‘You promised me licorice taffy,’ she says,
and quietly slips her fingers through
the spider webs that fall from
my eyelashes and sometimes
I remember (yes)
the times that she would kiss me
just the right way and at just
the right time and the way
that we walked hand in (no)
hand through waterfalls that fell
from
God’s very own eyes and
drenched our two-tone frames
just in the right way and
I forgot (maybe)
how she goes to sleep and the world ends.
i like this. i like this a lot.
“…how she goes to sleep and the world ends”
beautiful.
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sifrid,
Fine work there. Mighty fine.
Rainey,
Thank you! That line came from a conversation with my friend, whose girlfriend has the peculiar habit of falling asleep and experiencing the apocalypse in every dream she has.
Xander;
Thanks man. This is the poem I was telling you about; the one that won the contest. At stella’s yesterday? :3
ah! and i read it as though the world came to an end for the narrator every time she goes to sleep…leaving him for a bit, you know?
well, it works either way. nice.
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Hee, well, the poem was written in 10 minutes without any official meaning; then my good friend Ephe read it and said it was like the narrator was mourning his/her begone wife. I decided that was a nice meaning. :3
Beautiful. Reminds me of Snow, a love story by Maxience Fermine where Snow, a woman of the whitest white dies in the snow after falling, like a bird, from a tight rope between two mountains where her body is buried and preserved in a coffin of ice…
A
I still remember that story, rest assured.
I’m pleased Uniqor for then you know something of what moves me.
A
P.S. Your knew avatar fits you well.
This is the male profession, I think, to try to find out what moves women. The tragedy takes place when he realises that whatever moves her, is failing to move him no matter how hard he tries to conform. He will then have to act on and on, otherwise he is to be disgarded as an inferior beast. Some women, however, seem to be attrated to this kind of beasts. How is this explainable, I regard this question as essential.
I must seek to define what the beast here means. The beast is not a humanity-lacking scumbag, but his humanity is raw and direct, with his big beard, women in their poetic mentality are inclinded to think of the howling lion. Hence, the beast. Women like this kind of innocence of expression, it shows explicit manly natures to which they are naturally attracted.
Women also like refined humanity, the smoothness of head and chin, the resplendant personality whose arm she would love to grab in social gatherings. What we have here is a gallant blacksuit whose leathershoes shine, who recites Byron and plays Chopin, and deservingly owns a mansion of which royalties and celebrities are regualer guests. A god, in short, the opposite of a beast.
This is the problem. I have no satisfactory anwser. I do not even know where myself stands between the beast and god. Somestimes when I try to be god, I end up being treated like the beast. Vice versa. I guess it is possible that the most successful guardian-angel has always been the kind of men who subtly and elegantly integrated the beast and god into one being, perhaps as they rightly should, into man. This imples that men will not grow into man, but they must try to be man and act like one. In other words, they must not turn out willfully either as beasts or gods. They must achieve this balance by self-overcoming. This sugessts towards the definition of overman. Let me immediately ask something here.
Does Nietzsche move you?
All this Uniqor. Too many words. All this trying for what? You’re gonna give yourself an aneurism. You should not try to be god. You either are god or you are not. In the matter of love between men and women, love recognises love. End of story.
It is not the words that move, it is the image.
Nietzsche? Ah man, I’m not going there…
A
My sentiments exactly.
I am still not sure about the matter of love, however, about my recently elaborated posts, many others would agree with you and that includes myself. There are a few uncommon things that I want to explain fully, if I mention them fleetingly in my usual quickness of expression, then things will be left unrecognised and everybody ends up in the shallow, hence somebody is inclined to sling cheap shots at me for not having added new water. Apparantly I have been drowning them, and maybe with myself alongside. You are quite right, this is no good. Maybe one post, one limited in length and idea, at a time. I have already started trying this in the Xanderman New Face thread. It now concerns Dunamis, for Xander’s existentiality is in near exhaustion, somebody has to take my roll. This roll is coming to a rest as soon as Dunamis is done, the prestige of this gentlman is too attractive for me to stop short now.
“Nietzsche? Ah man, I’m not going there…”
This is amusing. I would try to elaborate my guesses at your meanings, but “aneurism”, what is that, its spelling frightens me.
so…anyway sifrid…nice poem…
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