A vibrating fiesta in which
Electrons spark love and all feel so
wired that the minutiae are forgotten.
Nobles bask in neon atmosphere,
dancing, rubbing, today; there is a God
We know it in everything.
In this speck it is discovered that
home is not a place, but everything that
we could never leave - so we rejoice:
Here we found what it means to be
A particle.
~
A look that quiets the fridge buzz mind,
From which a voice stops all of the chatter.
A pitter-patter personality has tied a noose to your
quietest thoughts. And puts
you fierce in hiding.
~
A man walks into a forest, he sees his self happning relative to a circle of 8 trees, of which he is in the centre. He wonders what the deal is with this sudden awareness of his relative perspective and it stumps him (no pun intended). He turns his head and upper torso, but not the rest of his body, and looks at all the trees. "Right then." he thinks. A completely unnecessary thought. He realises this and gets a little uncomfortable trying to have a thought that's necessary. Not for long, though, as he accidentally follows a new thought that secretes itself and he forgets he was ever uncomfortable. The thought is, "where have I found my self". He looks down and there appears to be legs attached to this awareness that he just can't seem to get away from. His subconscious thinks of David Byrne in response to his last thought but he doesn't quite notice this and would get upset if he did. There is confusion in his stomach and his thoughts respond appropriately, producing affects of exasperation like "Hmmm", "But what- (exhale)", "wh- but l-... hm... what-...". Each of these stubs of thought feel sticky, like they're covered in velcro, holding him there for a little more time than he would like to be there for. He would much prefer his thoughts to be sentences and maybe even interesting. He walked out of the circle of trees.
~
A bee flies into a window with a splat and a plop. Blood and guts go flying all over the show. Which is unusual, since bees don't have blood and guts, so you are confused. Where did the bee's guts come from? There must be an answer, but the nature of writing is that you cannot see where the bee's guts came from. You have to figure it out. Your mind tries to figure out what my game is here. What type of person is this guy? What type of person is he? Is there a deeper meaning, this is confusing me. Makes me want to close the site or call him pretentious, or you won't use the word pretentious these days as you have the wisdom to see that it is reductive. Either way, there's something wrong here.