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naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1903 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 8/27/2009 5:32:09 PM
To believe, and to be believed, to be absolved, and to feel absolution, what is this belief?—what is this feeling? To know, if not for Spirit, death would have swallowed you up, what is this knowing? To love, and to be loved, what is this loving? To live, and to feel life, what is this living? To be given faith, and to hold that faith as your own, whence cometh these tears? To be but one soul, the becoming of two, what is this becoming? To feel God, to know the Father, to be nailed and bled unto death, what is this love?—this nailing—this cup—this glorious affliction. To speak of the unseen, to hear the unspoken, what is this seeing?—this hearing—this speaking.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1644 (view)

love - ish Posted: 8/27/2009 5:31:38 PM
I faint, fumble and fall, stumbling into the coalmines of love. Though a blackdamp suffocates and damages my lungs, I dig restlessly, asearch for one precious stone. Is there a precious stone for me?—a ruby that I may call my own! I grapple with fear. I fear that apprehension has paralyzed initiative. I am asearch, afraid that I may find love, for I would then be compelled to confess and confide my love, without a parachute to rescue me if spurned. To locate love, to be jilted by love, can love be found twice! Is love worthy?—worthy the risk of sanity; but am I sane? I dote over a phantom—a phantom that lives within grasping, a phantom of diamonds that glisten in the horizon, unaware that I muse and dote and flatter from afar. My muse knows my name but knows not my flame. I burn that I may pretend to live. Oh’ how I would that I could pretend!

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1643 (view)

love - ish Posted: 8/27/2009 5:30:58 PM
I read each line slowly. I meditated as I read. She then appeared. She appeared to my third eye. She was reading in my mind. She grew into a vivid portrait in my mind. She is suddenly in my third eye. I grapple with a vision. Explain this to me. I am foolish. I am doting. I have become a fool’s paradise. We are of two different worlds. What is there to a gesture? What is a smile from a distance? I cannot illustrate the color of vibration. I drift, ensnared in music, captured by the remembrance of her laughter; but she never laughed; nonetheless, she dances with gaiety and laughs melodiously in my third eye. She has laughed. I remember her laugh. It slipped me. So consumed with chivalry, I missed the laughter. Ah, what is it to be free!—to do more than speak in tongues!—to be free to speak an unspoken language, for love is sweeter than chivalry, and of more fulfillment than deep thoughts. To savor the taste of the thought of love, to delicately stroke a canvas with paint, to shed tears of art, to touch the caress of spirit, to utter the parlance of love, falling into the satiate arms of uncertainty—have we ever lived freer. To be the laughter of another soul, to take the mask and cast it to the wind while embracing vulnerability, could we become more foolish, could we become more foolish for love. My eyes water as to feel such foolish words. Let me abandon foolishness; let me abandon fear, as I fumble through a maze of hopes and dreams, in pursuit of a forbidden love. I tug upon thoughts. I want to remember more; but I am exhausted; and my senses bewitched. I am foolishly scrambled; but I trek into a vision—I live that I may learn to live—that I may hold the hand of love that lives. Love, teach me the mystic idiom of roses, teach me to sacrifice my insecurities for the sake of love, unravel me of the madness of the intellect, unbar my emotions. She is more than art. She has jimmied my heart. I unfold, lose balance and tiptoe upon the symbols of love.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1902 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 8/27/2009 5:30:12 PM
hello everyone. i hope that things are going well.

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1899 (view)

A few Chapters From My Novel That I am Working On Posted: 8/16/2009 9:17:32 PM
Do not awaken my demon She is vicious I cannot control her I do not wish to She gives me life

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1898 (view)

A few Chapters From My Novel That I am Working On Posted: 8/16/2009 9:15:19 PM
It all changed I was love It became profit It became aloof It cut me It dragged me to hell I resurrected Albeit I drank venom I touched magic I touched pain I loved it For now I live Where are you?

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1642 (view)

love - ish Posted: 8/5/2009 11:09:18 AM
Present I do not desire darkness. It fell upon me. I laughed it away as a child. To abscond from self— This is impossible. I drown into Beethoven’s Fifth. A tear falls upon a page. I watch as ink becomes diluted. Tears of ink seep into my flesh. There is a link in a chain Somewhere in a soul, tugging Upon my strings. I am her Violin, wailing in silence. I Contain her until the moon settles Within, permitting her to rest. My spirit is infused with diamonds. I dive into lakes of My thoughts, praying for a clear Pond. I see angels, dancing, Tiptoeing across music. There is a mystic star in My horizon. It is the color of vibration, Surging through my entire being. A spirit is washed in holy Water. A baby cries at her Baptism. A mother smiles with Joy. A father wipes away a tear. I escaped. I must return. I drilled an extra hole into A cello. I passed it to a child. I asked for a child’s prayer. I await an answer.

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1897 (view)

A few Chapters From My Novel That I am Working On Posted: 8/5/2009 10:56:14 AM
Occults Is not everything occultic? A thin line is suffocating us. This night has become darker —but there’s a glint in this vestibule. I follow light to her womb. Goddess, bless her fruit with spirit. It’s opalescent, a jungle of colors. Cougars are gentle with me. We wrestle in mantis harmony. Tell me, was God picklocked? We are eternity, every stream of logos. A necklace, a bracelet, laced with magic. Is not life a spell? Allow me to go deeper. Allow me to find heaven. I have rift a tallit to threads. Skyclad before a talisman We explode unto gods. We exhaust heaven. Out of the Zohar, Kabbalah becomes Flesh. Allow me to go deeper. Into the glens of mysticism, we search. Penelope too is subject to apostasy. I am a summer sin, a seductive Eve. Did I unlock lust?—an ancient breeze! Atwitter we ponder in passion— Devastating flesh left fraught with pain. I shall sacrifice to God. Is this Not the mind of Israel? Two shall become one. When did image become sin? I watched a priest fall apart. Must I fall upon horns upon an altar? “Ravish me my Love. Forsake all and come to me. Live again. Be cursed in pleasures untold. Become the man God created. Does God not love woman? ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ Man cannot multiply alone.”

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1635 (view)

freestlyle Posted: 7/9/2009 9:32:21 AM
Confliction, flaming unto fire! I am a soul burning; Burning my way through the Mountains. I do not request Pity; nor am I athirst For mercy. The hallway is So long. I see souls Aflame. They owe me Nothing. An explanation is Futile. To live is to suffer. We suffer through it— Burning unto redemption. I Give this riddle back to Its creator. Breathing has never Been a thrillogy. Do I now suffer More? At my tribunal, I Will ask many questions. I will agitate God; while Others beg forgiveness For suffering—only to be Told: ‘You must suffer more.’ I have bathed in fire. I have fault with Satan. But still, I must suffer. Something is missing!

