egomaniacal depravation syndrome
Posted: May 6th, 2013, 4:26 pm
i am feeling very worthless today as i create the
metaphors of an altogether reasoning to say
that i am as if a cool wind on the branching
limbs and drooping toward the river's edge
...
i am not overly serious because i am suffering
from a syndrome
depraved man that i am
i am sick man ... a lonely man ... a tired and confused soul
lost in the wilderness of forgetting
as if i had just read the beginning paragraph of a novel
so very long ago
to toy with the imagination of oneself
reading and absorbed by the descriptions
of a lost society
the literary underground of poets
writing gravestone rhymes of writers
from the 19th century
to note that literature the edifice
the superimposition of feeling and inspired
enough to insult oneself
http://studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=25569
to call it music would be flattery
it is not anything but the vibrations
and oscillations
of emptiness and divine nothingness
and existential likeness of being
and becoming something
being and somethingness
i am late for work but i don't care
i don't care for it anymore
i have quit before
and have quit to enjoy the idea of quitting
as in
I QUIT
it's a great feeling
i quit to enjoy literary flatulence
and librarians with too much to say
over a cup of tea
in the mindblinding realization
i am not who i think i am
i could be something else
or someone else
i may even be something more maniacally egotistical
a syndrome of sorts
i have to inform my dentist to buy options
more options
lots of options
many more options
and sell my rolex for an afternoon in venice
to enjoy an overpriced coffee
as insult to my own imagination
or better
read s8 and leave comments
that relate the greatest of being
and something about
becoming
but it's always changing
in the relative landscape of emptying
one's emotions
and blurting out all the affectations
known to mankind
...
sleep now gentle one
all you demons be gone
metaphors of an altogether reasoning to say
that i am as if a cool wind on the branching
limbs and drooping toward the river's edge
...
i am not overly serious because i am suffering
from a syndrome
depraved man that i am
i am sick man ... a lonely man ... a tired and confused soul
lost in the wilderness of forgetting
as if i had just read the beginning paragraph of a novel
so very long ago
to toy with the imagination of oneself
reading and absorbed by the descriptions
of a lost society
the literary underground of poets
writing gravestone rhymes of writers
from the 19th century
to note that literature the edifice
the superimposition of feeling and inspired
enough to insult oneself
http://studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=25569
to call it music would be flattery
it is not anything but the vibrations
and oscillations
of emptiness and divine nothingness
and existential likeness of being
and becoming something
being and somethingness
i am late for work but i don't care
i don't care for it anymore
i have quit before
and have quit to enjoy the idea of quitting
as in
I QUIT
it's a great feeling
i quit to enjoy literary flatulence
and librarians with too much to say
over a cup of tea
in the mindblinding realization
i am not who i think i am
i could be something else
or someone else
i may even be something more maniacally egotistical
a syndrome of sorts
i have to inform my dentist to buy options
more options
lots of options
many more options
and sell my rolex for an afternoon in venice
to enjoy an overpriced coffee
as insult to my own imagination
or better
read s8 and leave comments
that relate the greatest of being
and something about
becoming
but it's always changing
in the relative landscape of emptying
one's emotions
and blurting out all the affectations
known to mankind
...
sleep now gentle one
all you demons be gone