unless I’m unconscious and you’re a doctor
basically summed up as risk-aware consensual verbing
actually have no issue
with giving consent
consent is possible in most cases.
Tag Archive: poem
unless I’m unconscious and you’re a doctor
dealing with with buried trauma… is dangerous
not the case with other people
too many clumsy dancers stepping on toes -
they actually annoy me a lot -
I can’t participate with anything that is inhibited.
I don’t like the idea of false memories at all.
true, bad is probably relative
I remember the myth of FUN birthdays
the sum of your memories.
a powerful… and dangerous
means for change.
These uncanny stones
so near yet always not
– A distance that forever
ends with every step.
Of sound they swallow
A song more felt than heard,
which sends skittering about
that bone of echoes
and brings forth from whispers
this most unusual light.
Hard to believe, isn’t it?
This state of affairs that gnaws at the elbows of our gentleman caller.
Could it all be a viscous indictment of some previously unacknowledged truth?
Obscured, as it was, by the hubris of humanity;
its tendency to imbue with grandeur and nobility that which is actually
rooted in the most base of instincts?
There is only one way to find out.
Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion!
no tapping of the foot or complacency.
The whole damn thing is about to break.
True love blinds
like tear gas.
evidence of ache and joy.
sticky like pollen
the ineffable skin traps
of our passing
beneath its surface.
My fingers quiver electric to make an inappropriate gesture in the hospital waiting room.
Tiny demonic chymicals rampage up and down the length of my arms
gnawing on relays and muscle mass.
These idle hands want to play, pull at the air like a deranged mage
casting improbable thoughtforms into the warm and musty room
but I stop myself just in time and instead fiddle nervously with my phone.
strip the flesh to the soul and kill the strange words
they have mingled in discord because they bring fine knowledge
creeping upon lips ravished with pleasure.
Handmaiden of thy void, feast of the blood!
Avenge the leprous godthing and burnth the corrupted day,
bring destruction upon the heart and eat the years.
Be glad the flock will not slumber – I ground them for the wind.
beaten path of train-track lullaby’s
that carve their way through the land with a breathless hum
and the gnashing of metal on metal.
Those are the places where the air is thinnest.
Where you can hold your breath and pass through
into the spaces in between.
The very tiny and extraordinarily large are but footnotes around here.
They have no foundation.
You are more likely to meet a carpenter than a dictionary.
I renounce all citizenship.
Iam not a person
Iam a meat popsicle.
Iam not a number
Iam An alphanumeric string.
Indivisible by my self
or The square root of…
::::::::::::::::::::::::: Written on a coach at some ungodly hour in the morning on very little sleep. I kinda like it. :::::::::::::::::::::::
Had a job. Lost a job. It was a shitty job anyway. Still, I did need the money.
I was riding the train to nextville to withdraw all my money because i’ve lost my bankcard for the second time in a month and we need to eat. I’m reading J.G. Ballard and ocassionally staring out of the window, when suddenly i take the fancy to do something writing. I whip out my oldskool handmedown blackberry and bash something out. Then I think to myself “I’m gonna record this and stick it up on Fledgling Writing!”
Later, back home, with the vestiges of my bank account in my back pocket, i hide away in my bedroom and, using an old phone which is now the house mobile (which was also a handmedown) I record the reading, bluetooth it to my laptop, convert it to an mp3 and upload it to soundcloud.
Then i write a post which is somewhat but not entirely similar to this one.
But then I listen to the recording on soundcloud. It’s full of artifacts and sounds like crap. This will not stand, so i go looking for somewhere else to host the raw mp3. But then I discover that I cannot embed it here, because facebook are dinks. Then I get the idea to stick it on youtube, but you cannot just upload an mp3 to youtube so I fire up windows movie maker, throw up a photo I took and manipulated at some point in the nearfar, add the recording and export. Then I upload it to youtube.
So, then I write a post which is somewhat but not entirely similar to this one.
And my laptop overheats.
So, here I go again, one last time. It’s called ‘having breath’ and for now it is a Fledgling Writing Wing exclusive.
Except, now it isn’t.
Although not traditionally part of the Stations, the first is Sublimation, a phase more or less laughing in the endothermic sea.
This is a transition in which both logical thinking and impulsiveness are condemned to death.
The point where the receiver could be freshly sublimed on a cold finger.
The ship! The stations! — the second stations!” he might cry from the stars.
For the 2nd substances increase the efficiency and collection of the cross.
The 3rd Materials prevent or counteract falling for the first time.
While 4th materials promote meeting your Mother under the intoxicating effect of Sublimation
This is the transition of a substance from the solid phase to the gas phase retained in heaven.
5th materials however, remain signs and symptoms of recognized diseases.
These carry the cross in a reversible way so that it is fit for simulators, etc.
6th and in spite of all that mortal man could do, some subtances fell flat upon their mass.
These materials are the induction of hypnosis, they wipe the face easier or improve its usefulness.
The 7th substances triple point in its phase diagram improves people’s ability to withstand the so called, ‘falling of the second time’.
Materials and physical methods of high intent linger upon the 8th substance, in three different states.
At different temperatures the daughters of Jerusalem produce amnesia of events before and during its use.
The shamed 9th remains the conniving substances of man. These state in dreams that physical methods of producing the so called ‘falling a third time’ are eased over a longer period.
All 10th substances only produce the 11th Substance, whose production is falling “pure” euphoria and stripping of the garments with no more leave.
There are now 12 substances that alter the structure of personality.
This in a way that the tendencies of the receiver are dependent upon nailing to a cross.
At this point I would convulse with love, but I’ve lost all speaking.
13 results in a Crucifixion: any mental confusion of this type is that of the individual under its influence.
It will be difficult to get an invention of the investigation for the 14th substance where, for a time, those that die on the cross escape from the solid state.
This reduces the efficiency of men when administered in undetectable amounts.
Obviously the 15th substance promotes weakness or distortion of vision or hearing when body is removed from the cross.
Preferably without permanent effects.
It is sometimes included as a fifteenth station, at some pressures the material may pass directly from a solid into the gaseous state
The 16th substance is also known as the Mountain of morose women (The reverse process is also known as Deposition or Lamentation)
A knockout pill, bits of substance, lances, do not pass through an intermediate liquid phase.
This can surreptitiously sublime a maximum type of amnesia.
By the use of appropriate agents, the 17th substance becomes a formation of frost.
This is an example of a material that can be laid in a tomb and covered in incense.
Meteorological deposition is always administered in secret by these routes and in very small quantities.
It is impossible for any Resurrection to carry out any Paraphenalia Desperation activity, but a millennium of wit cherishes all.
Scientific, nervous, I convulse I convulse. I convulse. I convulse.
All the sea was silky before his predestinating manner as he scattered intoxicated, then shot to the surface again.