He had to be very precise with his wishes. The conditional tense was to be avoided at all costs. Once he had wished that he could fly.
Done, the Jeanie had said and disappeared. He had flapped his arms, jumped, ran in circles and down hills, but never taken off. Then he realized he already could fly, if he just got in his airplane, or a hang glider. That expedition ended badly.
He had a billion dollars, but no idea where it was. Beautiful women often came to him, looked around confused, and left without comment. All around him he heard the mindless chatter of animals screaming for food, territory, and sex.
This next expedition
he stood in perfect ballet position
leg outstretched over 90 degrees
he was the momentary embodiment
of the gods of sexuality and grace
she bent over a table
skirt hiking
one knee bent slightly
and glanced over her shoulder for a second
it was the stuff of wood
who could choose
if the choice was not predetermined?
i'll just hold off until the decision comes back
hopefully not a rejection slip
think and flaccid
compromised values by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
compromised values
tomorrow i will try to cry
at the funeral of somebody
i've never met
i'm going to be trying
for her husband
who was very kind to me
before i knew what that meant
in usual style
i took advantage of it
till it was gone
today a band was playing live
when i was caught shoplifting
and after i gave the Bad Mother Fucker wallet
back the man at the door told
to get the fuck out
i gladly did
maybe tomorrow i will try to cry
for that too
flow my tears i said by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
flow my tears i said
im afraid to cry now
because black oil flows from my eyes
the oil is a lubricant
it makes me sink to the floor
in a greasy ball
then it dries and hardens
so i need to be messaged
out of the fetal position
after each breakdown
it's for the sake of others
that i dont cry anymore
whiskey in the flask by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
whiskey in the flask
whiskey in the flask
the wind makes it whistle
whiskey in the flask
my shaking hand lets it spill
whiskey inside me
it makes me sing
whiskey inside me
it kills the pain
new baby sister kate by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
new baby sister kate
I broke in,
Batman in my hand
and fired his yellow rocket
from a spring-loaded device
on his utility back.
My mother before me.
Her cloudy eyes swung to
The fallen arrow
But she was too dazed
To act.
My father behind me.
He exhaled loudly, nasally
But did nothing
About the fallen arrow,
Too tired.
The nurse swung 'round.
New Baby Sister Kate
Needed peace and quiet.
The nurse sent me out.
I am staring at the linoleum
from three feet high.
I am four years old.
I am embarrassed.
visualize it baby
make it a concept
see with your ears
taste with your eyes
let it flow in through your hips
bounce and swing
your limbs should fly because
choreography is only a suggestion
grasp at something colorful
in the meaningless gray of life
so that you may sleep at night
marching dancers let their tambourines hang
and talk in clusters after the parade.
meanwhile the human statue
breaks for a cigarette, but
the glow-ring and hat vendor
won't leave her alone.
two gandala riders
have run dry of talk;
she plays with a rose
he fingers a crystal glass of champagne.
looking on
i spit in the river.
this is waterfire!
By the time we got to the guitars, my mind was dulled. A walkway stone. Semblances of a key and sevenths slid off its milky surface instead of settling in natural crevices to slowly seep into the stone in microscopic splinters, a process which I understand to be understanding.
We turned the TV back on.
I want to play guitar loud, he said. His eyes were wide but empty, a child who has been informed to curl up in a ball at the threat of violence truly living the ideal.
I nodded. It was unclear if he realized immediately I had no intention of joining him, but it was hardly my choice. The remote had grown comfortable on my chest an
He had to be very precise with his wishes. The conditional tense was to be avoided at all costs. Once he had wished that he could fly.
Done, the Jeanie had said and disappeared. He had flapped his arms, jumped, ran in circles and down hills, but never taken off. Then he realized he already could fly, if he just got in his airplane, or a hang glider. That expedition ended badly.
He had a billion dollars, but no idea where it was. Beautiful women often came to him, looked around confused, and left without comment. All around him he heard the mindless chatter of animals screaming for food, territory, and sex.
This next expedition
he stood in perfect ballet position
leg outstretched over 90 degrees
he was the momentary embodiment
of the gods of sexuality and grace
she bent over a table
skirt hiking
one knee bent slightly
and glanced over her shoulder for a second
it was the stuff of wood
who could choose
if the choice was not predetermined?
i'll just hold off until the decision comes back
hopefully not a rejection slip
think and flaccid
compromised values by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
compromised values
tomorrow i will try to cry
at the funeral of somebody
i've never met
i'm going to be trying
for her husband
who was very kind to me
before i knew what that meant
in usual style
i took advantage of it
till it was gone
today a band was playing live
when i was caught shoplifting
and after i gave the Bad Mother Fucker wallet
back the man at the door told
to get the fuck out
i gladly did
maybe tomorrow i will try to cry
for that too
flow my tears i said by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
flow my tears i said
im afraid to cry now
because black oil flows from my eyes
the oil is a lubricant
it makes me sink to the floor
in a greasy ball
then it dries and hardens
so i need to be messaged
out of the fetal position
after each breakdown
it's for the sake of others
that i dont cry anymore
whiskey in the flask by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
whiskey in the flask
whiskey in the flask
the wind makes it whistle
whiskey in the flask
my shaking hand lets it spill
whiskey inside me
it makes me sing
whiskey inside me
it kills the pain
new baby sister kate by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
new baby sister kate
I broke in,
Batman in my hand
and fired his yellow rocket
from a spring-loaded device
on his utility back.
