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Randon "acts" of poetry

Randon
Randon
Twisted Dreamer
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OuterSpace Breathes 40mm Baton Rounds

Her strong legs lifted me into a spacecraft. The controls were sticky with a grainy syrup. We were doomed. But honestly, we had been doomed since long before this ship had even rolled off the assembly line.
Some sick fuck dreamed of experimenting on people like us. (My wet legs slip into her body). His name was Igor Lott. He was a scientist for the Imperialist Party. (Tongues intertwining like a DNA strand). He planned to conquer death in the name of the Greatest People. We were stepping stones to that end. (Her cocktail dress and jewels burned and burrowed into my thick layers of hide).
(Pages of our sacred history soaked in secret pastes and smoothed out onto our bare tissues and flashing lights). “Citizens #26 and #28, step forward onto the grating, please. I’m going to have to ask you to remove your faceplates.” (I shivered free of her tentacles and erotic orders and took my place for the fuck, her eyelids like wet goosedown).

To be continued...
Written by Randon
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anna_grin
anna_grin
ilchruthach
Dangerous Mind
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i could never

JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
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anna_grin said:i could never

You must try

Randon
Randon
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The Cybernetic Cyclops and the Psychic Palate of his Concubine

Gloria was a Musketeer and she worked for one of the strongest bosses in the Old North District. She waited, tonight, for her watch. Every night for the last 15 days was the same. She poured some oil in a small silver dish and waited by dim candlelight. The minutes passed slowly in the empty halls of her father and all of the ancestors before him.
A slide reel concludes and the lights crackle like the anemic wartime bulbs that they were. The crowd began to file out, mostly through the broad center aisle. He dreamed he had been in the belly of a fish and not at some official session, “...stripping away all that mankind holds dear.” The words, the hoarsely grunted syllables, appeared in his mind.
A castle hall adorned with tapestries and washing bowls feeds into a chamber laced with dials and meters, grotesque figurines anointed with human blood, bubbling cauldrons and spewing flasks, steaks of pancreas and lung, and sausages of greasy excrement. The bell announces the hour.

I was alone by the stream as my house lived this way. I will return to her soon and she will be still.
Written by Randon
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Ahavati
Ahavati
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I think I will scramble my brain on something and give it a go. . .

anna_grin
anna_grin
ilchruthach
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transfer

they came in the night for her, to hold her down, while she was occupied with grieving everything that had happened to her and everything she lost. not least her mind. she fought for her life- let it never be said she went quietly- adding more bruises to the ones left by the faithful law. it was no use. two held her legs, two held her arms and a last leaned on her back and pulled down her pyjamas to inject her with something to make her forget. before she became docile she turned her head to her right and saw the saddened face of the nurse she had trusted. she asked of her do you have a son? to which she said with emotion yes i do. she asked the nurse another question. she said do you know what he’s doing? and she got no reply.
Written by anna_grin (ilchruthach)
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well it ain’t randon but it’s honest work

JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
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anna_grin said:
well it ain’t randon but it’s honest work


None of ours are, but you did great!

anna_grin
anna_grin
ilchruthach
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i confess the slight resemblance is accidental x

or coincidental

JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
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Ahavati said:I think I will scramble my brain on something and give it a go. . .

Can't wait!

It's a real challenge, lemmee tell ya! He makes it look so effortless.

Ahavati
Ahavati
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JohnnyBlaze said:

Can't wait!

It's a real challenge, lemmee tell ya! He makes it look so effortless.


I burnt the last attempt! Gonna try ghee vs butter this time! 😂

nomoth
nomoth
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a thousand years between motels

there is moss on the bathroom tile,
 unknown fox-red drops    
 licking the basin's lip...burning,    
dripping    
     
the soap in my eyes    
 I dropped   
acid rain    
     
 it stung, birthed    
 baby sacred leaches in cavities    
of my ciliary body    
     
and they slip poorly-    
poorly on the ceramic/    
     
 if i had mouth eyes    
     
 I would have    
 asked her for the towel...      
     
but she has pale membranes    
under her lids...    
she calls them    
 songbirds.    
 she calls them home    
 and they fly back    
 in flute-blue fog.    
     
we dismember    
our blindness    
together    
     
it deports    
and serves us
 
we are nothing more    
than the absence    
 of sight.
Written by nomoth
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idk...just felt compelled to write something. wanted to loosen up and feel freer ...and fuck yeh...he makes it seem easy, nooo it is not.

JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
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nomoth said:
idk...just felt compelled to write something. wanted to loosen up and feel freer ...and fuck yeh...he makes it seem easy, nooo it is not.


Yes, but in all honestly, you come the closest to him. You and Brandon both create on another level that most poets try as they might never attain. You both speak in an alternate language using the same words available to everyone, but the end result is more dreamlike, drenched in symbology, and often requires an interpretation much in the way that a dream does - from a thematic standpoint that ties it all together.

nomoth
nomoth
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JohnnyBlaze said:

Yes, but in all honestly, you come the closest to him. You and Brandon both create on another level that most poets try as they might never attain. You both speak in an alternate language using the same words available to everyone, but the end result is more dreamlike, drenched in symbology, and often requires an interpretation much in the way that a dream does - from a thematic standpoint that ties it all together.


Thanks Johnny and that is a big big complement, much appreciated. And a big yes on the dreaming understanding absolutely.

JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
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Terminatrix April

thumbs her titanium alloy nose
through the chain link fence
reminding us of our limitations
 
says we are nothing
but imitations of life
 
It's an irony that leaves  
a metallic aftertaste  
in my mouth
 
while hers is razorwired
---a smile long in between such  
clenched jaw sound bites as,
 
Get with the programming

and
 
Poets are challenged enough
without attempting to write  
a poem per day

 
meant for arrogant asses
in the gulag chugging
their own Kool Aid  
glug Glug GLUG style
 
Nobody
and I mean
NOBODY
is getting out of here
without a noggin batoning  
or being tased in the balls

 
So . . .
 
we write our arrogant asses off
producing substantial verse
for thirty days straight or
otherwise risk being replaced  
by assembly line robots
 
 
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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JohnnyBlaze
JohnnyBlaze
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Ahavati said:

I burnt the last attempt! Gonna try ghee vs butter this time! 😂


Whatever you do, avoid using the I Can't Believe It's Not Ghee ® - I hear it's neither ghee or butter . . .

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