hi, i like run on sentences, still get my cases confused and make up words...just to make you think. please?
friedrich nietzsche wrote:
"if our senses were fine enough, we would perceive the slumbering cliff as dancing chaos:
life is an immaculately choreographed dance carried out by eternal flames, vibrating frantically. if our senses were so finely attuned we'd become aware of this cosmic dance, the glory and wonder of it all between moments of timelessness, chaos and mythic flavor. "
in the meantime, here's some recent writings of my own:
i want to take you to the woods, where the straight paths vanish into nothingness and the oblivion of chance haunts every potential step you may take. these branches are lifelines, spread out amongst ashes of your old self . arteries chugging, puffing along through planes of bloodlust. its the gipsy's fervor, a drunkship of bloated desire, these continents of obscured parts awake from the abysmal planes. we appear to be lost, debauchery in the forest of the dark knight, hazy indigo nights...its a play on words dusted with the ashes of peripheral lusts and curses spoke under hushed breaths, monotone whispers. shadows can't be subtle, they lure and draw us to awaken from a temptress otherwise unknown, i draw my ace of swords, fragile constructed scenarios. abstraction is one guise, the sweet lure of metaphors is the other. the surface leads you to judge solely on appearance. this looks a bitter pill but my forest holds no gag reflex...a slight of hand into a regurgitated voyage over shallow waters, cavernous in its emptiness, adventurous binging for phosphorescent times. if i can't live with myself, i can't live with anyone's safety glasses either. i want to get lost on those forest paths squarely between the comforting whiteness that is also the instigator of lunacy, the intimacy of falsity, all together now....let's lurk between the shadowy mists. lets climb the branches of expansion from americana to our kinship of soul hunger. dig deeper, get clearer, dive right into the real world. truth is a stronghold, a rundown shanty, a desolate beach of narcissistic desires and our soul's forgotten lore.
i stand.
alone in the fortress of you.
in being here, love and life the only constants. everything else is peripherals.
through an uncompromising love you find life worth living. and through an uncompromising desire for life you find love in its purest form. therefore they are one in the same, unified through creating purpose. why have a lovelife when you can LOVE LIFE?
last time that stomach panged, it felt once removed and i remembered to finally look up the recipe for forgetting. as structured thought intricately crafted out the nuances of the leading lady, subtle movements played backup roles of hot and cold.
alcohol traded off with hormones in a deafening crescendo of mixed messages, intercepted signals and every other moment of third dimensional restriction. awkwardness situated itself neatly between sliced wraps of time and that extra layer of cortisone. this hunger had less to do with expiration dates stamped neatly into plasticized styrafoam and more to do with all those places food couldn't satisfy. nope, this time the target was shelf life and the hunger came from soul level. how long could we live like this, how can i possibly go on knowing what i know now? the worst part of it all was i asked for it, nonchalantly and unspecified of course. be careful what you wish for, this experiment in rebirth didn't go as predicted. the container wasn't sized in heavy duty or jumbo for all the luggage i'd hauled pass the finish line....and when the extra duty reinforcements were needed the most, the backups were on binge diets. i mused on taking my sharpened heart up with the marketing department, the whole bloody, thumping echoing beast. a bloody embodiment of this visceral awareness...dropping the damned thing down on the supervisor's crystalline desktop as it choked on the beats of its own drum, in tandem with a clock of rage barking 2:22....the ongoing hunger strike would eventually dissipate. 200 ml release, half a liter white light, 350 ml emotional manipulation and a pinch of passive aggressiveness. grill till well done and remove from heat. salt to preference....or were these symptoms of some otherworldly decadence, entranced by subtle stares?
love/light,
-kafka