My mother before me.
Her cloudy eyes swung to
The fallen arrow
But she was too dazed
To act.
My father behind me.
He exhaled loudly, nasally
But did nothing
About the fallen arrow,
Too tired.
The nurse swung 'round.
New Baby Sister Kate
Needed peace and quiet.
The nurse sent me out.
I am staring at the linoleum
from three feet high.
I am four years old.
I am embarrassed.
visualize it baby
make it a concept
see with your ears
taste with your eyes
let it flow in through your hips
bounce and swing
your limbs should fly because
choreography is only a suggestion
grasp at something colorful
in the meaningless gray of life
so that you may sleep at night
marching dancers let their tambourines hang
and talk in clusters after the parade.
meanwhile the human statue
breaks for a cigarette, but
the glow-ring and hat vendor
won't leave her alone.
two gandala riders
have run dry of talk;
she plays with a rose
he fingers a crystal glass of champagne.
looking on
i spit in the river.
this is waterfire!
By the time we got to the guitars, my mind was dulled. A walkway stone. Semblances of a key and sevenths slid off its milky surface instead of settling in natural crevices to slowly seep into the stone in microscopic splinters, a process which I understand to be understanding.
We turned the TV back on.
I want to play guitar loud, he said. His eyes were wide but empty, a child who has been informed to curl up in a ball at the threat of violence truly living the ideal.
I nodded. It was unclear if he realized immediately I had no intention of joining him, but it was hardly my choice. The remote had grown comfortable on my chest an
I know, I know,
Humans have to learn from others;
But that doesn't stop me from wondering:
Are these my thoughts,
Or are they Nietzsche's,
Or Bukowski's,
Or Borges's?
We get paid
to watch the waves;
overtrained for sitting,
letting the sun rise and fall.
Low tide, and the foam spreads,
never silent, ocean and sky
become one, dissolve.
Bound to nature,
we all slide into this reverie.
All we have to show for it
are sunburned faces
and the sound of the waves forever
in our ears.
Shades of Indigo: Chapter 1 by MeteoricIndigo, literature
Literature
Shades of Indigo: Chapter 1
As I was making my way through the crowded city streets with my equipment pack slung over my shoulder I scanned the crowds, looking for a glimpse of kind redemption as I always did. Every day was the same for me, every day I encountered strained smiles and nodding heads. Never had I found one sincere enough among these crowds to keep in my recollections and cherish.
I sighed, finally getting to the worn down one-story building amidst vast skyscrapers made of glass and steel. This was the address, I thought, looking at the scrawled note I had written on the back of my soft yet weathered hand.
Playhouse
112 23rd St
She searches the streets for warmth that remains trapped behind glass window panes or escapes only from pumping chimneys. Bare brown feet and rags acting as robes hang loosely on her frail frame.
(Perhaps shes a pitiful orphan, but definitely a lost child.)
Smudged hollow cheeks and legs streaked with caked on dirt and layers of dust. Dim streetlights cast a foreign glow emphasizing tired circles running under her wide eyes and the lines etched deeply into her exhausted face. The pained and fearful expression remains plastered on while tears stitched to the corners of her eyes grow larger.
(How could I come across such a pitiful cr
the best and worst of apples by rumfoordandkazak, literature
Literature
the best and worst of apples
one of the times i was eating an apple
i noticed there were two distinct sides
one was brown and blotchy and soft
the other was firm and crisp and perspiring gently
when i removed the label from the soft side
the skin and flesh sloughed off like a plague victim
it tried to scare me away by shitting in my hand
like some surviving amphibian, some toad
still the firm side tempted me
the skin was taught and smooth
its plentiful vitamins were strewn across its surface
in green and brown patches
its regally raised cheekbones beckoned me
like a geisha girl peeking out from a tissue doorway
i threw it off the porch
because it was fucki
Current Residence: rhode island Favourite genre of music: jazz Favourite photographer: meg fogarty Favourite style of art: abstract expressionism Favourite cartoon character: Jin Personal Quote: childbirth is not sexy
Favourite Visual Artist
rabo karabekian
Favourite Movies
fear and loathing in la, requiem for a dream, or running with scissors
i'm back after that hiatus, i was just tired of writing with expectations that i inferred from deviant art users that i'm sure weren't even there to begin with. i don't want to be submitting everything i write anymore, kind of stressful for an amateur.
john cage is a composer and musician and my friend just sent me a video of his piece "4'33," which is 4 minutes and 33 seconds of 'silence,' which was more a collection of coughs and people shifting in their seats and a low electronic buzz.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUJagb7hL0E&feature=related
i'm telling you it is mind blowing
i think i've pretty much become a nocturnal animal with big eyes since i haven't fallen asleep yet and it's pretty early.
maybe i just don't have to anymore, which would be nice.
also, i wish i could turn off the mood emotocon, i'm really not feeling like one right now