Meep. I start a conversation and then wander off. Yesterday I was accused of stopping mid sentence and wandering around snapping my fingers. It was 109% true.
Nothing much over here. Playing in a two-man band with no songs and no shows. Trying to re-learn some lost Kung fu. I got some great feedback on some poems and I have just so much work to do it's daunting but I'm excited.
Soggy soggy soggy true but hey
It's more geared towards comments? Whereas prose maybe you get a sentence out of someone. And following doesn't seem to mean anything I still get horrible angst poetry everywhere and no notifications when someone posts new shit
I think this party's done.
When the tequila runs out
We'll be drinking champagne.
oh and I literally have nothing new on the prose. It's just me posting old poetry and waiting to actually read something good in the stream, which is pretentious-as-fuck-i-know but damn sometimes i just wanna put these whiny teenagers outta their misery.
ugh, please don't feed the ego human food. I try to keep it on a strict diet.
You probably wouldn't have heard about the Nephilim in Sunday school cause Sunday school was all horrible lies by balding fat men named Mark who adopted children from Russia and named them stupid things.
But let me geek out for a minute. There's this Mountain Goats song called Deuteronomy 2:10 that pretty much floors me every time I hear it, and one day I looked up what that verse actually meant. Apparently there are several races of giants in the bible, among them Emites, Anakites, and the Nephilim. Who fucken knew.
So yeah Genesis 6:4 describes them as the offspring of the sons of God sleeping with human women. Some translations just say "giants" rather than use the word Nephilim.
Definitely reminded me of Greek gods. There are a few more mentions of giants, but you have to be a better scholar than I am and actually have read the bible to catch them.
Anyway, so yeah in the poem what I'm trying to say is something like the gravestone of a giant, but also something ancient, forgotten, and put to ill use. A life mis-spent, sure. So the porch is live the fallen gravestone of some huge once-great creature, that's now crumbling into pieces.