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1632 (view)

African American Posted: 7/4/2009 8:39:48 AM
Untangle my thoughts. I need Africa. I must ward off America. America has changed me. My people have been scattered— My people have been stolen— Our minds have been bleached— We must parry the menticide. I am the sun of Africa. My roots run deep beneath The ocean. My soul is the Land Of Cush. My mind is Egypt. Untangle my thoughts. I need Africa. I must ward off America. America has changed me. I cannot abandon America. America is my pigmentation. Africa is my Mother Earth. I must blend America, with Africa. I am a synthesis of the two. I am a mulatto: I am America; I am Africa: I am the best of Both worlds. I must be whole. I cannot untangle my thoughts. I cannot ward off America. I need Africa. I also need America. I am a synthesis. Africa breathes through me. I am the breath of Africa. America breathes through me. I am the breath of America. I must repair my thoughts. I must love myself. I must love to feel free. I am Africa. I am America. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1631 (view)

Black Girl Posted: 7/4/2009 8:38:53 AM
Ashanti’ s hair is coarse, Her beauty is Egyptian. Her dance is Africa. She is God’s angelic inscription. I have never spoken with Ashanti. She has the soul of a Black Panther. I have the skin of a mulatto. I desire Ashanti without answers. Ashanti is a black goddess. She is Africa’s hope— A black man’s pride: The reason we fight to cope. Ashanti empowers the black man. Ashanti is the soul of Africa. To be in Ashanti’s presence, is to Be in the presence of Africa. I love Ashanti as I love Africa. She is the history of the black man. Ashanti is the soul of pre-slavery. Ashanti is the sun upon the sand. I want desperately to hold Ashanti. I want desperately to hold Africa. I am a mulatto. Ashanti does Not want me. Ashanti desires Africa. I have given myself over to America— Desiring Africa. America is where I stand. America has erased me. Ashanti, my Africa, is my last prayer. I need Ashanti. I need the love of Africa. I need to feel my root. I am So lost in America. I am so lost Without Africa. I need the help of I Am. Ashanti is my Africa. She is the Heartbeat of my Africa. I need Ashanti As I need Africa. Ashanti is a black Goddess. Ashanti is the soul of Africa. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1892 (view)

