- Collective Writing -

Are any of you poets, or short story writers?
I was wondering if anyone would be interested in contributing writing to this thread, rather than have multiple threads created for sharing stories or poems. We could gather all of our work in this thread and get a great mix of styles to go through, breaking up the patterns and changing the flow.
If anyone is interested, please feel free to give life to the thread. I'll post one first and am looking forward to anything you all feel like sharing!
God Bless

 

In And Out

Hands together holding us but we’re all going into ourselves. Like a sinkhole with a fountain at the bottom throwing it all back up. Wires crossing over one after another are growing from every corner which ever way she looks, superimposed against the backdrop ether, the forest fight for sunlight, the minds eye beaming. Wires pumping with bright liquid light, the eye is creating this and absorbing it all. Drums sound out, existence is dancing back into motion but whatever is breathing waxes and wanes as if her pulse needs testing repeatedly. Pressure this powerful, “I don’t know what this is about.” she wonders. “But I’ve seen it all before” so familiar “so controlled…” and perfect and in tune. Circle ripples within circles crash against the beach on a tiny island “Welcome to the junction” a voice booms and roars. Brooke is standing on the peak of a mountain on one foot with tennis sneakers. Second sunset steaks across the atmosphere the sky bursts open. Violently she’s thrust back into the wooden floor, plants sparkle and expand and pop blackness explodes at the center bending towards her as the wires retreat, and she throws up once into the magic carpet, dry heaving for a moment. A neon grid is there, it’s here, a web of reflecting beads strung out dreaming star fall. Wiping her mouth clean she decides she needs to brush her teeth but falls back into the floor with hysterical laughter.

 

the little death that I

exhale's a window

to what has died.

I, thy medium

between . .

Taking away from time

I see who and what's been converted

into light.

I see faces-

ghastly faces

in the night ! !

 

- Brooke Wake Up -

Our organic hum. Cry of the Planet? More like reverberation, the continuous validation, a reminder pointing out the moment of the nanosecond and the moment of eternity. Stretching back to a beginning that never happened and reaching out in hope of touching an end that is not coming. Gentle wind played silent music passing through her short brown hair and floral pattern sundress, and Brooke taps her heavy boxy glasses back up her nose out of needless habit. Wonderful music! And the Sun is my best friend.

She crosses Walnut on 6th and stepped onto the parks grassy carpet so as to avoid the crowd filming some rediculous amateur experiment across the stone path. As she scans the happening of this natural occurrence walled in on all sides by tall buildings and one way streets, Brooke settles her heart on a shady spot backed by two tall maple trees. While walking she has the natural impulse to tug softly at the wire haning from large headphones covering her ears where short burnette locks stick out defiantly against her cheeks. She never actually plugs her headphones into anything, her left hand performs the magic as it is.

Sitting down with her long legs wrapped in white stockings stretched out in front of her, feet slightly parted and wobbly knees just barely bent, Brooke leans back on her hands, one in a fist still clutching the wire, the other open wide to receive the dandelion spotted ground. Just then a boy of 6 years approaches her without hesitation, his arrival is noticed immediatley and Brooke sits up on her butt straight to acknowledge his presence. After adjusting her glasses and brushing off her dress, she gives the boy a warm smile, barley parting her glossy lips.

“Hello!” she says, folding her hands in her lap. She can see the boys parents not far behind him walking up the path in their direction.

“Hewwo, can I give you a stickaw?” says the boy. His teacher had given him an entire strip of gold star stickers.

“Um, well, of course you can! Why not? It’s a free country right?”

“Yea…” says the boy. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his little strip. Since Brooke is sitting on the ground he doesn’t have to kneel to apply 2 stickers to her face, one on each side an inch below her green eyes.
“Jack come come, let’s not bother the girl now…” said the boys parents who were a few feet beyond the two new friends.

“Ok ok, bye bye miss gawl” Jack said, and slowly turns away to walk with his parents who were smiling peacefully at her. Brooke has nothing to say, but rather she briefly watches the family continue through the park and then returns to her reclining position. As she is resting under the two maple trees, a calming wave of euphoria settles on her head and flows outward into her limbs. Reflecting on her position, the source of her consciousness brings a sudden unexpected awareness of itself. Looking in at her own essence, her own nature of being, she discovers a wonderous revelation that has been suspended, frozen in time and space since a beginning that never happened and waiting for an ending that is not coming. The source of her, of who she is, looking in on itself, aware of it’s own manifested existance, is an endless room composed of endless mirrors. A perfection of geometry. We are forever.

