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ayurveda, a penumbra of oils massaged into my back. i turn down my speakers. most of it: pointless noise a snapped surfboard a pockmarked face snarling diatribes over the tang of ocean when you cannot be near it a glassblown shiver when east wind meets north and the blue of an unopened book with your name scratched into the corner. i believe in the sound of rituals in the space between my breath and yours singing and shining the soul of aretha and herbie with their incorrigible freedom. you know that's what i want. you know i am fruit and sky and seaward cliffs asking for silence peace and clarity a crisp biscuit topped with unending chocolate and celestina with her sparkles. what change beyond commonplace and the spark which ignites unswerving passion under stones and pipi shells and mandrake buried beneath the bed? i taste butterflies spin dinner-plates give this poem to you. ___________________________________________________ |
quicksilver, you. don't ever change (?wtf?) ![]() i feel engaged with every read of your writes. eyes compelled to the next word and next and you are not even using sans serif font. favourite trick: 'i am fruit and sky and seaward cliffs asking for silence' favourite lines: 'i taste butterflies spin dinner-plates give this poem to you.' - just cuz they're cool. thanks. | Posted on 2008-09-21 00:00:00 | by biska | [ Reply to This ] | you seem restless all the time, a break from your words your world has revealed the clearer vision of my impression, your voice no longer erasing the shape of the pictures with those chocolate tones you speak through. | I still see your delicate spiral of sounds, the way your work has always reminded me of wind chistled stones, biodegraded down to miraculously thin arches of compressed particles, built on the back of life, shining in constantly bright orange twilight. I like how glassblown shiver and aretha pop up, one an oft used phrase turned friend, one a touchstone to the world. A stranger seen and felt as yours to use her life line meld with yours imparting on the reader a sense of ownership cos I have her voice too, and I play it as I want, I soundtrack my life with the same incorrigible joyousness. Your work imparts: a touch of- we are the same, a touch of- I am me and this is my voice. Juxtaposition. I like that reading you always reminds me of home, not mine per say but one im familiar with, like visiting a childhood friend. I think of you often buddy, hope you're doing well. HH | Posted on 2008-09-07 00:00:00 | by hedra helix | [ Reply to This ] | and as I began to dream | the same pillow soft pronouncement I realized it was celluloid manufactured by shrewd marketing executives whose vision required three drafts before being deemed spontaneous enough to cradle lucid stars and that is why freedom lives a quiet existence | Posted on 2008-08-14 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ] | |