A few Chapters From My Novel That I am Working On Posted: 7/1/2009 11:00:39 AM
[Existential Angst] Chapter I While exploitation flashes before my eyes on the television screen, my back aches, my eyes are glossy, and all I can do is think of my daughter. She is a young adult—unaware of the many existential complications that await her arrival in the near future. Rylee is an adorable, magnificent, unsuspecting angel: How do I prepare her for the inevitable? It is virtually impossible. Nonetheless, I am infected with philosophy, thus, I cannot let go. I must figure out a way to prepare my only gift for the unpredictable. How does a man say to his child that existence is no more than an illusion, no more than an unavoidable tragedy, no more than the shadow of death constantly nibbling upon our heels! If only it were to help, I would shed a tear; but tears are for those who do not understand the ways of existence. I have come to understand that I am destined to die in vain—unless I touch the hearts and minds of the entire world, unless I prepare my precious angel for the inevitable. Who has accomplished such a task? We live dying; and from the cradle, our only promise is the grave. We perish in pieces. No one is aware of our agony; despite the fact that we are brave enough to muster up a smile from time to time. How many times have we smiled, weeping inside? How many times have we realized that we are an invisible existence? This afternoon I met an angelic, physically aesthetic, woman with the intellect of David Hume. To hear her articulate sentences, to hear her draw deductions, is comparable to embracing the divine. Nevertheless, there was sadness about her countenance. I trespassed. I asked of the root of this very sadness. She stared in amazement; for rarely does a man ask of a woman to speak of the scars that plague her soul. She looked upon me in a daze—asking, ‘Are you willing to listen?’ I responded with compassion: ‘please, share with me.’ Linda fell apart. She couldn’t help but die in degrees. In her hands was a book. The author was Kierkegaard. Linda was puzzled. She asked me of what I felt it means to take a “leap of faith.” Numbness became me. Swollen with the intensity of angst, I uttered, ‘I am without words to explain.’ Linda just stared into my eyes. This assuredly was a rare encounter. I asked: ‘What is it that you draw from Kierkegaard’s words?’ She said, ‘I am unsure. But the thought consumes me.’ Linda paced the floor of the café as I sat at a square table, digging within myself for words that I could give utterance to that would alleviate Linda’s anguish. But it is far too difficult to address that that one does not understand. In tuned with my very thought, Linda finally expressed to me what had been ailing her. Linda, a thirty five year old woman, had met a young Adonis. Stephen had bewitched her with his words of romance. He promised things that were absolutely unbelievable; but Linda needed a man to believe in. Stephen was a philosopher, and thus academically manipulative. He understood Linda. He promised that he would protect her—keep her happy—and never leave her side. Linda needed to believe. Linda, athirst for Stephen, decided to surprise him. She arrived at his office about a quarter to seven in the evening. When she approached the college campus, Linda felt uneasy. She moved forward in the direction of Stephen’s office. Linda’s stomach became nauseous. Linda had no idea of what was to confront her. She pressed the elevator button, headed for the ninth floor, the ivory tower. The elevator doors opened without delay. Linda entered, trying to bypass the nausea—trying to feel the embrace of Stephen. She exited the elevator, headed towards Stephen’s office. The hallway was cold. Linda walked its length. She could hear the whispers of agonizing passion—she could hear in the distance, Stephen’s voice. He was alive. He was ecstatic. He was begging for more. Linda could not understand what she was hearing. When Linda approached the entrance of Stephen’s office, she screamed. Stephen was deep within the womb of Theresa—his coworker—his secret. Linda died in degrees. At that very moment, hope had committed suicide—faith was dangling from a tree—Linda’s love for Stephen had given up the ghost. Stephen was oblivious to what to say. Theresa smiled within. She had long desired to have Stephen for herself—all to herself. Linda dragged her dying soul back to the elevator. Stephen, while putting on his pants, gave chase. Linda wailed hysterically. The elevator was moving slowly. It finally opened. Linda entered without haste. Stephen attempted to follow. Linda begged him to go away. Linda screamed and cried—begging Stephen to return to his love. Stephen, stressed and guilty, cut by such words, exited the elevator, allowing the doors to close. Linda arose from the tile, pressing the button for the first floor. When the doors opened, Linda looked into the above lights of the elevator, praying that it was all just a dream—realizing that her world had just shattered in pieces—realizing that Stephen had just crucified her heart, crumbling within the palms of his hands her love for mankind. I sat at that square table, unaware of how to respond. The pain, the sorrow, the thorns of existence, had revealed themselves in Linda’s eyes. Her skin was flushed. Her tears beckoned mercy. She was nigh the brink of an insane episode. I just held Linda, lying, given utterance to a falsehood that all would be well in due time. Spectators just gawked. What else was I too utter? I had long taken it to be true that “reason is a fabrication of the intellect.” It is created from within. It is not to be found out there in the real world. But what is the real world? Moreover, is not existence an unpredictable tragedy? How was I to say to Linda that her pain was only in her mind, the mind she uses to reason with; for existence in itself is pain! Existence is a paradox: aloof, enigmatic, and contradictory. We know nothing with certainty; but we know enough to realize that we are deathly face to face with an unpredictable predicament. Thus, I just held Linda. I was unwilling to expose the appearance that her hurt had been intensified from within. I was unwilling to lie to myself. Linda’s reasoning had done more than attach her to her suffering. Reasoning had awakened her. Linda’s reasoning had brought her face to face with the inevitable. I was unwilling to suggest that Stephen’s actions were no more condemnable than the capacity we each possess to project our thoughts upon the world—anticipating that our psychic projections have a one to one correlation with reality. We are aware of our reality; and our reality is bleak. Who was I to rob Linda of the sensational sensations of agony and betrayal? Who was I to utter to Linda that she was acting irrationally; for is not irrationality the act of continuing to exist after we have determined that existence is an absurd tragedy debilitating us in degrees—in gradations ushering us towards the grave? I was therefore happy for Linda; for she was still able to feel existence—she was able to feel through the art of love and betrayal—betrayal of a social contract made between two naïve and witty, unsuspecting individuals that needed something to believe in—if only for a moment that was shattered by the unpredictable. Chapter II I awoke with a hangover. The night had been long with red wine, rich foods, and sexual ecstasy. I had deceived myself with liquor. I had become enchanted by the ambience of intrigue. Amber is a poetic dream. She gave utterance to sentences that were structured with such ease. We danced. We laughed. At moments our eyes watered. There is nothing more compelling, more so electrifying, than an educated woman. Inebriated and deliberate, we painstakingly made love—permitting our worries and concerns to perish in agonizing sensational bliss. We gnawed upon each other. We ravished one another. We screamed and moaned. We collapsed. Our flesh revealed bruises as the sun dawned upon the windowpane. Amber was making breakfast. The aroma had awakened me. While my head pounded, I pulled myself up from the bed. The entire room was full of light—full of the aftermath of love. It was calming. It set my spirit aflame. I had to feel Amber. I rushed to the restroom—washed my face—and rinsed my mouth out with scope. I thereafter headed for the kitchen. There Amber stood, in a see through negligee. I held her tightly and complimented her on her beauty, and thus immediately spoke of the incantative aroma in the kitchen. Amber smiled. She had just finished making omelets. She placed an omelet on each plate, picked the plates up and gracefully approached the dining room table—placing a plate before me and one before her self. While I drifted into Amber’s palatial eyes, I became uneasy inside. I had given myself over to the moment. I felt that I was betraying myself. It was as if a daymare had befallen me. I begin to think of Linda, the way she had been destroyed in degrees. I do not wish to voluntarily offer myself over to being destroyed in degrees. I have known Amber for lest than a week. Am I dandling? Is Amber no more than a fugacious passion? Assuredly, I am thinking as a child. There is no such thing as a time bracket when it comes to love. Were Amber and I to religiously wait a month, two months, perhaps a year, perhaps until we were married, before we allowed ourselves to become susceptible to the Dionysian magnetism which surged throughout our veins? I am ashamed of such thoughts. But yet and still, I panic. I am afraid of love, terrified of feeling vulnerable. It is far too soon to have such intense feelings taking place in my members. Amber broke my trance. ‘Are you alright, my love?’ I gave utterance to a lie, ‘I am doing well, my love. I have never felt more complete.’ Amber, a trained psychologist, discerned that I was holding back. Amber could intuit, merely by the intonation of my voice, that something was askew. She inquired—asking of me to be honest. I confessed. ‘Amber, I am somewhat anxious of the way that you have made me to feel. Being with you is unto a feeling that I am unfamiliar with. I want desperately to give myself over to romance. But I cannot help but feel apprehensive. Your dulcet voice, your elysian disposition, your quick wit, and your seductive features, they cause me to believe that a man would be daft witted to believe that he could possess you—that he could be equipped to hold your attention far into the future. Amber, you have affected me sorely.’ Amber, after a long pause, said ‘that life is more than a mystery. It is absolutely what you construct it to be. You must learn to just be.’ She asked: ‘Are you bold enough to grab fortune by its neck? Are you willing to set aside your angst and embrace the spirit of chance?’ I sat there in a daze. At that very moment, such salacious electricity existed between us ever intensifying. I reached for Amber’s hand. As a statuesque goddess, Amber looked upon me as only a minx could, hypnotizing me with her stare. Again I confessed. ‘Amber, I am here to construct fate. I am here to grab fortune by its neck. But I cannot deceive myself. I am a roué poet. You are a prismatic minx. What type of future awaits us? What type of future awaits two individuals that are both sybarites?’ Our minds were afoul. We wanted so much to ignore the obvious. I had divulged a weakness. Amber did not wish to exploit my weakness. ‘Do you wish to leave me? Why are you making things so webbed?’ I was taut with indecision. Every thought within me was unto a twinge of lightening. I forced myself to speak. ‘Amber, despite what shall become of us, I embrace you wholeheartedly, foreseeing that this love will destroy us; for we are dancing upon sulfurous ground. It is so difficult to tame the thirst of a poet; and much more difficult to neutralize the vibrations of a siren; but whet, pensive, with a thirst for paining joy, we shall embark upon this journey of turbulence and uncertainty. Amber arose from the table. Tears were in her eyes. She reached for me, holding me tightly—asking: ‘Why have you forced me to love you?’ When I entered my apartment, vertigo was upon me. Amber had insulated herself within my spirit. I kept asking myself had she chosen the right victim. Was I ever ripe for such a woman to slip into my mind? She had challenged me. She challenged me to give into the flow of existence. But I was more concerned with keeping composure. I was overwhelmed with the ideal of maintaining emotional balance. But what is love without unpredictability? What is poetry without the touch of misery? I so need to possess Amber. But urgently, I need to possess myself. I am faced with a nightmare. Amber will not permit herself to be possessed. She is unto a Gemini. One may ever entertain. One may ever love. However, a Gemini is unable to fully give. I am faced with a dilemma. Amber is a conundrum. Should I deceive myself? Am I prepared to play chess with such a goddess? I yearn for the temptation. But am I willing to voluntarily drink from the furnace of affliction? Am I willing to voluntarily die in degrees? Chapter III I am newly born. Today I will live life without restraint. While this very thought captured my spirit, the phone rang. It was Linda. She asked if I would meet her for brunch. I was not necessarily in the mood for meeting Linda. Linda has a gift for dragging one into that philosophical realm of constant inquiry; where answers are camouflaged in portraits of uncertainty; where uncertainty becomes a hindrance to thought; where the mind proves itself as the adversary. I did not wish to explore the philosophical labyrinth today. There are too many psychic landmines to avoid therein. Nonetheless, I have come to appreciate Linda. She is a blessing to any man who still yearns for naïveté. Thus, I told Linda that I was more than willing to meet with her for brunch. But I asked of her to keep things simple. I met Linda at the café. She sat at the exact same square table where she had first revealed to me her soul. Linda appeared serene, incandescent, and brilliant in her disposition. I approached as one does a sacred shrine. Linda asked of me not to be so formal. Linda is astute. She discerns with ease. I asked, ‘has the sun returned to shelter your soul?’ Linda smiled with grace. Her smile caused me to lose balance. I asked her to dim the light of her angelic presence. She gazed upon me with eyes of enquiry. I had seen that look many times. I know the depth of its curiosity. I fluttered inside. My skin became flushed. Linda continued to stare. Her glance was solemn. Something within me gave utterance to words that betrayed me: ‘Linda, have we unsuspectingly grown fawn of one another?’ Linda gave birth to a poetic stream: I had never known love, Until you came to me: I was unto a fruitless tree. I had never known love, Until my embrace of a dove; I was barren; I could not see. I had never known love, Until you came to me. I was speechless; but I forced myself to speak. ‘Linda, you cause me to believe.’ She responded, ‘you must learn to believe.’ A waiter approached us. He asked if we were ready to place our order. To place an order was far from my thoughts. My mask was shedding. My true self was peeking. My spirit was revealing itself without the familiar desire of retreating. Linda responded to the waiter, ‘we will not be placing an order, destiny awaits us.’ I was somewhat befuddled; but clarity came rushing in. Linda arose from the table and gestured for an exit while gripping her delicate fingers into my right arm. At that very moment, I desired Linda as Fredrick Douglass had desired freedom. Linda continued to grasped destiny by the neck. She said, ‘unless you object to the will of fate, we should position ourselves in the direction of my home and permit destiny to unfold.’ I gave my consent in silence. Linda lived five blocks from the café. As we walked to her home, a seismic pulsation rushed throughout my veins. As a child would, I asked: ‘What awaits us at your home, Linda?’ Linda is seductively wise. She responded with: ‘What would you suspect it is that awaits us?’ Although I was hooked to a vision, entangled in a web of anticipation, I told Linda that ‘I am unsure. I am certain that a physical embrace awaits us; but I feel moonish inside. This moment is so much more to me than an occurrence of chance. Linda, I am bewitched by fate. I have no idea of how we have fallen into this space. Please, help me to understand.’ Linda confessed that she was wistful for our first embrace. She expressed that she looked upon me as something special, unique and divine. ‘Are you not merely suffering on the rebound?’ I asked. Linda’s eyes watered. We stopped in mid-step of our trek. Her home was three houses away. Linda gave life to words that exploded upon impact: ‘I at this very moment love you. You are more concerned with my emotional state of being than you are with the inevitability of us making love. You want for me to be certain that this is the appropriate path. But I have yearned for you unto dizziness. Stephen is unto an ancient building that has long ago been destroyed. Your face constantly assails my inner eye. Your words are ever resonating within my inner ear. You have become a part of me. I lust for you as a priest does for God. Do not deprive us of ecstasy’s manifestation.’ We entered Linda’s home, seemingly suspended in time. Linda’s poetry was still ringing within my spirit. I felt sacred. I felt that our union was hallowed by the gods. Linda began to undress me. I aided Linda in doing the same. She stood there in utter magnificence. Linda is a picturesque goddess. I reached for Linda, sinking my teeth deep within her neck. I tasted blood. Linda moaned in agony. I gripped each of Linda’s lower thighs beneath my forearms. I was eager to thrust pressure deep within Linda’s matrix. Linda grasped my phallic throb, placing my nature at the entrance of her earthly heaven. I gently maneuvered inwardly until I penetrated deep within. Linda yelped. I had never felt like more of a man than I felt at that very moment. Linda dug her teeth deep into my right shoulder. I felt the flesh break. This drove me to thrust deeper. My nature ached. My flesh seemed as moist as the ocean. Linda moaned, begging me to take advantage. I was unrestrained. I fell upon Linda unto we fell upon the coach. I pushed both of her knees behind each of her ears. Linda’s yelps became overwhelming. Cosmic vibrations electrified us. I continued to go deeper. Linda’s matrix convulsed violently. She convulsed in seismic waves. I dug deeper as Linda’s womb grew wetter and tighter. I soon exploded. We held each other as tears feel from our eyes, as blood trickled from our flesh, as our bodies convulsed uncontrollably. I awoke to the mystery of Linda’s voice. She immediately asked of me to leave. I was addled. Thus I cried: ‘Did we not make love? Did we not push beyond the boundaries of repression? Did we not taste each others blood?’ But Linda was firm. She wished of me to leave. I gathered my clothes and dressed with poise. Linda just stared upon me. I was finally dressed. However, I was not about to leave without hearing the ocean in Linda’s eyes; for I dare not attempt to contain the fire of the sea. Thus I cried: ‘Linda, what are you doing to us? Why are you suddenly afraid of the exact stream of emotions that have compelled me to love you? You drive me into the lakes of depression.’ Linda fell apart. She begged of me to leave. But I couldn’t. ‘What is wrong, my love?’ A maelstrom consumed Linda. She was unapproachable. I dared to approach the fire. Linda reached out for me, giving utterance to words that paralyzed me: In the blackness of leprosy, With a tinge of blood dripping, You appeared to me: The infection of my wound! I induced you to love, Knowing that I was afraid. You are unto a ghost to me: The awaiting of my giving Up of the same! We have embraced in lust— Athirst for the extraordinary. But we will acquire broken glass; Banshee infested attics of the mind; Psyches filled with regret; And an empty container, Full of our infectious souls. I was again speechless. Linda is a chameleon. She is a multivalent rainbow opposing itself. She had left me in a state of kef. I was at a lost of words. But something within me was compelled to speak. ‘Linda, are you afflicted? You mustn’t destroy the magic. Something so sacred and peaceful has befallen us. Why would you deliberately destroy something so precious?’ Linda was hysterical. She pleaded with me to leave. I approached the front door, looking back upon the countenance of indecision and grief. Looking back as the door slammed shut upon our future. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1630 (view)

