Writer's "Block"

[theshadeisatool]

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[theshadeisatool]

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[occipudding]

i havent been here in a while.  hi everybody.  how's the carpal tunnel?

Hey dude! Come back and post some!

The syndrome is ever present.

ill post when i can.  dont have much time these days what with work and what little social life i have.  is 'Get Fraiche At The Weekend' about aborting yourself by travelling back in time?

couldn't sleep last night.  here's something i wrote:

Sweet dreams to all things
But I don't somnambulate somehow
All melatonin to show
Soft jazz on the stereo
Fissures to this wavelength can be crossed
Through palbebral movement
Slowly
And my binary is fucked up again
Root
Thru deserts and sandswarms of Bedouin
Kuala Lumpur
Places I've never been
Root thru garbage
Promote a picture that envelopes the hours
Into a split second
Or an entire lifetime
No little white pill to save the day
No little white pill make my eyelid sway
Between meeting and dying
Sleep, you're only a mile away

[lostpilot]

nice one, occi

[theshadeisatool]

i havent been here in a while.  hi everybody.  how's the carpal tunnel?

Hey dude! Come back and post some!

The syndrome is ever present.

ill post when i can.  dont have much time these days what with work and what little social life i have.  is 'Get Fraiche At The Weekend' about aborting yourself by travelling back in time?

Now you mention it, yes, it should be even if that wasn't the original premise. A reflection of a few bad trippy hours.

Sweet dreams to all things
But I don't somnambulate somehow
All melatonin to show
Soft jazz on the stereo
Fissures to this wavelength can be crossed
Through palbebral movement
Slowly
And my binary is fucked up again
Root
Thru deserts and sandswarms of Bedouin
Kuala Lumpur
Places I've never been
Root thru garbage
Promote a picture that envelopes the hours
Into a split second
Or an entire lifetime
No little white pill to save the day
No little white pill make my eyelid sway
Between meeting and dying
Sleep, you're only a mile away

Brilliant! Great riff/rhythm to it.


And one more of mine, not impressive, but it was cathartic:

'Gabber'

We throw out impertenance like it was fossil
All the loose lips now common currency
But you couldn't have got a nicer boy than me...
I couldn't have said much to garner such a decree!

Surely?

Memories recalled now sting cringe
The red descent on the virulent visage
But the doubt, full scratchings stay with.
The doubtful bangings of a mightnight vacuum.

Who me?

[lostpilot]

once again, some prose.

a low and insignificant star, floating just by the ground, silently traveling among the dark silhouettes of the trees in the horizon, painted dark red and blue.

focus on the horizon..

that what's inside of the star still believes it is invisible, imperceptable.. -- yet I watch it, moving closer and farther away from me in the blank blue sky. just like a melody, repeated for the thousandth time; over and over again, like the dark cloud within my chest, racing back and forth through my lungs, in between, again and again. and I still remember the star, I still remember the moment, the emotion which came with the recognition of -- a low star.. that star.. my star. relapse, relapse, relapse, and with every star I ask myself whether or not this is a dream -- maybe I am able to fly, maybe I am able to breathe under the shady water, maybe I can change the faces of all the people around me, to find myself in the other place, or other time?

then scarcely could I call this picture, framed in my memory, a relapse, coincidence, or godsend. swivel round six times, and I am back remembered at the blank tree within the space of lights. each and every time, swivel round six times, and I am back where my mind led me, where my desires led me, where my vice demons led me. each and every night do I dream the faces of the people -- surround me, each and every night I wake up in cold sweat, finding myself in the room with heated air, - heated by those electric lights -- so I would find myself, again and once, with the question: do you still have space in this, in my picture? do you still have space in my relapsing melody?

maybe you still are my star.. the low star within, tragically falling down, each time poised a bit higher over the horizon, focused, so that I would find you.. no this is not a game anymore, not the puzzle; it's the relapsing memory, a sad little picture which came from the future to tell me stories before everything happening once again. I cannot stop asking questions.. and so I will never let anyone look inside my wintry heart.

