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 Now online (2)recycle belb ...and 333 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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psalm I I am just so many pretences orbiting an empty centre; a hundred shrivelled placentas rotting and dry, providing no more sustenance to my egoes. the sunflower grows no more; mind crippled with flaws, listless and bored. reinvent me no longer, feed not my hunger, cavernous and piteous; craven and silently roaring inside: provide no more sustenance to my egoes; hate me slowly and scorn this final attempt; let not me be reborn. nil posse creari de nilo. |
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psalm II discard the final layer of emotion, leaving just the dull throb of sorrow eeking slow and painful through the body. emptiness is the worst way of being; a slow death in garish, vivid scenes unwinding piteously and constrictive. to die having been transitive and unthought of, condemned to wander solitary, to meander on the outskirts of other people's lives...the worst way of being; a slow death of impermanence, vivid scenes endlessly recalled in lonely rooms nocturnal. |
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psalm III father, leave me alone. all these years you've stalked me, never talking, ever walking away with your back to me. let me grow up, let me be a man, not your baby son abandoned in a junkie haze. Let this cholic malaise dissipate so i may see life with eyes untainted. the canvas upon which i painted has to be put away... the thick colours must be hidden. leave me alone. leave me alone. please go away, please. i just want to be one person. |
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psalm IV "take me home," I demanded, "take me back to that time, that place, that childhood that was murdered by adults." "that home is gone," he replied, "that home has rotted, and has rotted your spirit with it. you will never find home." why carry on living when my soul died when i was a child? why be an adult when adults orphaned me, and took away my home? why continue when i'm condemned to roam this corpse through this empty world populated with shallow gods. this is not life, this is suffocation. grant me benediction. |
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goff |
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ugh, Paul. I'm sorry, I can't take any of that.. all those words mean nothing to me, they come over completely hollow to me. |
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a church bell is hollow yet gives off such beauty. I guess I'm a hollow person. |
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no. I was talking about the text, not about you. you are not the text, are you? |
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his..metaphorical hamster? |
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It is a projection of my inner self, so yes, in a way, I am the text. I guess maybe you just don't identify with what I wrote, so dismissed it as being hollow, I really don't know. But I know Cort was deeply moved by Psalm III, and others have been too, so I'm inclined to believe it's a question of identification, rather than emptiness. Hey! Go list your favourite Pet Shop Boys tracks in my newest thread! I will be back again sometime i guess. |
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oh, wait. shit. sorry. |
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well, it's always interpretation, it's always relative. there is no definitive statement that can be made. I cannot identify with it because of the terms you use - they are abstracts, that hardly mean anything in a direct way, if you will. I like poetry to be direct and to me it feels language is used here as little cushions, in the end suffocating the poem. |
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paul, i love your poetry. i feel something in it, all of it - i see myself in your work, and it all strikes me deeply. when i read your poetry i am touched by something, i can feel you, and it makes me overwhelmed with emotion. i sometimes wonder if you stole the veiled emotions right out of my head and uncovered what they were trying to tell me, splashing images of myself in my face. |
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