Universal Falsehood Posted: 6/30/2009 8:58:41 AM
Greetings everyone. I should probably leave more feedback. But I haven’t. If you google your own screen name—this should bring you a level of satisfaction. People from all over are reading our work. Nevertheless, I do read the posts. And I feed off of the energy within these pages—and neighboring threads. Well, enough rambling. Peace and Love, Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1891 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 6/30/2009 8:57:28 AM
Greetings everyone. I should probably leave more feedback. But I haven’t. If you google your own screen name—this should bring you a level of satisfaction. People from all over are reading our work. Nevertheless, I do read the posts. And I feed off of the energy within these pages—and neighboring threads. Well, enough rambling. Peace and Love, Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1890 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 6/30/2009 8:54:35 AM
[Lisa] Lisa is a sylph, Man’s midsummer angst. Lisa drives man to sin. We are peccant—paint Our anxiety to the wind. Lisa is a quiescent goddess. She colors man in uncertainty. She drives man unto madness; Leaving his soul whet wit desire. Lisa is winsome, the radix of Intense beauty. She is regalia— Rejuvenescence of man’s Essence. Lisa is a diamond. Lisa is resplendent. For her love man is penchant, Pensive, wistful and repentant; But Lisa belongs to no man. One finds Lisa is a reliquary. One finds Lisa by chance. Lisa is seemingly imaginary. Lisa is more than romance. I love you, Lisa. You are the Efflorescence of existence— An effulgence of spirit—I Love of you despite evanescence. Lisa is an emblem of perfection. Who can resist her essence? She is a prophetic masterpiece. Lisa is the taming of the beast. Lisa I have begged of you Not to take my love for vain. I have begged of you to feel The flame; But Lisa is bane; Lisa is a poison surging through Mans’ veins. Lisa is a hurricane Waging war within man’s brain. Lisa is man’s number one desire. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 2444 (view)

