The Neglected English Composer

When it comes to creatures, we must be

flawed in much the same way.  Or we are

~

entirely alien to each other.  Stars are

blotted out of our vision—by the very man-

~

made devices designed to propel us

to that great expansive space

~

of universal oblivion—but they are silent

there expecting to be noticed.  Still there is so little

~

that endures, an echo from the E. J. Moeran rhapsody,

“In the Mountain Country,” sings to you

~

from an open window of a building labeled NO

TREASPASSING over the cracked pane of glass,

~

leading you to accept rejection as a component

of beauty, while “Lonely Waters” begins

~

to play.  When we lay our thoughts to rest

we forget we even bothered to have

~

them.  Where is that love so grand it changes

the whole game?  We are just keeping

~

ourselves from it because it doesn’t fit

with these ill formed sensibilities

~

making it.  There is little sense to make

of it.  Indeed, we are senseless to the sufferings

~

of the songs.  Songs whose lyrics can only be heard

in the soul calling out to any beautiful thing

~

to enchant us with wide space in the endless

horizon where the stars spend their time waiting.

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What I Gotta Do

Just kiss me where it’s sore, please,

make it better.  Will it

even do anything at all?  I have always

one foot on the ground, but I have in my mind

all of these words

which break my heart.  Suppose I never ever let

you take me in as your pet, so these bars

were never built up around me.  Yes,

of course, it will get better.  I get lost

in my mind with all of these promises

for music, and the beauty

which couldn’t exist.  They are just

imaginary moments of angels.  Don’t say

you love me how I am. Clearly, your mold

of any ideal can never comprehend me.  No

tame flattering persona, here, sorry to let

you down, but all you got was me, and that’s all

I can be, begging on bended knee.

Definition Truth

v.t.  1.  subjective;

constant changing 2. human

abstraction~abstraksie~

التجريد

αφαίρεση

абстракция

Operation Paperclip

So, are all you guys ready for the BOMB?

https://youtu.be/NF__cpsDmZk

When formatting fucks off, take a photo

Clearly

I am not sure

why, but there

are certain people who I need

to communicate with, while simply incapable,

in one capacity or another. I write instead. But

the funny thing about writing,

especially in the electronic networking era,

where human contact

is mostly on some sort of hand-held

device, I most certainly can be perceived as

unreasonable, and erratic. That is unreal

to me. So, I end up being witnessed

by the world as compulsive and

rash. When I am obsessive

and meticulous in my communications. There is

a difference. I free write. I am a poet

who is always speaking

to an intended audience, but I do

that so that the most intense

emotion I can show you is

universal. The intimate infinite.

Captain Orpheus

Even if you never speak to her

again, can you handle knowing

the poet? She is hidden in rhythmic

meter. A sensation lasting

forever. The poet is always

elusive. She is forces of imagination, emotion, instinct: the birthplace of story. So perfectly

a myth, that it must be known,

or there is nothing in this great vastness

called, “daily ritual.” The epic narration

rendering love to anyone reading,

but with only you in mind.

SF personal ad

Seeking a compassionate “life-coach”

who sees how much I struggle. Who sees the life of molestation and beatings and lies. Who sees how I fight to overcome for the sake of dreams stolen from by deceit and abuse of authorities, some with biblical dealings of death to forbidden truth. Who helps

me suffer through

ever-y

painful

inch

of my aging, aching body. Someone to help me

through this inheritance, while I pleasure completely artful, and I’m

willing to pledge religion, because the Church was my rapist.

Till Next it Rains in Erie

I normally speak

in codes, because I was taught not

to tell secrets, so I layer every one

in language, just like the janitor

taught me, and it gives to me

more power to overcome the bastards.