[lostpilot]

yeah, something I made out of the prose written last night, dry..

..ants digging up the ground
and down them do I slowly frown.
swivel round six times,
and I'll lie open in the glance -

a star low and barely known
floating by the skyline,
painted red and blue -
inside my twisted spine vine.

yet I watched the star
like a melody so sweet  - to repeat - for a thousandth time,
relapse, relapse, relapse -
I watched.

whether or not is this a dream,
swivel back six times
and I am back remembered
at the driest grounds.

each and every rhyme,
swivel round six times
ants hidden down the glass
the star has then escaped.

[occipudding]

[this is untitled]

I'm aware of what it is!
Navel-gaze neurosis on a plinth.
Procrastinate platter for life's detriment.
Nauseating company for any friend.

I'm aware of how it kills.
And tried to shake such by the gills.
Comes back around every Tuesday.
To no avail, prevailing ill.

Estoy cansado.

i was just reading through these ol' pages and read this and i must say it's really good.  if you were a chick, i would think it's about being pregnant.  you weren't pregnant at the time of writing this, were you?

haven't been here in a while.  life.  you know.  but ill contribute while im here.  maybe they'll make this thread into a book one day.  i wrote this a couple weeks ago and don't think i posted it here.  i don't think i need to explain anything.  it's called "Morphine."

On tasting the rainbow
Colours glistening in milligram doses
The world is a friendlier place
And I observe thru opiate eyes
All my fibers and threads are awash in buckets of warm milk
And I feel my letting go surge thru my holding on
I adorn the drug
Like a winter shawl of steel and velvet
I'm walking thru a fairy tale, chasing white rabbits
And realness seems more real now than realness ever did
Down ache
Down worry
Down baroception
Down juice and pills
I just wanna get high

[occipudding]

been posting on this poetry forum.  wondering if anybody from here is on it.  if not you should join.  after you register, if you're interested, my poems are here: http://poetsanctuary.proboards47.com/index.cgi?board=PoetsFiles&action=display&thread=107550
there's like 1 or 2 so far i havent posted here yet.  where's everybody at?  this bitch is deader'n dead.

[theshadeisatool]

[this is untitled]

I'm aware of what it is!
Navel-gaze neurosis on a plinth.
Procrastinate platter for life's detriment.
Nauseating company for any friend.

I'm aware of how it kills.
And tried to shake such by the gills.
Comes back around every Tuesday.
To no avail, prevailing ill.

Estoy cansado.

i was just reading through these ol' pages and read this and i must say it's really good.  if you were a chick, i would think it's about being pregnant.  you weren't pregnant at the time of writing this, were you?

haven't been here in a while.  life.  you know.  but ill contribute while im here.  maybe they'll make this thread into a book one day.  i wrote this a couple weeks ago and don't think i posted it here.  i don't think i need to explain anything.  it's called "Morphine."

On tasting the rainbow
Colours glistening in milligram doses
The world is a friendlier place
And I observe thru opiate eyes
All my fibers and threads are awash in buckets of warm milk
And I feel my letting go surge thru my holding on
I adorn the drug
Like a winter shawl of steel and velvet
I'm walking thru a fairy tale, chasing white rabbits
And realness seems more real now than realness ever did
Down ache
Down worry
Down baroception
Down juice and pills
I just wanna get high

Thank you and I'm lovin' Morphine. I didn't have a bun in oven, no. Haha. Like the interpretation though!

been posting on this poetry forum.  wondering if anybody from here is on it.  if not you should join.  after you register, if you're interested, my poems are here: http://poetsanctuary.proboards47.com/index.cgi?board=PoetsFiles&action=display&thread=107550
there's like 1 or 2 so far i havent posted here yet.  where's everybody at?  this bitch is deader'n dead.

Joining now!