Summer's Beginning Posted: 6/30/2009 8:52:39 AM
[Lisa] Lisa is a sylph, Man’s midsummer angst. Lisa drives man to sin. We are peccant—paint Our anxiety to the wind. Lisa is a quiescent goddess. She colors man in uncertainty. She drives man unto madness; Leaving his soul whet wit desire. Lisa is winsome, the radix of Intense beauty. She is regalia— Rejuvenescence of man’s Essence. Lisa is a diamond. Lisa is resplendent. For her love man is penchant, Pensive, wistful and repentant; But Lisa belongs to no man. One finds Lisa is a reliquary. One finds Lisa by chance. Lisa is seemingly imaginary. Lisa is more than romance. I love you, Lisa. You are the Efflorescence of existence— An effulgence of spirit—I Love of you despite evanescence. Lisa is an emblem of perfection. Who can resist her essence? She is a prophetic masterpiece. Lisa is the taming of the beast. Lisa I have begged of you Not to take my love for vain. I have begged of you to feel The flame; But Lisa is bane; Lisa is a poison surging through Mans’ veins. Lisa is a hurricane Waging war within man’s brain. Lisa is man’s number one desire. Naive Hi Autumn, I thought that I would post this one here also. I wanted to show that I am not entirely murky as of lately.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 429 (view)

I Know A Girl-John Hinckley, Jr. Posted: 6/30/2009 7:51:30 AM
^^^^^ that is a good one. i hope that all is well BM. i still look in here from time to time.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1886 (view)

Breath Posted: 6/26/2009 3:59:08 PM
It is God’s will that I breathe. I was a fatidic plan; thus, I Breathe; But I never gave Permission to do such. I Was never given a choice. How is it that I breathe! I burn Frankincense praying for an Answer. Days continue to turn. I am a halcyon hillside disturbed. I am a callow child clinging to a verb. I am fraught with consternation. I so need God. I so need meditation. It is God’s will that I breathe. Abed, afire with angst, I felt a flood of Deception. I have been sold a dream. Life is absurd—a deceptive stream. Have I revealed that I was ordained To breathe? How was I ordained to Breathe? Could it not be a haphazard blunder ? Could it not be by chance? I was preordained to breathe. My only vang is breath—it sustains My very breath. Breath sustains me. From breath, I cannot break free. I am again a slave—a slave to breathing. Who ever said it was my desire to breathe? I am the byproduct of a lustful embrace. I am an accident. Was I not a mistake? I am a halcyon hillside disturbed. I am a callow child clinging to a verb. I am fraught with consternation. I so need God. I so need meditation. I never asked to breathe. I never asked to feel so trapped. Existence is a prison. But I must exist for I breathe. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1628 (view)

Universal Falsehood Posted: 6/26/2009 3:55:53 PM
I drifted into a television screen. I walked through the graphics Bewailing the walls of portrait Jail cells—deception and lies. The human earth is shallow Easily appeased and hollow. The thought of depth, is a foreign Thought, intelligence is considered poison. I walked out of the television screen Many years ago. I begin to groove Within literary screens. I begin to shatter Portrait jail cells. I refused to live out the lie. I became an alien—something Irreparably complete. I became a Living ghost—an invisible man. I became Somewhat sphinxly—keen wit vision. There is a falsehood that is infused Into every child. It has to do with fairytales. It has to do with a universal programming. It keeps us tamed, obedient—docile hell-beings. It makes us pliable—flexible and Insecure. We learn to appreciate the Deception. We learn that we must fit in At the sacrifice of living as automatons. We smile when beckoned. We Bend over when beckoned. We die In degrees. We ignore our conscience. We sell our souls. We profit the world. Even after the falsehood is decoded, we Live out the deception—we infuse it Into our children—so they too can be Insecure—so they too can sale their souls. I have met only a handful of authentic Souls. They have been ostracized. They Are frowned upon—prayed upon—and Envied—for they refused to live out the lie. I yearn for authenticity. I have made it my Duty to spurn the herd. If it is loved by All, it is infectious. I have taken my soul Back. I have buried the falsehood. Will you?

