This Ritual

i know not how to stay its wrath

this ritual of bounden detachment

from everything
and everyone

both to and fro

as sorrow, slow
e’er gathers
at the dawn where wilting petals cease

some prophecies
will self-fulfill

arisen
from roots bound in stone
amid a concrete moment

an imminent decision
of compulsory indignance
unavailed by options present

in the absence of one’s freedom

and if it is
that i cannot be free
to live my life

then so it is
to live
begets me naught
but mere impedance

an imposition
toward a poisoned path
once thought impossible

in ponderance, i sit
deconstructing the illusion

through elusive memories
scattered in bits of truth
and twice retold

as tales of indeliblity failed
through flailing words anachronistic

resigned to a happenstance
of indolent alienation

in the confines of its stoic dissolution

my only hope
hung pendulously
on a rope of tenuous entwine

and time’s aloof refusal
of its merit
as to bear my weight

resolving fate
however late
foregone and long forgotten

Having Seen

i implored thee

“the more i see thy flouting of Morrissey
’tis my lessened desire to see more of thee”

for something indeed
chilled with stillness surreal

to flagrantly decry Moz

his violet distinction

i thought of us soporose
dolorous denizens
adrift in the indented crypt
whence we crept

two minds consummated
as one
minus one

and i,
sworn to mindlessness

but in its due time
sooth did shine
in supernal suns folding

ere this wrath would emerge
writhed the wildest delusions

i ne’er sought to summon
a notion so dire

too soon did its crux
erupt forth from thy sweltry breast
with a fury so fearful
they named it the heavens

it was there
where i languished alone

through days late and long
in the daze
of a destitute stasis

erase this, i beg thee…

erase what thy light doth reveal!

…yet worse i would still meet
on terms told to me
as being intimate

weary were we

where it lurked in the midst
of miasmic moor

its crushing blow
shook the stars loose from their perches

to this day
’tis certain they fell from skies past

by the lashing
of wretched words uttered
then did claim thy rigid allegiance,

by a single whorled whisper

thou sided with Marr

t’was that moment
my roseate tincture wast tainted

in the space of that same dreadful breath

i felt grave despair
by the draft
of death’s chittering flesh-bereft fingers
then did slip in the helm
of an unheeded hand

when thy furtive sooth surfaced
and love, desecrated

the coup de grâce

when claimed thy “like”
for Oasis ☠

Crowned In Multitudes

If there is one thing in all this withering world that I remain unremiss in my commitment to, it would have to be my hyper-vigilant predisposition toward unimpeded self-destructive-sabotage.  In whatever ways it manifests, be it willful or subconscious, it persists with neither precedent nor any remote form of competition.  In many ways, I see this type of behavioral affliction as being inherent to the human condition.  Dare not fool thyself, for even those who readily exhibit traits generally perceived as being self-preserving are by most accounts short-sighted no further than their soonest safe escape from their primal fears.  Is that even a sentence?  It is now.  I shall try to lay my thoughts out in an orderly fashion, as opposed to my usual lengthy vague explanations followed by the relevant context crucial to gain any sort of understanding to the madness that is my expression.

 

At least this time I have a mitigating circumstance.

 

Before I go on blathering, I would ask for your “blogging award” consideration for my deftness in displaying within this post, an utterly comprehensive evidential account as to why it is that I so willingly obscure my thoughts in layers of “poetic” ambiguity, and not do what I am so doing… now. As in this. here.  *Please note the failed attempt at humor.

 

Oh, forget it.  I’m helpless in my lack of delineational accordance.  Moreover, holy fuck about my syntactical ineptitude.  But I digress, I guess…

 

On a side note², *of what concern, I cannot say, as I got caught up in organizing my taskbar when I went to look for my pinned “charmap.exe” function to copy and paste the symbol for the second power AKA: “²”.  Now you see the chaos that persists within my mental processing, and why it is I seek to escape its wretched curse.