[occipudding]

i was reading through that last one and im thinking to myself "oh thank god!  a poem by theshadeisatool that doesn't make me think about childbirth" but then i read line 11, "While you present sanitary to public." and your whole shit just dropped bloody clumps on on my pre-frontal gyrus.  you're a weird bastard.  if you register on that site, read celibataire by me and leave a comment.  it's like one of the most heartfelt poems ive ever written.  anyways im sick of seeing untitleds from you.  you should retitle this one "dirty mouth?  clean it with orbitz"

[lostpilot]

something new, again, prose



obsolete

you may stand up, oh.. yes, you can,;yet you still will lie here, listening! how the music pixelates, how each and every noise stretches leaving the strange static in the background.. you can fall asleep, oh, yes you should.. yet you still will lie here, watching how the walls acquire depth, and how nobody's novelized heroes in your picture starts moving slowly, revolving, dancing with this digital waltz..

a silent slow dance, that slow so you actually will not see the dancers moving, but you know, that they suspend one another in embrace, they feel each other's body warmth, the humidity of skin. all of this is incredibly absolute, though again obsolete, cause I have watched for five hundred forty five frames this movie, this dance, which is tearing me apart, bothering me more..

a small step to the left, down the well, but they're still dancing, interlaced, like two long reeds in the field of weeds. if they suspend each other more, they'll bleed, if they try to move away, they'll bleed with the other reeds.. reeds in the field of weeds. ecstacy in the pain, ecstacy in the non being, ecstacy in searching, ecstacy, ecstacy, ecstacy, oh - the oil my insides are smeared with, the oil that should smear the slow dance in between, which is more and more disgusting; the oil that should wash the faces of all the world, to fasten the movement, overall, Adderall.

you can get back to the timeline, but will still wait for the end of the pause, the two second pause between the noises the instruments cause.. to hear the first sound of the new melody, of the new sunrise, of the new wine. oh.. where is it, where is the first sound? I can't seem to find it, I can't seem to find it! - and, oh, the dancing, the dancing and the legs and the hands and the faces, and the kissing, oh, the kissing, the reeds in the weeds, the weeds that are cutting my ankles, bending my knees. oh, the dance, please let me down, please let me come down, the dance, where is the dance, where - is - the dance?

I fall down.. still counting the seconds. The sound haven't come. The sound is yet not there.. the dance is over.. my slow infinite dance with my soul is over.

[lostpilot]

prose, new

misconversation! was their fundamental problem while they were licking each other's thighs.. while this viper was just crawling around.. with this innocent glare watching this sweaty process. misconversation fundamentally.. incapacity of communicating through identical ideas and notions, which (in the end, and the end, of course, was tragic and burning and falling down like a jet plane shot down by soviet fighters.. falling down to a burnt wood, with thousands of men dressed like bears and wolves waiting for you), oh, they were different from the early beginning..

..what a huge mistake communication is, what huge mistakes differences are! smiled viper silently.

it went further down to avoid the cataclysms of this sticky event. yet, in the beginning somebody actually thought this would work - the ideas and notions would stay identical - we would be able to talk in settlement.. though in time:: new languages formed, unknown and unheard - and this very moment was the proof: Me and You, or how you would say through your language You and I, and all the problems of the world pressed against my chest - and then - a moment of light - light through the burnt wood



tables turn, turning tables - tables turn. just after the destructive misconversations they follow, the constructive trill, the creative settlement.. settlement - what a way to describe this! it's a plan, and noone has to know, it's a plan which will have the Outcome - ha ha ha - which we thought of later. and now, as the notions and ideas of the others are spilt into my brain pot I see the problem is not in me. I did not change the language. I did not cause this.

..smiling I recede from this tempting (yes.. the last days of magic*) snaky convulsive body.. I do not despise it anymore.. though I know pity it - like a plan failed, like an unfulfilled hidden agenda - a small meaningless detail which will fade out soon. I stand up and leave.. the viper smiles while watching me, considering my train of thought impressive. misconversation!.. misconversation is the fundamental problem. or at least it was one.

