anti mars

reflections on
the antipas movement

in a nutshell
it could be described
as trying to find a median before cementing
a thought's formation
thus being more attuned to a multiplicity of experience
Individuals are viewed as giant sets of subsets.
An example would be "it's November
it may as well be December, therefore it may as
well be Spring",  followed by a pause and then
 "...except in Ohio".

.

asleep in circles

Again, pleasantly I  
ask from behind this
moving dream
Is a comprehensive explanation enough?
Perhaps a short story to better change the light

Look how it fills the room  
tugging at my blood
She might take off her
clothes on a day like tonight

However asleep you think you are
there will always be days like this night

through the movement of images a straightening out of tiny
universes defines this unsettled intensity
and every time I wonder if you are looking over my shoulder
hearing  my blood stretching past that airy windowsill
with eyes like mirrored lightning, soft curls
and a dreamy touch


.

no holds barred

            Like running away or freezing stiff
        I'd rather be running but
       being eaten frozen stiff
    might be interesting.
     For the first minute wondering
   if you will survive as opposed
  to being chopped up
  on the run

 as If I were there again
 remembering
 it is only me

                                            Yes I do monitor those sleeping demons
                                                 and less so a mischievous fancy
                                             But being unbalanced and looking up
                                                         with every way eyes

A skin that keeps the rain out
not words I'd rather not hear or life

I Pause breathe pause
 into an illusion of self
  shadowing purpose vacuous and looking back.
   We are here now and the strangest part is
      how popular pictures still are.


.

east harvest

childhood
looking clouds
talking and weeping
I caress a cloud's s closing eye



And learn to pretend
tears I never grew out of
know how to rest


.

What am I?

I took away the mountain top to give me a feeling I was tall
I also dug a deep hole that I always stare into.
Sometimes, usually around noon, I can see the bottom way down below
and it makes me feel tall and that makes me happy.

However, at night even though I sleep standing up,
I dream the mountain is even taller than before
and when I wake up in a sweat and run to the hole
it's too dark to see.

.

9/15/17 7:00 AM

many strange streams flow
through the landscape of the mind
some with less color less contrast
breeze less
to my body thoughts

of snails and claws
and the parts of me
that pay the tolls

others with a left behind lonely ruin
feel of someone who never learned to ask for anything
the rest filled with mountains
aliens
and air curved wakes
or when I become pregnant and give birth to a monster


.

to the tune of background radiation

i sat in front of
my brain
turned it on
and all i got was
static

.

contemplation of potential suffering

it's the waiting
it is the waiting
waiting in the context of
inevitability

and the (seemingly) only two ways to escape all that
I've forgotten

I know how hard it can be when you're not suffering enough


.

96 comments

MartyjustJnoM
can't wait till exorcist 3D comes out to get showered in vommit
youreinstall9112
sounds cool an no clean up best part
anon
I need a good splattering
anon
cant wait for 3D pea soup to catch in mouth and rub into my tummy yummy
criticalindecsivedisorder
too bad not for real though but close enough yeah I guess


.

making noises with your throat

The next selection  I'll share
like this, I hope

I look into my heart  
part of me

but I just can't express
my soul

that easily
yes to express
how I feel about

the words bursting out
but like they still all have thier secrets
thoughts  like being here it's
enough to just breathe

a smile
hearing thunder
then watching the rainbow's fading color


 .

number c741

thousands of overlapping words
wandering into the endless softness

numberless reflections

fading through a silver moon 

looking softly at the sky

and the moon thought about
dying
and getting hit by
an asteroid

.
.

the stinky poem

 a bloom of words from a
saturated tongue tickles
 imprisoned minutes


and in big grey puffs
I see the same abandon in the poem


sinking right in
curves across  my heart
the mights unrested
to even remembrances of a face
I never even knew


:l