Ancestral

I never knew my Grandpa. We have only a faded daguerreotype. But we kids had found out what we weren't supposed to Through fortuitous eavesdropping. He had just gone into his barn one day And done the deed with his own shotgun. Then, when I was twenty, My troubled old Dad said a thing All … Continue reading Ancestral

A World Without Word’s

Some very helpful actions taken by Eve.

Revenge of Eve

The author’s on a blog site I follow, The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch posted, questioning what would we do if there were no writing, no word’s. I found this interesting and decided what if?

Word’s encompass our being. They detail what we know as life. Then I began thinking of this concept on different term’s. Viewing it as a world that deaf and the blind experience. The deaf do not hear the pronunciation or sound of word’s and the blind can not read literature. While word’s are poetic and beautiful to me, I doubt the disabled feel the same.

I have faith in us as human’s in finding ways to communicate without the usage of word’s. Language is something that is taught and repeated and if need be, we change to accommodate. I do not want imagine a world without word’s. I have always been curious as to who creates word’s…

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Another Scrapped Suicide Note/Nathan McCool

So much expressed here.

Blood Into Ink

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Jesus isn’t waiting for me anywhere. I nailed him

to a tree. A long time ago. And hell fires are extinct to me now. I can no more believe 

in them than I can the idea that mercy was

coming for me and just lost its way. 

I write this in a field – Gaia’s emerald hair is

what leaves this paper water damaged.

I am not crying now or even fighting tears,

for once.

If you could see me now you’d know 

that I’m smiling. Like I never have before.

I do not know if we really take anything with us 

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Unpopular opinion

Such power and artistry here.

Murder Tramp Birthday

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Do you shiver before you wake?
I think I saw a premonition
a swarm of cicadas, erupting from my bowels
like glimmering guts squeezed out trough a meat mincer

I think we don’t have a lot of time.
Stumbling newborns trying to outgrow their cosmic cradle,
now dangling in a net of stellar intestines,
where the gift of self consciousness became our worst nightmare

I think that I, too, am too much meat
and not enough self-analytic thought
a respected artist will starve himself,
but I prefer to eat

And

I actually do believe violence can be resolved with more violence
and I don’t believe in soulmates
(some days, god forbid, I don’t even believe in souls)
I hate only because I’m full of love.
I have learnt to expect the worst, yet,
the world disappoints me again and again,
like a lover who can’t stop fucking the neighbor

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