ever since a wisp emerged from the cobwebs of past peripheries, something i could not recall distinctly yet could draw images from, ive been drawn to that which is misunderstood, forgotten, even frowned upon, stricken. it is not because ive really suffered a blow in the morning that is never warranted, although i did become immune or rationed by some things in grade school- selectivity and ambiguity, two tone feeling. rejection in ways, creating a thimble in the limbic area that could not be forsaken by a frontal registry. all of these canopies- so cemented by sanctuary and discovery- collective names almost like symptoms like mysticism, feminism- tales of the joined narratives- new flashes of realization, bad conductors that still electrocute- there is no steam that i can create into a full sentence. what is empathy if one is unsure of the suffering that one is looking at? it appears as though on a tree, weathered, aging, but also like a campfire obscured by the blur of smoke. disbelief mixed in with a thunder that is still being discovered, hybrid forms- Alien He. and what is a superstition that starts by just cropping up? a cardboard landscape of platitude in the grey atmosphere. these are things that seem to pull my senses when i am in their periphery, but i roll around in the indiscriminate dunes, sloth and hunger. still, a magnolia blossom i am, stuck between the windmills of chance. i can produce a canned offspring, and yet there will be mistranslation between eyes.
Posted on: Wed, 23 Oct 2013 00:08:06 +0000
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