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1627 (view)

Cathartic II Posted: 6/25/2009 2:06:50 PM
I have never known him. He is unto a phantom to me. Mother never spoke of him. He volunteered to remain an absentee. It is impossible to identify With a father that is not present. It is also difficult to miss more Than a conception. I am without a tangible dream. I would love to pretend. I Would love to feign as if all Was well. I would love to lie. But life is more than fairytales— More than portrait jail-cells. Life is an unpredictable reality. Existence is unto a tragic fatality. Father could have called— Just once—shattered my brick wall. I remember songs of gloom. I grew up far too soon. Mother rarely spoke of father. I inquired unto my mind ached. I was far too young to know pain. I was far too young to hate. I am a poet. I have mother and Father to blame for this. My inheritance was this holy kiss. If only all trauma turned to bliss. I do not love you father. I cannot love a phantom. But I thank you father. I thank you for the pain. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1626 (view)

Cathartic Posted: 6/25/2009 2:04:28 PM
I tried to love her. I so was anxious to love her. A child can endure such abuse. I have finally broken the noose. She was unto a monster; But a child’s eyes are naïve— Even the bitterness of abuse seems Sweet in the eyes of a youngster. O’ how a child yearns for affection— Only to be mistreated unto dejection. A child can easily become infected— Ruined and wretched by adolescence. I tried to love her. I was so anxious to love her. A child can endure such abuse. I have finally broken the noose. My eyes water as I introspect. Within me are splinters I must disinfect. I have prayed to breathe— I have prayed to break free of her disease. I have finally broken the noose; But it is difficult to completely break loose. Agonizing remnants pierce the heart— As I ponder of abuse, my poetic art. If not for abuse, would I be art? If not for abuse, would I possess this spark? Should I despise mother? Am I not a poet? O’ how a child yearns for affection— Only to be mistreated unto dejection. A child can easily be infected— Ruined and wretched by adolescence. I cry for mother. My eyes ache for mother. I want so much to love for mother. I am Confused, a reborn child abused. But I Love Mother, she is my poetic dam. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1625 (view)

Existence & Time Posted: 6/24/2009 9:22:48 PM
[My Paramour] I desire thee the more My paramour. But we art distant seas Attached, yearning for so Much more. Our passion Is suffocating. Within my Mind’s garth, I ponder thy Visage. Art we not desperate To love again? Was he not Thy pyrrhic mistake? We Have sacrificed so much; Believing that we were Embracing faith. My Palatial love—I touch Thee in a dream; I Scream of thee in a dream; But thou remaineth at a Distance—loving me the More. I desire thee the More, my paramour. Is There a panacea for us? Or will we continue to Suffer in silence? Our Members have become Violent—waging war Within our senses. I am Nigh insanity; desperate To break free of banality. Such flame that burns within Is unto an inescapable Dungeon: free us, my love: My paramour, I love thee More. I etch thy image in The sand, unaware of my Hand’s doing. Our Subconscious frequencies Have become one; but we Are held captive— Imprisoned by our fidelity. We remain in agony— Our eyes are sad. To pursue love is unto sin. Loyalty is driving us mad. We must breathe again; For ripplets of sorrow are Devouring us—our minds Have become melancholy— Our souls unto an empty Valley. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1885 (view)

Life Posted: 6/24/2009 8:54:32 PM
Life is evanescent, An agony which thwarts the essence. Life is evanescent, It leaves us forever whet; It condescends as one does a pet. Life is unmerciful, demanding respect. How have we learned to exist so passively? Life is evanescent, A deep breath, a brief expression. Life is evanescent: A cosmic defect; More profound than “cause and effect.” Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1624 (view)

Existence & Time Posted: 6/24/2009 8:53:20 PM
Existence is unto a thorn in one’s spine, An aloof villain, akin to time. Existence is unto a thorn in one’s spine, Gnawing its madness into the brain. Existence surges throughout minds Of cosmic entities awar wit time: We daily war, awaiting our time in flame. Existence is unto a thorn in one’s spine, A militant apparition, our cosmic chime. Existence is unto a thorn in one’s spine, A sphinxly riddle unwilling to be tamed: Existence is an unrelenting game. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1884 (view)

A Faith I cannot Impart Posted: 6/18/2009 5:00:58 PM
At this very moment I am out of tears; But in my petit dreams I wail; for my mind is Afflicted with splintery Angst. There is a ghost upon Me. Her reflection has Scarred my inner mirror. Sing a hymn for me Mother Mary! I beg Of thee. I thirst for the arcane As furtive memories Plague me unto I am atwitter. I pray that an Aureous halo awaits me; For pain is the suffering Of God. A byzantine spirit taps Upon my windowpane. Though crestfallen, I stare In amazement. I have been Kissed in spirit—void Of an utterance to convey Such Truth. At this very moment I am out of tears; But in my petit dreams I wail; for my mind is Afflicted with splintery Angst. Is there an unwritten Decalogue which burns Within the soul!—for the More I attempt to live, The harder I find it is to Breathe. Sing a hymn for Me, Mother Mary! I beg Of thee. My days are discolored. I walk through the Cemeteries counting graves —doleful and envious of The dead—suffocated By what I fail to discern. If only God would appear I could subjugate fear Allay all doubts, and Finally see clear. I am chi, but I am thwarted. I require more than a Tarot reading— More than the Zohar can give. Yom Kippur has Depleted me. I am out of repentance. I must see Thee: Tattwas is not enough. I need to touch thy face Yahweh. At this very moment I am out of tears; But in my petit dreams I wail; for my mind is Afflicted with splintery Angst. As I enter the Sweat lodge—I am Mindful, mindful that I Need more than a vision. In Aramaic tongues I Explode. As my pieces Are put back together, I feel an invisible hand— I have touched an invisible Tallit. I am no longer Sackcloth—I am a faith That I cannot impart.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1622 (view)

Diana Posted: 6/18/2009 4:58:00 PM
I confess—sin is most alluring. I cry throughout the night for sin; For order slowly rots the soul. There is a woman I must “know.” She is most eloquent in speech. Her disposition is enthralling. She is the mystery of the creek. I walk my mind’s isle Pondering this celestial woman Made flesh. She is the light of my Day: thunder within my heart. She is a minx. I feel privileged; for She has chosen me to flirt with. My spirit is moonstruck. I hate to Sound passé—but I await our first kiss. Diana is a goddess—prismatic in Appearance. Her simplistic Features only highlight the majesty Of her presence. She is magic; An incantation: Diana is a spell. She is pristine—as pure as an Unborn child. She is a young swan. Within her soul, I draw upon the sand. Diana has become more than Flirtatious. She has beckoned me to The fields. As a child, I follow Without hesitation. She caresses me. My picturesque Diana, I have Desired thee unto soreness. I Have thought of thee unto agony. Forgive me. I cannot help but cry. Dianna shed tears for us. We became one—idyllic, ever Alert, passionate and painfully Animalistic. We gave unto death.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1621 (view)

