled)

Words from the mind of:
Sophie Creutz, Evanston, Illinois


grey shadows slipping, slide

along movement following the

endless motion of my tangled thoughts, taut muscles flexing

ceaselessly leaving nothing but ruthless apprehension,

judgment, distance, and disdain.

——————————-

refrain, rephrase….

the distinction between perception and reality clears slightly,

allowing for patience

————————————

if the location between reason and wisdom is as far from perception

as dreams are from waking….

then what is the shape of that space?

—————————-

If I could wait

any length of time

for repetition:

——————————–

restraint restraint restraint restraint restraint < freedom > restraint restraint restraint < expression > restraint restraint

INSURGENCY III. Mechanizations of Destruction

Fiendish and fearless, harken and blaze!
Our wheels of fury shall usher the haze!
What creature or mystic shall befall our storm,
Of endless percussion and limitless form!

We brothers of murder and deceit and of spite,
Live ceaselessly chasing the call of the fight!
Our mission to invoke the fury and rage,
Shall burn every building and cleanse every page!

What purpose have calmness and nature and peace?
Such weakness shall crumble under fire and grease!
Their scholars and children and women and homes,
Shall shatter in body and suffer in bones!

INSURGENCY II. The Earth Cries in Warning

Peace, peace shall not prevail!
We are the trees and the grass.
Our souls are not used to the noise.

A beast of artificial design,
The most unnatural and murderous,
Crawls across our lonely plain.

The shades of panic grow within us.
They sprint for the great city!
The most unnatural pulses spurn.

An anthem of destruction beckons.
Syncopation and articulation growl.
Our peace starts to mutate and bend.

The people of the Gothic city!
What untold crime shall they bear!
What shame the grass cannot forewarn!

INSURGENCY I. The Winged One Awakes

I am the spirit of nature.
Carefree and complacent,
I sleep in my earthly domicile.

The branches of my tree stir.
The aura of the night is disturbed.
Surely a nightmare flitters by.

But the pulsations of the earth
And the demon in the distance
Will not bid me my usual silence.

The wings of my unspoken fear,
At first drunken with sleepiness,
Begin to shift like a heartbeat.

My voice shall not silence.
The Mechanizations are coming.
I know not but to shriek in confusion.

Creatures of the city and the earth!
Creatures of the night and the sky!
Gather in my panic and in my pain!

The denizens of the great city
Lie asleep in their gentle beds,
With I the sole messenger to tell.