 

Welp, I don’t even know what to do now.  What I think I was trying to tell you is that I am fairly certain that I have suffered a concussion, though I’m not sure why I sought to do so (tell you, as it were).  Let me stick to what I do know.  Earlier, as I was rummaging through the pantry looking for some sort of ~who knows what~, an unfortunately situated box full of tools spilled forth and found the back of my head in an absurdly successive individualized manner.  That is to say, upwards of ten substantial wrenches and various other toolbox accouterments rained upon my cranium in a stream of rapid succession, from an overhead distance of approximately 4 feet.  It was not to my liking.  Ugh, or argh, depending on your onomatopoeic point of inference.

 

The rapidity of it all was so shocking that I failed to ascertain the magnitude of its gravitational imposing.  I can only tell you that it rendered me disheveled in ways defying past experience.  …I now vaguely recall the initial reason I started writing this post, to begin with.  My vision had become discomfortingly blurry when I first sat down in front of the computer screen.  This had the extinctual effect of compelling me to apprise the WordPress community of my predisposed ardent intent to subject my compromised form to courses of action, which would thereby prove exacerbatingly detrimental to my state of health.

 

The worst part of all of this is my acute awareness that whatever in the fuck I just preposterously attempted to express is more than likely the distinct abomination as to what truly is.  Not merely the consequence of having suffered a succession of repeated blows to the crown of my head.  Not the ~Crown of Arbitrary Verbosity™~, the other one.

 

What IS certain is that my command of ALT Key codes seems no longer a feature in my scanty scope of knowledge.

 

WTF am I even doing?  I need to get to a hospital STAT.  As well should you, having read thus far…

 

…also, ouch.  in every possible manifestation.  I kid you not.

 

 

[wonderous cat art: Louis Wain]

Impending Perdure

the price of my caprice
is inauspiciously prohibitive
imperiled by the inconsistencies
of pendulous impart

indeed, it truly is
all in the starts
for nowhere else have i yet found
a piece of ground on which to stand

with future plans abandoned
for the lure of random flights of fancy
chance fortuitous is scant
if not willfully nullified

i cannot take anticipation
festering in feelings anxious
trudging through the vastness
of a vitreous evincing
just to breach the antithetical defeat
when peaks surpass their climax

in my desecrated temple
shroud of temporary skin
i feel impossibly content
despite the fact that i must die

let me rephrase that reference
not intended
to pertain to aimless ends
tending our finite state

instead, i will elucidate
my preference to be done and dead

alas, i simply am not one
for suicidal consummation
still, such thoughts are featured mainstays
in the live stream of my shrieking mind of untold terrors

it’s honestly quite difficult
to ascertain my disposition
confined to the influx of confusions fluctuating

“flaky” by their designation

really, what choice do i have
in trying take or leave it

having been bereaved of my own voice
without reprieve

without repeal

my needs and wants taunting
from the forest of forgone pretense

still, i will never conform
to consciously foregone conclusion

i commit to my delusions
in all of their deluge

as it is
in being human

freedom is an undertow
of such vapid vulgar idyll

it is all that one can do
to delve into the brimful cauldron
rife with all its vagaries

if i am to be brow-beaten
burdened, spurned, and turned to stone

to only then one day return
to naught from whence they swore i came

then save the sanity forsworn by wistful inner sanctum

let me flounder in a boundless glory!

begone with with all your ticking trinkets!

give life truth unedified!

for it is only i
who will be left to live
the whims persisting
in each pending moment
of perdure

Save Nick Metropolis Collectibles

Nick Metropolis

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Sing to Me

what impel
have i known
of thee

’tis nothing
for the wretched crux
of lashed tongues

run
red devils crossed
and secrets scrawled
in restless vies

this reverie

sweet venus sol

thy vow attests

for what doth reason
e’er requite
but rivers carved
of curved swaths

alas, mine arid heart
must heed

this harrowed curse
of solemn sanctum

before yond waning shores
wend waxen

sing to me
in swells of sooth

ere walls succumb
to ruthless lunes
of quietude

[image credit: Giovanni Segantini]