Sonnet IV Posted: 5/22/2009 6:56:25 AM
It was always our place to die, For to love is to perish freely; To love is to volunteer to die, For to love is to perish freely. Within one another’s veins we Live, we live yearning to die; We beg forgiveness loving freely, Freely we have lived to freely die. Never had we thirsted so desperately, Desperately we thirsted to die freely; Freely we perished unrelentingly, As we loved only to die freely. We will never again love so freely. We will never again die so freely. Naive

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1883 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 5/18/2009 1:20:40 PM
Refuge from Athena Athena looked into my eyes, The frigidity of her heart Softened. Athena panic’d Within innocence of my Eyes. I couldn’t help but Crumble at her feet. Athena Burst into tears. We held Each other until the sun rose. How do I again hate? For Love is the pain of Yahweh. I now ponder within thoughts of Non-objectivity—Athena has Slipped through my fingers. God! Hast thou ever loved me? I search for Athena: desperate Eyed, Byzantine bewitched, Afflicted from cloudberries, Crawling through grottos Of absurdity. I yin a hovel Of refuge to rescue me of My love of Athena. Is there Such a refuge? Athena! Hold me. Naive

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1882 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 5/18/2009 1:20:31 PM
Refuge from Athena Athena looked into my eyes, The frigidity of her heart Softened. Athena panic’d Within innocence of my Eyes. I couldn’t help but Crumble at her feet. Athena Burst into tears. We held Each other until the sun rose. How do I again hate? For Love is the pain of Yahweh. I now ponder within thoughts of Non-objectivity—Athena has Slipped through my fingers. God! Hast thou ever loved me? I search for Athena: desperate Eyed, Byzantine bewitched, Afflicted from cloudberries, Crawling through grottos Of absurdity. I yin a hovel Of refuge to rescue me of My love of Athena. Is there Such a refuge? Athena! Hold me. Naive

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1620 (view)

Prayful Confession Posted: 5/18/2009 1:17:35 PM
I manifest! taken aback by sin. But the sin I love; addicted ath Job to injustice. The stars Hath alighted me with passions; passions, of The fallen Grecian gods. I can feel the whispers of Aphrodite impressing pressure upon my mortal Mind. How do I resist the call of nature? How do I Resist the intense passions of God? How is it sin the Craving of God through woman? I find a moment of Sinister peace in the womb of Psyche. But the Snake goddess can redeem me of this flaming guilt. Bellona now appears to me, fortifying my senses for War. In war I shall fall but ascend in sculpture; Immortalized as Zeus; but left athirst for God, Atwitter, labeled as a Gnostic heretic. Minerva, if I be in Favor of thy soul, bestow upon me keys to this Esoteric maze. This fire that burns me into Bastilles Of ambivalence. Salus, why not fall upon me? a man Of purer visions than Beelzebub! My utter fervor is To feverishly resurrect in the womb of Mary. Hopefully Anathema will not be summonsed upon me for seeking out Christ’s root. Venus, I beg of thee, let my prayers to be! Take away from me this overwhelming passion to engulf Fleshly sin! Naive

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1880 (view)

Infusion of Music Posted: 5/16/2009 4:21:12 PM
Music infuses the waves Sudden agony befalls a soul I cry for thee wisdom For no one is listening My paramour, fire Awaits us I carry our onus Have we not tasted sin! I feel a tinge of sunlight As God dances through Energy My heart is galvanized I do not have religion I have spirit I have a ghost I do not have man Find a smile for me Hold my child in pain Sprinkle my ashes in love I shall appear again Music infuses the waves Sudden agony befalls a soul I cry for thee wisdom For no one is listening Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1619 (view)

What are Psychoses? Posted: 5/16/2009 10:42:03 AM
What are psychoses? Into a smile I ponder. Sophia is a diamond— Sawing into my wonder. A tear seeps into my soul. I was paralyzed; falling into Her eyes. She is no longer my Sylph: she is my voodoo. Summer is upon us. I Will sit again drowning Into Yahweh—begging to Hear the palatial mountain. What are psychoses? Into a smile I ponder. Sophia is a diamond— Sawing into my wonder. Sophia is my panacea. She has not abandoned me, Though she is distant—at Times aloof—a burning sea! Into a thought I drift. I return as clouds drift Through the skies. I see a Sun in Sophia: my gift. I pray for Jesus. I so Need to see Armageddon. Sin has become hard to Believe in: Man’s forbidden! I’m whet for something More. I awake early for Prayer. Something is upon Me. But it must give more. What are psychoses? Into a smile I ponder. Sophia is a diamond— Sawing into my wonder. Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1617 (view)

Strife and Struggle Posted: 4/28/2009 10:44:49 AM
Would you hang me— slap a noose about my neck—watch my body dangle from a tree— laughing hysterically— for the mulatto has been hung? Alas, Pigmentation is the depth of a wailing mountain unheard: desolate, begging forgiveness for the wretchedness— asearch for solace. Laugh hysterically my brotha. Cut the mulatto with razors my sista; for the mulatto has so much to be proud of: was not his mother sacred enough to be raped! Selah! Now laugh hysterically! Would you hang me— slap a noose about my neck—watch my body dangle from a tree— laughing hysterically— for the mulatto has been hung? Shall I endure the hysterical laughter? Shall I read myself free. Shall I wail unto the mountain: ‘freedom is but an illusion—all we own is the struggle of the strife we have come to love.’ Would you not hang me— slap a noose about my neck—watch my body dangle from a tree— laughing hysterically— for the mulatto has been hung? “I have seen the mountain top.” I have tasted sacred blood. I have meditated in caves. I have felt the third eye come alive—wafting me to the seventh dimension. I have made love to heaven. I have walked the cemetery watching ghost dance in the rain. I have died. I have resurrected. But never—in this sphere— was I accepted without prejudice. Laugh hysterically my brotha. Laugh hysterically my sista. Would you not hang me— slap a noose about my neck—watch my body dangle from a tree— laughing hysterically— for the mulatto has been hung? Naive

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 65 (view)

~ Calling for Peace ~ Posted: 4/10/2009 6:35:11 PM
give me happiness! just give it to me. free of charge. ----------------- on another note: [Request for Forgiveness] Avidya was upon me. So Artemis addressed me as, Faux. I had fallen in love with Creativity: I neglected Artemis. Had Athena forsook me? I Stood in blankness; unaware of The undercurrent of disgust. I Had affronted Artemis. I noticed her hands shiver. Artemis had the shakes. What Had occurred? Who had afflicted Artemis? She tries so hard. I was blind. I could not see. Artemis sensed Avidya upon me. Before she read aloud, she looked Upon me: I saw sincerity’s agony. Artemis, how do I redeem a fated Moment? It has become particles. How do I locate the lost fragments? Artemis, I failed; forgive my cruelty!

