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    dots Submission Name: foiblesdots

    Author: trinityfinger
    Elite Ratio:    3.53 - 136/344/209
    Words: 116
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 1231
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 819


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    if, as tomorrow promises, fulfillment will be measured
    by both joy and sorrow, this is how my unborn children
    should quench their unformed instincts
    after me

    to sing and dance within a storm, finessing the clouds
    with articulations meant when no one else is around
    to divulge these secrets burnt upon wax dripping
    onto shoulder

    and if that may be my life, too caught in whirlwinds of
    abandon and devotion, mercurial twins spread between
    the ever-grinding plates of extraterrestrial

    as boundaries shift and deafness
    becomes louder within each successive



    Submitted on 2011-06-16 01:43:55     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      Ok, I was delayed somewhat in getting to this with some words, but I've just reread it about four times and I'm glad I waited. I think my responses will be more verbalised, whereas before I'd have attempted to say something I didn't have words for just yet.

    Technically, it's a dream, but yours are, so I won't go through that with you. Just say:

    this is so compelling it's almost impelling, but with a softness, a dream which is both pain and joy and just wonder at the both of them and you read it and read it and it's just goodness.

    The unfinished quality at the end, how I feel as though you almost said something more but then left it adds to that, and leaves me aching somewhat. It makes it as fleeting as a dream, but one of those dreams which lingers.

    The sorrow in it, how that couples up with an aching [something] at existing -- I've been thinking about exisiting a lot at the moment, about estrangement from the self, a loss of self, what we need to mourn and grieve and celebrate, and how it's so bone-deep, something so searching and restless, you know?

    The loss of self, more, I think -- something here recalls the self, something like if the psyche were a homing pigeon, this would be home. Am I making sense?

    It's the existential. It fits my state right now, and you have it captured.

    | Posted on 2011-06-19 00:00:00 | by AlyRose | [ Reply to This ]
      each successive generation, we leave less and less to them...but it also seems that each successive generation cares less and less about what they have.

    and can leave to others.

    really well expressed piece...i especially got intothe first stanza...
    "fulfillment measured by both joy and sorrow"

    yes it is.

    | Posted on 2011-06-16 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]

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