Poems Of Any Length

[Pyrotex]

Originally Posted by (((tartanism)))

i played my hand upon the surface of the sea
and waded slowley into the dream

good one.
GOOD one.

[orbsycli]

he looks at the mirrors' surfaces
blazing

[orbsycli]

it's not black
but i can not sense light
brain activity interferring with my activity looking for my eyes (looking? feeling the floor for goo) with a squirrel on my shoulder.

in three seconds i think about everything from nag champa to jumping off the cliff of Burgensteinlichten

[orbsycli]

I

[Tarantism]

dupe....

[Tarantism]

on a string....on a string
on a string
i was held
the way i move, cant you tell?
my actions are orchestrated from above.
(haha no problems)
so i swing and i swing,
wave my hand, kick my leg
and its never right with the music.

(yeah, and then all that swaying starts to make you sick,)

for a friend i was bought
now i lie when i talk
with a careful eye on the cuecard
onto the stage you were pushed
with no sorrow (well rehersed)
so i give you all my pity....and my money now.
(,and i used to think that it was something pure)

but if i could act like
this was my real life, and not some cage where ive been placed
then i could tell you the truth like i still do
(but not be afraid of sounding fake)
and now all im ever listening for are the mistakes...
(as in "oh im sorry im sorry"....nah its ok, its cool,)
blah blah blah.

in my head, by myself
i can hear the ice start to melt
and then watch the rooftops weep for the sunlight
and i know what must change
fuck this place, fuck my name
they are brief and false advertisements.

but my door, it stands open
im still inviting everyone in,
oh yeah we can laugh, and we can drink until the morning comes!
(i guess thats what i do, c'mon! c'mon!)

[Pyrotex]

The Paradox of God and the Fruit Bowl
By Nelson Thompson
October, 2003

True Believer wrote:
I walk up to a fruit bowl, and there is one apple and one banana left.
I choose the apple.
God already knew that I would choose the apple.
But did God force me to choose the apple?
Was it really predetermined that I would choose the apple?
Or did God merely have knowledge of what the outcome of the
Appliance of my free will to this certain situation would be?

I respond:
You walk up to a fruit bowl.
God already knows that you will choose the apple.

But you choose the banana, because you have free will.

This REALLY pisses off God!
He smites you with a massive heart attack,
And you die with a big bite of un-chewed banana
Lodged half way down your esophagus.
He rips your soul from your stiffening corpse
And flings it with contempt
Into the flaming pits of Hell’s deepest abyss.

Then God looks around a little shame-faced and says,
"Er...ah...this was fore-ordained, you know. Really.
I've known this would happen ever since the Creation.
This happened exactly according to my Eternal Plan!
And anybody who says otherwise is SMUCKING TOAST!!!"

The angels and demons look at each other nervously.
They say, "That's right God! You da Man! You da Man!"

[Loricybin]

beautiful misadventures in santa cruz

abandoned in SC without a clue
here? there? what HAPPENNED to you?
helping hand to combust across land
neroL earns money, and frolicks in sand

-walk the board- alone in the dark.

yellow turns orange turns blue with white
drifting about from day into night
hanging with bums claiming family
to jerry garcia, though clearly lying

it's okay to give him a buck, he needs beer dammit.

under the bridge, the pot is the best
under there laughing, with all the rest
the beautiful spray-on art stares names
these silly humans and their human games

dance in the streets where roads don't exist.

finally, here's the seventeen express
the driver takes us after breif rest
and oh to peak peek going throwing meat
this strange day away from the ordinary.

defeat the structure of stupids in shiny buildings.

[Pyrotex]

The Keyboard
Nelson Thompson, 2003

I settled into my clean swept cubicle,
My new office area after the big move.
With its endless window and grassy swell,
Vistas of summer with butterflies,
I felt a corporate comfort, a reward for
Bygone tasks done well.

Spotless walls and new Formica,
Cork board with no trace of pin or tape.
Drawers empty, a clean slate upon which
I could reformulate myself.
A fast and silent PC faced me,
My wide-screen cybernetic Ferrari.

I noticed my keyboard, out of place
In this sanitized temple of digital Inc.
I had brought it with me, an old familiar
Partner in composition and crime.
We had married each other three years ago,
Had learned each other’s mechanical rhyme.

Split asunder down the center
Of its Qwerty rows and columns,
It showed the marks of ten thousand blows
From animated finger tips,
And the side of my right thumb,
And countless spills and drips.

Each white key, like a giant’s ceramic tooth,
Was stained, each bearing a dark tartar.
Accumulated resins and oils
From my skin and who knows what
Layered traces of dust and residues
Of unremembered snacks and soils.

All that dirt and grime, a record of the years’
Hard won efforts and late hour sweat.
But in this white-washed sanctorum cage,
It was sacrilege, abomination,
A travesty of unkempt disorder,
An abrasive invasion of chaos and age.

The space bar, that gentle smiley grin
Of seamless plastic wide and tapered
Bore the darkest smudge most odious.
The soapy sponge, wrung well out
Did not reach the deep crevasses, hidden edges,
And so I pried the space bar out.

An awful, sour odor wafted up unbidden
From the toothless gap left behind.
Underneath, a matted tangle of nameless filth
Gave forth aromatic reminders of such as
Rancid butter, moldy bread, stale cheeses
Long lost in hidden pantry recesses.

Unspeakably evil was that malodorous stench,
Though soft and subtle was its intensity.
It arose from the desk and stuck to all it touched,
Much as the marking scent of a bull caribou
In autumn’s rut sticks to every shrub and bark
Upon which its owner has writ his name.

Foul and sour, pervasive and rotten,
My nose was branded, unable to throw off
The taint. But that was nothing
Compared to the sight before me
As I peeled off one at a time
All the keys in my keyboard’s face.

The plastic under-structure, long hidden,
Had grown a cave bat’s coat of fur,
The hairs thin and matted in all directions,
Infused with grease and dirty specks,
Tiny moving things and the shell-like
Corpses of an abyssal long dead race.

Rank and fetid, gross and slimy,
Putrefaction mixed with cloistered fibers
Dun and unidentifiable.
I held my nose and sought the realm
Of those who dealt with hardware,
And its maintenance and care.

Armed with a can of compressed air,
And a fist full of fuzzy cotton swabs,
I ventured back to my cubicle, paused,
Assembled sponge and Swiss Army Knife
Before me in defiance, and wielding them
With perseverance assaulted the hairy globs.

Finally, the keys all white and gleaming,
Clicked in their sockets, sealing asunder
The hidden world beneath, now devoid
Of biologic toxicality.
My old friend, clean and appealing once again,
Touched my fingers overjoyed.

A Users Guide, a list of clients,
And other documents of corporate lore
Developed under my manic hands.
And yet I was left more than shaken
At the understanding I had obtained
At great cost to nasal glands.

Despite the high-minded technology
Which I use and every day abuse,
Only millimeters from my fingers free
Another world existed, which did not care
For words or rhyme or detailed
Explanations of engineering terminology.

Another world of mites and germs
Thrived in gelatinous pools of grease and
Desiccated cola, dust and hair,
Lived out their tenuous lives in luxury.
My working keyboard, their paradise,
Their hidden valley, their happy lair.

[Drip Curl Magic]

Inspired by a piss I gad taken


What is consciousness?
A big bang on self discovery
A big bang
1 bang
We are all 1
I am you, you are me
We are they
they are we
That's all
into infinite.