A Restless Sounding

For sullen’s sake I lie awake and fight the torments of the hour, that striking hour as clock at crack of door pangs and jars through wax-light streams and waves; an ungulate solid slab of reminder in my ear. I can’t forget, but to forget would even be expectance in increasing piercing remembrance, a funnel of fortitude in that ear.

Lure of the Sail

Why have you run?
There is rapture by the shore.

What have you seen?
There's a faint but luring glow.

How have you gone?
There's a sailor of this lore.

Where have you been?
There is deepness down below.


Who will make you learn?
In eyes I have seen frost.

When will you return?
My heart is a'ready lost.

The Clash

>[The system] asked [him]: "If [she] asked you to go skydiving, would you accept?"
>[He] answered ''yup''

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Hey, random thought: do you want to go skydiving?

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you should be careful what you wish for. I am a pilot after all. i know plenty of people who jump out of planes.

i have not talked to you in years. how have you been?

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While my question was made in a jocular tone, my desire to go skydiving is independent and springs from the realm of the extreme, which excludes any carefulness. I am not one to be careful. Also, because your piloting scares people so much that they would rather take their chances outside of your plane and therefore leap from it, this is meant to meant to bring me caution as to the implicated reality of my words? I no longer have any physical fears, and neither does the introduction into reality give my dreams any more of a grasp on safety; to the contrary. It would be an oxymoron to carefully consider my thoughts of acting free of caution.

Your final statement aims to remind "me" of an observation "I" am equally capable of making, however you failed. In truth it has not been years, it has been an eternity and no time at all, for you have never spoken to me. I transcend time, and the only sense I make it is that of an s. And “how” am I? I cannot answer for the form of “who,” and am thereby rendered incapable of relating this to any function, for it is all relative. But perhaps you think not, or possibly have a definite form off of which to build a reply to your own, redirected question?

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What? i mean its just a question. but if you feel the need to write a novel to answer a question that could have just as easily been answered with a "I'm good" and we could go back to not talking for another "eternity". so whatever. I tried to be nice and you kind of spit in my face.

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It's clearly not "whatever," and I would apologize for hurting your feelings if I could find that spit of malice within my novel of a text. But no, if I had meant to spit at you I might have done so in person (for "I" did gleam through in those times, though you could not have seen) when it was actually easier; for what I wrote might have flown naturally from me, but it would have certainly have been easier (apart from the effort put into stepping away from myself) to type that insipid and meaningless (but for the pins reserved to make the lie smile) reply of "I'm good." It would seem to me that I was the one to extend kindness in showing that I valued you enough not to cast that lie upon you, and reveal instead to you the truth, however cryptic. Did you actually try? And if so, to promote a facade of a happy conversation in which each masked speaker tossed out a few pin-cheeked platitudes completely unrepresentative of the figures behind the masks? Is your preference that the fruit of truth be exsanguinated to the point of untruth, the mere shell? I can apologize for this: I misread you, and you have clearly done the same, so we are even on this one ground.

You may return to that eternal fog of ignorant bliss if that is your only desire, but I am free of that. Know that I wish you no ill, whoever you may be, and hope instead that you someday, even just for a glimpse, transcend that blinding, heavy haze.

WARNING: Not intended to be read as if written in a condescending tone, but additional apology offered should it be misread as such.

faded fantasy

a gleaming keyhole; a dreaming shoal
a rusted padlock; a dusted dock
an anchored seashore; a rancored roar
a drunken galley; a sunken sea
and none can remember the castaway key

Vociferation:The Irony of Placement (commandV)

V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villian by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. (he carves a "V" into a sign) The only verdict is vengence; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. (giggles) Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Evey: Are you like a crazy person?
V: I'm quite sure they will say so.

Warrior of the Wind

“An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come.”
—Victor Hugo

“Daring ideas are like chessmen moved forward; they may be beaten, but they may start a winning game.”
—Goethe

“Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric.”
—Bertrand Russell

“When you are describing,
A shape, or sound, or tint;
Don’t state the matter plainly,
But put it in a hint;
And learn to look at all things,
With a sort of mental squint.”
—Lewis Carroll

A Music Not Heard

When dissonance comes to our ears
We simply tune the instrument
Or else deny, avoid our fears
That melody could sing as bent
So rid ourselves of this discord
And never let our mindstrings hum
To foreign, wild mistral winds
And can never say we’ve tasted rum
As soberness to stolid lends