Once more the glasses are pushed back up, her eyes glow in amazement, she rubs at the star pressed against her skin. With a newport 100 pulled out from over her ear, pressed in her lips, she realizes that she doesn’t have pockets on her dress, nor a lighter or matches. Just then a butterfly landed on the tip of her nose and the Earth’s heart rhythm skipped a beat.

 

I always got the feeling that you were a poet Stalk, just from reading your regular posts! Thank you for sharing, I love 'exhales a window'. Very nice imagery!
God bless

 

Auroraborealoon,
a universe ALIVE and
b l i n k i n g.
Wiping electrons in plasmatic fire baths right
from our magnetic skies-
There's treasure hiding
behind those eyes
and nowhere.

 

ohhh I love your stories, Relayer...

 

Field of vision broken
train of thoughts
locked in lotus position
stuck in time and space
but never has one
felt so free
such liberation
daily conflicts between
man and beast
its a struggle to eat
the ends never meet
but I hear Him calling me
always fixed on my mind
heart swells with love
life-energy that pumps
out of a thin veil of
deulsion between Us and
Them
gives birth to tomatos
oranges
appels
flowers
buds
sugars
perfect and let alone
the blood of Mother
Nature comes from
an unseen essence
God is on the other side
of whats right in front of
us in every direction
every corner of
empty space

 

- Snowflakes -

topical anesthetic
powder white cosmetic
shine sodium fluoride
salty cut hydrochloride
kerosene solvent
sodium bicarbonate
soda fizz bubble ammonia
insufflation first burn
calm soothe fragrant
stimulate nervous flow
stimuli response fraction
of a second blurry
mind fuzz drip dry 3rd
eye blinks thrice
over bloodshot time
crystalline tropane
alkaloid is the
worst high sum sum
up the lies shakey
hands dropped eyes
frozen medicine
anesthesia smoke
too much bump bump
delerious amnesia
topical anesthetic
powder white cosmetic
shine sodium fluoride
shiney shiney shiney

 

Thanks Stalk
Here's a poem I wrote, inspired by watching my cat during an acid trip lol.

Opening inside my head nerve
branches extend through
my side of Earth to the opposite end
Dandelions bloom within my stomach
sick feeling sick layers of happyness
descend bristle brushes my teeth and
joyful teeth radio signal send dancing
wire antennae sparkle fish light
Bursting bubbles bayou magic wonder
time and space start slipping Im stuck
in the mud dripping with sweat dizzy
fuzzy fission neon sparks burst all around
me and endless circles move in like
imploding thoughts pregnant with ambition
drowning in desire melting into carpets
rising into fire blood flows out in syphon
walls stetch and roof heightens opens up
the sky is falling and the ground
is sending lightning and in the middle of
chaos she interrupts a seance the minds
plugged into circuitry protruding tubes
and nitrous fumes lift the mood lower the
room smiles crack all over my wall eyes
and bellies appear and fall crashing me
under weight pressure pulling my limbs apart
like blowing up in space and kore wa nan
kokoro kaishoku? Sakura saku Sakura
Saku

 

Daddy . .
Your legs are long-
Crawling up the wall.

and then a fox stands up,
and whispers to the moon
i Love you.​

 

Im jealous! You have such a way with a few choice words man. More like music than reading.

 

This is wonderful...I love your poems.
Usually can't stand a lot of poetry.

 

The floor demands all my attention and absorbs me before I can remember there are more important things to worry about. I hesitate as I rush back into my surroundings from a pulsating organic energy that had been in the forefront of my daydream. I look out the window to see a cobweb heavy with pearls after an early spring shower. A little ocean of blood forms in my mouth full of microorganisms battling like whales, squid, and sharks. I spit my ocean into the air, like a spaceship firing itself into a distant galaxy of unknown properties. I hear it hit the carpet in a manor that causes the air to quiver for just a moment. Then, I find myself engulfed in her angry screams. Drunken beyond a point of reasonibility, she comes close to my face letting unharmonious waves crash upon me in an almost demonic fashion. I take a sip of my whiskey sullenly absorbing the blabbering.

