I don’t think in words
My head is full of abstract notions
[from stage left enter the Cyclic Flow]
[from stage right the Sublime and her Oceans]

“A thought isn’t a thought”
It’s just a precipice you stumble towards
And fall off
[cue the paradigm shifts]
[juxtapose these next few clips]

To negate non being
And surrender to being seen?
“Don’t be preposterous you haven’t earned that right!”
[midday quickly dissipates into the suffocating blanket of night]

Oh, sorry.


Fuck your paradigms shifts these next few bits are indiscernible quips of egotistical wit the consequence of a concoction of Neruda and the seduction of Medusa
Are you seriously going to just fucking sit there you don’t understand the forlorn of eternitys’ gone
[trees sway in the breeze she’s entranced by their dance]
don’t mistake that side glance as forgiveness

don’t just sit there and mourn let bygones be bygones and cyborgs be psych frauds you’ve got to



Do something


Shit, call me back.
[scene fades to black]


We’re tracing moving images like they’re trapped in foreign constellations
And you thought you saw the answer in the dance of Andromeda
Didn’t realise you were looking in the mirror in the middle of the day and the night sky’s not gonna make an appearance til at least half past eight

Now we’re dancing inside telephone boxes because you’re in love with the idea of calling someone from a place you’ll never be again
Guess this means you’ll never be in love again
Don’t stand still for too long
Because in a few seconds she’ll be

“Please how may I direct your call?”



Always write poetry in my dreams
Never know what it means
Mind racing with thoughts my hands can’t move fast enough
Always got that fuckin anxiety that I won’t go far enough

2am readin Neruda til I fall asleep
Swear I can see inside of u every person I’ll ever meet
Dunno much about much
But I know I’ll find some truth in these lines, find some truth in these times people got locked hearts and eyes clouded by blinds don’t take it personally baby just how it is in these lives



Artificial darkness;
A city smothered by storm clouds
in the Middle of the day.
There’s light above us but we can’t see.
So here we lie, paralysed and deprived
of the solidity of midnights’ unwavering depth

The moon is too proud to admit what’s coming next

All we can do is guess.



Mysterious things take hold of my brain
Mysterious wings; performing again



By em

a sometimes poet, sometimes painter, always philosopher

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