[jv_]

i typed this into my phones notepad this morning while watching various youtube videos
i don't write, but i've had nothing else to do lately so i might from now on

I've seen your eyes swallow the lie
oh how i despise
the figure by your side
faded memories become jaded memories
while your face rearranges
the totalitarian insomniac resurfaces
and i can't wait
after all, you won't see the look on my face

[Sleepymaggie]

Swallow it Down

I'm scratching at some graffiti with a stub of chalk
When you walk up behind me and whisper
'Art is dead, you know,'
Sending chills up my spine and distracting me from the
Four jagged lines of
Accidental rhyme I was trying to leave on the wall
Amid a battlefield of
Profanity and
Phone-numbers.
I turn to face you and
Take a deep breath
Filling my lungs with a rush of hot air and
The spark of the match that you're lighting with one hand and
The thin spiral of smoke that has started to drift
From the cigarette you're holding
Between your fingers.
Embers and ash float down in the breeze
As you flick your wrist and push up your sleeves
And I feel words I've never tasted
At the back of my throat
Dissolving into the memory of every pretty thing I
Ever wrote then
Pressing my lips to yours
I let a strange new poem crawl inside you
And it blooms like a morning glory
Heavy
On your tongue
You make a low noise and go limp and let your
Life-line drop into the dust
Touching my lower back and
Leaning against the rough wall
As we smear the sentence
I was trying to choke out in shaky script
When you walked up behind me and whispered
'Art is dead, you know...'
And I have a feeling
You'll think that I'm out of my mind
The kind of girl who stumbles
Into the arms of the first stranger she can find and
Wakes up in the middle of the night from a dream about
Kissing him
As though her life
Depended on it
But I know what I'm doing
And pulling away
My eyelashes graze your cheek for the last time
Then I'm down the road and
Half-way across town when you finally realize
I was only giving you
Mouth-to-mouth

[wither-I]

^^ pretty good.



She's spilling everywhere!  -A deep pail overflowing it's chore onto my lap.
The bed has become a cannope for her ecstatic rain,
and the candied cinders from her burning heights, -above all wind and salt, in the echelons of cloying saccharine spaces!

Regardless, she is done for! -A lifetime of recovery from seizure, and the stress of falling to pieces, over and over and over again!
A statued peak, flurrying out to a naked, and unused loaf of rubble,
-the confetti of siege and celebration, and return...

The last of her admirer's will sweep the floor by the bed, and under the rug, for remnant of her being, (and heat), and keepsake trophy,
-as maids of the bereft -who will still dream in these spaces day and nightly,
Your's truly! -wearied and "done for" in a star-lit coma!

"eternal recurrence in portent of downpoor"

[wither-I]

"It still moves!"

-just some spectacle map,
made by the hands of some man.
how will it matter where i reign from?
or where i have been?
I still have most of my teeth
and the luxury of free limbs,
and im still filling up what sinks in me,
every solitary vesicle,
to every self-willing cell,
-to enterprise! to network!
every gear and valve flooding,
drowned in an awe lost to mechanical conscious and feeling.
I exist only in the eyes of my oppressor,
seen only in the entrail dividends of a surmounted foe,
-biased and pestiferous to life,light,and movement
-see me now still somehow glow!

[wither-I]

structures mending structures,
fathered on pillars,
like fingers,
like twigs,
cupping dizzying intricate nests,
formidable fortresses barring the unknowledgeable and foreign,
where wonted weeds still grow through apparent wounds,
weathered by the inconsistencies in a purpose built on ambition,
a secret to be expounded once unwritten laws heed way!

[theshadeisatool]

Nice to see this still a&k and excellent work - as above ^

Long time no post.

Lets put this to couch
With hired refrains
Making same mistake
To procure maximum gains
These your own
Darling
Wonderful
Empirical pains

Ritual rubbish
Is your rational choice
Bound to repeat fools
And fill vulgar void
Like epochs prior
Renaissance
And catharsis
Make equivocal aims

[theshadeisatool]

Whaaa? Off topic, but I'm sure I had more posts than that....