"WHAT the FUCK, asshole!"

I regret my choice, I am guilty. I shrink myself into the shape of a bug and climb under the staircase.

 

Thanks! Im actually the same way, I wrote poems yet even my own poetry annoys the shit out of me lol
That why I wanted to start this thread, Im trying to learn how to gain a deeper appreciation for the art, and I thought if people with similar interests shared their personal stuff, it would open my mind up more

 

I wonder about your angels
through sparkling geometry
recalibrates a haunt

of slow atomic plumes
latched onto spliced
potential

who are you to say
we can't touch dimethyltryptamine
when it touches you

nightly.

every seer is a window
there is no privacy
here ​

 

Bear! This is beautiful. These are my favorite, the line with the words I changed colours is profound in how it combines sensations in me. It feels like something I wish I wrote haha

 

(This one has question marks all over from when I transfered it from Word, I dont know why sorry if it breaks up the flow)
* Mood For A Day *
[Prelude]
A beautiful sound, an organic drone, fulfilled the manifested atmosphere comprising her thought matter. The structure of this particular cognizant bubble was birthed by the beautiful repetitive sound, nurtured by its familiarity ensuring a gentle guidance, as the bubble?s complex nature matured rapidly into abstract fabrication due to the conflict of the sound generation?s aftermath overwhelming the simplicity of the fundamental humming. Some may argue the construction of radical mental imagery to be spawned from within the principal essence of a dualistic mind itself, composing abstract forms by manipulating elemental, pre-registered data under the influence of external stimuli into superfluous fragmentations. But Brooke has for years held her opinion that a thought likened to the act of mental creation is in opposition to a thought geared towards producing emotion, and that in fact not only does knowledge come from elsewhere than the mind-self, she also concludes that imagination is dawned upon the mind-self from an entirely unique and remote point of origin.
Following this brief alteration in the function of typical mind-self Brooke allowed the not at all unpleasant shift in consciousness to settle in like the absorption of Sun drops into the morning dew. The pattern continued to flicker back and forth upon the screen projected between the protective lens covering her forest green eyes and the external objects composing her bathroom, displaying an intricate matrix of interlocking geometric shapes superimposed against yet another layer of neon film revealed to her mind-self as a grid network of interwoven circles. Her comprehension of gross matter as being a sort of precipitation of the finer, subtle electricity which permeates the universe is due to this ?forced? alteration of mind-self utilizing her elemental macro map, the dimensions of which are illusory being that on a microscopic measure rotation reflects the core mechanics, as well as external reactions, of everything known to the six mind senses, from the blossoming of atoms to the dances of the celestial heavenly bodies. Using this esoteric map as the foundation for the formulation of thought, and harmonizing with the beautiful sound, the organic drone, as the guidance for piecing together the fragmentation of her scattered mental imagery, Brooke was able to separate her mind-self from her bodily host.
She did exist; simultaneously with the consciousness of her body resting on her toilet seat, as well as an isolated consciousness localized somewhere outside near the sidewalk, where the beautiful sound was coming from. Four floors below her bathroom window, where the rain gutters let out. It had been raining since early in the am hours and was at a steady drizzle at 10am during the recovery of her basic motor skills while she pictured the people passing by the gutter?s leak in her mind-self. The accumulation of the total maturation processes involved in the just past cognizant bubble?s short lifespan appeared to have delivered nothing more than a mystical expansion of consciousness, a clairvoyant position regarding the people walking underneath the rain gutter four stories down, the entire Universal Mind Essence attunement necessary, all of it shaped and guided by the natural hum of the rain, gone off the deep end of the pool into abstraction by the conflicted leaking of the gutter hanging over the open bathroom window.
Oceans composed of thought bubbles bloom out from a different film between the individual thoughts and swim around inside the multiple mind-selves inhabiting Brooke?s body and nearby consciousness associations, blossoming into a comprehensive blend of a soothing natural soft light which calms as it asserts the reemergence of the knots tied amongst the singularity of her mind-self essence. She reaches onto the sink counter to her left and loosens a single Newport 100 cigarette. Putting the cigarette frantically between her soft, glossed pink lips she lights it using a burning tea candle under an oil burner and let?s out a sigh of relief as the smoke trails out of her nostrils and mouth, and the nerves stringing her charged-up body along settle down. She sits a moment, hesitantly, physically and mentally motionless until the sound of the rain against the busy Monday morning Philadelphia animation come back into play. After another puff she puts the cigarette back in between her lips, scratches her left ankle with her right hand and begins to pull the plain white underwear back up her skinny legs, over her wobbly knees and standing straight up squeezes her butt into lazy gray sweat pants.
After flushing the toilet she stops at her mirror over the sink to make sure she is looking acceptable, and upon pulling the cigarette out of her mouth remarks silently ?Oh God momma! My lips are fat, come on now...? and with that came a smile, the silly, happy kind of smile that Irish girl?s eyes conform with every time something deeper is on their mind-self. Suddenly her mind behind the eyes and ears shifted downwards to the mind between her pink toenails and the bottom of her feet as the two met the freezing cold surface of the bathrooms floor?s lime green tiles. The reaction of gripping the tiles came automatically and uncontrollably and the fear of the obtrusive, obsessive mental entity sank deep into Brooke?s heart.

