On “This Silent World” by Kay SageYou were a poor man, who
knew but a little, until suddenly, you knew more than Adam. Did that knowledge burst like umbrellas or fester like mushrooms in secret places? When you stumbled out four days later, into this silent world, were you astonished or yawning after a little sleep? Did the world yawn with you, rocks like teeth, the ground a shudder-grey? I go to that place. I choose it. Black like the insides of eyelids, black like dirt under fingernails, black like recalling a dream too late, the color of slipping. Did you see me there? We lived and died about two thousand years apart, but did you know no life, no narrative is a straight line, especially those who choose bullets for punctuation? Did you learn geometry in school? You probably didn’t go. I made rays first, then paintings, going right to left. I have no note for you, only notes for the end of useless light. But, fellow tomb-dweller, while you were in the blackened place, did you hear my song? O Lazarus, I have questions and answers for you too I haven't come back yet but when I do You'll all go shadow-waltzing in your Sunday blues
0 Comments
Balderdash or (The Eternal Conundrum of the Human Mind)Adgjodgf wersbvcmk oepeiy fyofjp, Qpdhp oedfos bhpfa pdfgs jidqw. Iterhyrdrui dfjodjipfdr drfsdjk, Nmdfjodp, djiopg sdjoopx xadf. Muietyr iohftdhio sdfrwe dpkhhj, Xjersh opggys kvbyte iobhp obxc. Jkgdper jmdfivgftrs prtwdgdr fgv, Hgteui xcxvgcfeorp rsajopt ifrop. Idgfeper dkhmp hmdpete gmwptm, Agotpe eamdg, itoxmo fdogurwp. Pwaxd hypdwuew dfhiopd sdffd egj, Zdjgfthf knmfdk qewew gftfsdfsd. Adrian David writes ads by day and poetry by night. His poems explore themes like conflict, existential crises, society, and everything in between, from the mundane to the sublime.
MoonsetI never saw a bomb blast
rewind into its casing, circle of flame squeezing down the chimney of a brick house atop the near hill like a resin, liquid motion. This moon is not my moon, orange & fluid, self-erasing. It has places to go before the sun comes up, while I have this step to sit on, staring at dim space where a fire went out. Edward Lee is an artist and writer from Ireland. His paintings and photography have been exhibited widely, while his poetry, short stories, non-fiction have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll. He is currently working on two photography collections: 'Lying Down With The Dead' and 'There Is A Beauty In Broken Things'.
He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Orson Carroll, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy. His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com The Holy LandsTheological work, draws the end of literature – Faber dies in decentralised formation, intersects at random points and buried in various religious institutions (the Academy teaches random juxtaposition, self-defence on the liminal wavelength). Handsomely financed by individual thought programming and word dust falling on crablike blue of word ovens in green sky, green water, heavy metallic gas – Faber's remains in the City of insect larvae and grand feeling of devotion to the Holy Lands – felt betrayed by crab movies cutting back and forth in torture film of ambitious pincers moving heavy and metallic – the Architecture Kid – had a religious habit, upsetting the picture. Memory of Faber invoked in centuries of self-defence, beginner's karate class Salzburg, art gallery New York City – remains committed to marble slab in silent oratory of Academy house (cuts back and forth on the tape recorder – the Academy permits no speech sound vocalisations for any reason whatsoever).
Crablike nebula pulls up Faber at great feast of St. Wilfrid – hails DE in publishing house of alien textual disease – “Faber as autonomous agent” – Bee and Beasley leap up in panic and chaos, hold the office until word dust ovens burn all extraneous thought and reintegrate on the Control line. Publishes hymnals in the Holy Lands – Traveller Philly takes to warmer climate, green water of Shrewsbury colony – interplanetary kick par excellence – turns back: the Academy stresses 'automatic' programming – shrugs heavy metallic shoulders and directs speech sounds in “do this” “do that” (in spite of appearance, image proves fatal in continual exposure). The first thing you learn is torture films at 25 frames per second – cutting back and forth in the temple of the image (green sky of crab planet burning blue ovens) – all manner of speech sounds clogging up descent. The Holy Lands on Calvin frequency – isolated with Faber coming in to mythology of the student (never know when you might meet another) – Catholic preaching on caddisflies: the Academy stresses random juxtaposition in development of maxillary palp (green sky of crab planet – the Holy Lands) – picture opponent in popular larval pin – “pass the garbanzo beans”. University Church of interstellar larvae up on the viewscreen at 25 frames per second – Faber buried in oven blue of crab planet ('autonomous' thinker, don't you know) – various religious institutions – interplanetary relief of tension and genus (larval instinct burning insect blue). You'll BeYou’ll be, to me
a knowledgeable cledonist as inseparable as a sly aspirator and an heedful respirator like an ogress in my nightmares an orchestra in my dreams a dreamlike twinning every time You’re by my side but you love the kingdom of truth the spacing lived by the Concrete expiry dates for interior finishing and punctually forget how castrating it can be to see in the gut of a ceiling just some wooden planks, nothing else and not a starry night in the Amazon of when, finally barefoot we’re warmly embracing our exoticism it isn’t usually like that that I’m use to placing the accents over my heart |
|