Reply Fri 16 Nov, 2007 04:33 am
Smiling, I see sideways on the floor, waiting to shade, where shadows creep down and they believe that war is necessary in order to live in peace, sad waiting on the sublime moment, which is then used to blind the eyes, so that the individual again begins with the heart to see. The stardust cried a tear, the earth. My sweet small cat and I lay comfortably and one on top of the other cuddled on our couch in the living room. She always gives me these funny cat-kisses on mine if she does this, grinning mouth. She lay so sweetly on the couch and I meditated with nature-spirits. We live on the end of a little town about 50 meters before an big forest. A river and mountains, there is also with us, but I am bored to death. I wanted to play a trick on someone and break into a house, so I did it. His ears hear sewing boots for itself the sound. Immanuel Kant tries to escape. My black hair hangs for him already in the face. Dekapitation. I appear centuries later at night-light in the bedroom Adolf Hitlers and throw him the king-salvor's detached head into the bed. Adolf Hitler wakes up to discover around a young shadow at his bed. I change malformed before his eyes into an arid gigantic until shape extending to the blanket and caress his face with an ironic smile with my razor-sharp razor blade-long nails. "You scratch at the surface. You generate pain and injury. Why do you hurt me?", however, Adolf says these to the inhuman shape a girl dressed into black Sunday-clothing vanishes and smiles at him with green eyes. "What are you?", Adolf says. "Something even more inhumanly like you", I say. "God is inhuman. Whoever is inhuman, is relieved from humanity. You know like me that the people don't learn anything. They recur, mistakes recur. I must exaggerate it brachial and everything something of the mankind ethically sacred is through hate and necessary evil destroys. One day, the mankind will learn something through a single one. The evil supports the good. I would like to give this to the people on the way in a happy future as well. You small demon-girl in Sunday-clothing wants to kill me, however because your concern is, that the mankind learns from their stupidity, you leave me at the life, rush me on the mankind and unite Jesus and Satan in an enchanting smile", Adolf says. My smile changes into a shadow. Hitler's shadow follows my own one from the building as far as to a tree over that of the shadows of a demonic bird flutters. This creature reminds pteranodon ingens which of the primeval time-bird an impressive appearance at the chalk-temporal heaven 115 - 70 million years ago was. Hitler believes to become addicted to an illusion. The demon-bird settles on the tree. A heavy weight presses this tree downward, as symbolic demonstration that this mythological creature no illusion but real is.
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Reply Fri 16 Nov, 2007 11:04 am
Reply Sat 17 Nov, 2007 08:01 am
Why am I cold and heartless and cruel
why do I badger the poor kids in school
who spill out their ink like their blood on a page
why do I seeth with anger and rage
-the answer for mercy is told
that when you get old you get cold-
cold and alone like a corpse in the grave
Gray, and pink with eyes all aglaze
foul smelling and greasy and needing a shave
and when you get old you get cold
for its bad when its warm to wear so many clothes
and your feet are all smelly and runny your nose
and the kids run half naked while your life's all spent
when you're old and your'e cold you begin to resent
that your words were too few to express all the charms
of youth in it glory and all the alarms
you feel at the children all torn up in harm
afraid at the life in them running from love
-When they should be dancing and laughing in cheer
bouncing and bragging and holding their dears-
but bound up in angst, and moaning in pain
letting it drip out like ink on a page
oh yes and it makes me feel rage
cause when you get old you get cold
and forget that the pain of youth is not done
but carried in the heart of everyone
and you only learn what you can bear
you only learn what you can share
and no one has the time for introspection
too busy with their own collection
of tiny troubles and little needs
that grow like children from magic seeds
but are not grown until they know
that hurt is how the human grows-
until they get old and grow cold.

I purely hate rymes and think they are the furthest thing from poetry. Hard to write a song without it though. Sorry.
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