 

I feel the same way about you and stalk's poetry, I wish I had thought of those words!

 

(This is actually the first short story I ever wrote)
- Mexicali & Inevitable Answer -

Underground stations always make for some fine passing
moments in absurdity, especially when you have no where
to go at 07:00am and you take your time walking through
the early morning rush. How Marta moved that morning
was a typical expression of her general discomfort here,
a city life didnt quite match her taste. Breezing past
faces struck with many different expression the
nonchalant fluid motion of her steady ascencsion
towards daylight may have caught the eye's of a few
hurried suits, possibly some college boys. Going agianst
the grain she glanced breifly at the station's multi-
colored tile walls, which passed out of sight as she
entered the first lower floor Market East.
So she bought a pack of cigarettes and decided to
exit on Filbert St, luck would make sure today that
several cab's parked front and center by the Greyhound
Bus terminal to keep movers dry during the rainy season.
Wind is always in abundance by the river, ice and sleet
tend to make our days.
Marta put her big black sunglasses on to hide what
obvious emotion was bubbling behind her eyes, lit one
of her fresh smokes and auto-dialed slot 2 on her
cell phone.
"Hello?" came the heavy voice on the other side.
"Hello? Christian? Christian, it's Marta.
"Marta, you made it? You in the city?"
"Yea..." she said softly.
"Ok, I guess your taking a taxi, I can meet you back
at the house in about 20 minutes. Alright?"
"Yea...yea ok, I be there."
"I hope so...bye Marta."
"Bye." she said and closed her phone, sliding it back
into her light brown bag.
Pulling a hood over her dark black hair she signaled
to a cab and started walking across the street. The
driver allowed her to open the back door herself and
have a seat. He was a middle aged man, with dark eyes
and a long beard. He kept his head covered in a cream
white hand crochet kufi, and smiled slightly when he
spoke to her. Of Middle Eastern descent, very responsive
and how he could handle that rush hour traffic...
"Where we headed?" his voice came strong but friendly.
"38th and Powelton please."
"38th and...the bar?" a hint of confusion covered by
an illusive suspiscion.
"38th and Pearl actually, but no one ever know's where
that is."
"I know where it is, dont worry." and he turned on the
meter, turned up the arabic music, and pulled out onto
10th st.
Making his way over to Market, the busy line through
center city amongst and head and Marta was left staring
out her back left window.
I wish this ride would last forever.
Why did I even come back here? I should have left him
alone, I would be much better off.
More faces go past her field of vision, most displaying
some empty lonley familiarity.
Over consumption, too many drinks, too many drinks...
The city is alive and breathing, you can feel the rolling
waves of inhalation followed by exhalation as the people
move in unision. In synch with the way we are.
As the cab pulled up to 38th and Pearl, she allowed
herself one last deep breath to define her stability.
Her face glowed red, the complexion of her brown skin
went well with her white sweater.
This was it, here she was. Breathe in, breathe out, she
has been in much worse situations before. After this is
was straight back to Mexico.