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1614 (view)

guess Posted: 4/10/2009 6:30:01 PM
we fukked. but we must now return home; to the one who is scared to fukk us. I love you too. see you next week.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1613 (view)

guess Posted: 4/10/2009 6:29:40 PM
[Want of Penelope] I think with my atlatl, My love; for I see thee Within my psychic attic, My love; for my heart Has become an abstraction— A Shakespearean metaphor— I am infatuated, my love: I feel so delicate, my love. My wanton for thee is more Flamboyant than Baroque— As sacred as scripture. Become Gothic, my love—displace of Us within the twelfth century, when Maidens knew romance—when Ever a maiden secretly yearned For Adonis; for the times Were masculine, thus, Femininity was suppressed; Wherefore, women were forced To disguise womanhood; but Evermore yearned the sensuous Embrace. Take of me, Penelope: Weave no more; for only so Long can weaving distract Pulsations of the womb: O’ How I yearn to thrust within Thy womb. This feeling is Familiar to me. I am Deathly drawn to surrealistic Women. Penelope! Thou Art surreal for me. Hence, I Want thee more—more than The want of Job for Death. I must have thee, Penelope. I must drum within thy womb. I must—lest I perish.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1609 (view)

War Posted: 4/3/2009 9:22:15 PM
As the sun waterfalls into the East, The heartlessness of night awakens the beast. As the sun waterfalls into the East, Thousands will die, once alive at war. Bloodshed and carnage will pave the streets. Mothers and fathers will mourn the deceased. Cemeteries will be filled with scores of apparitors, As the sun waterfalls into the East. One can only ask God, who do we now beseech?— As the sun waterfalls into the East. From the government’s neck dangles the abattoir. Rivers of blood are upon the hands of the verderor.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1608 (view)

Request for Forgiveness Posted: 4/3/2009 2:16:59 PM
Avidya was upon me. So Artemis addressed me as, Faux. I had fallen in love with Creativity: I neglected Artemis. Had Athena forsook me? I Stood in blankness; unaware of The undercurrent of disgust. I Had affronted Artemis. I noticed her hands shiver. Artemis had the shakes. What Had occurred? Who had afflicted Artemis? She tries so hard. I was blind. I could not see. Artemis sensed Avidya upon me. Before she read aloud, she looked Upon me: I saw sincerity’s agony. Artemis, how do I redeem a fated Moment? It has become particles. How do I locate the lost fragments? Artemis, I failed; forgive my cruelty!

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1876 (view)

Séance Posted: 4/2/2009 2:53:54 PM
I search’d for melancholy, and found peace. From the mind of dolor’s abeyance, I became balance. I drained the wineberries; mixed them with cloudberries; Fermented Sophia’s elixir; and consumed my fool’s paradise. Within the soul’s forest, I climb’d the old world sycamore tree. This power is exhilarating. This feeling is addictive. The secrets unlock’d. The whispers became flesh. I am complete spirit here. Who can but express this awakening? Who can but embrace the living?

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1607 (view)

Ambivalent Existence Posted: 4/2/2009 11:44:06 AM
I have lived as a shadow; Destined for political battle. I have lived as a shadow; Searching unto death for identity. I have lived in a cave. I am more than an ex-slave. I am spirit; I am a divine entity. I have lived as a shadow: Battered, bruised and addled. I have lived as a shadow. I am invincible ability. I am without serenity.

NaiveAndWitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1875 (view)

Terror Within Posted: 4/2/2009 11:24:25 AM
What is this place? I Stand atop an island, A volcano I must face? What is this place? Before me, stalks a mirror; An ancient mirror. I have Died unto this mirror. I have Felt my ghost, Herein, this mirror. Behind me Is a shadow. I hope to Soon capture it. I keep Running after it—beneath A flame—I have failed to Conquer it. I have scars! Somewhere in the forest, Somewhere deep within The forest of me—a me I Cannot grasp, A frightened child takes Courage. Wail into the Mountains, my child; Wail into the mountains. Can you understand? I was an infant in a Jungle of lies: baptized To wretchedness. Ere the Madness, how many times Have we resurrected? How Many pair of innocent eyes Have been sacrificed to pain? Lord! Alas, the spirit has erupted. Rage has become deceptively Sly. Within Absurdity, I have Evolved unto rage. Where are my answers, Lord? Hasn’t the reader read me unto Broken? Pieces of me float away Into a whirlwind; as other Pieces of me struggle, to Return again. There is a want Of me, to be whole again. What is this place? I Stand atop an island, A volcano I must face? What is this place? Somewhere in the forest, Somewhere deep within The forest of me—a me I Cannot grasp, A frightened child takes Courage. Wail into the Mountains, my child; Wail into the mountains. Let us drift away Into this mirror—without Memory of today—without Memory of nothing but This mirror;—without Reflection of this mirror. But we must Step away from this mirror. It has held us captive Too long. Take courage, My child: Step away from this mirror; We must embrace the terror.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1604 (view)

Hope of Her Love Posted: 3/27/2009 10:50:04 AM
Candescent, innocent, calm eyes, Radiant countenance of Zen, I am in awe, hearing the sun rise; Tasting energy’s chemistry within. The skies have spoken a mystic Language; removing splinters from Bruised thoughts that restricted My heart in anguish: cupid has come. I sit gazing towards the south; Then I look upon her, for she is Brilliance: alleviation of doubt. She awakens Spirit, taming, ID. Hope my fair maiden—hope That fate—will cure me of hope.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1603 (view)

Calypso Posted: 3/27/2009 10:43:42 AM
Out of the Book of Kells, A seductress has arisen— She has touched me in hell: Will I escape nihilism’s prison? Calypso has become my muse; I meditate her unto intoxication. Calypso has made me confused; I contemplate her unto resurrection. I am newly born: God’s son! Dear God, am I merely a fantast? Or is Calypso—destiny-come? I am confused: Adonis is captive! Calypso, is love but a myth? Calypso, art thee fatality’s kiss?

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1854 (view)

Brizo's poems Posted: 3/22/2009 7:53:20 PM
^^ i am aware enough to feel. great work!

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1872 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 3/22/2009 7:49:37 PM
Jesse is walking through my synaptic-gap, he wants his son back. my cerebral cortex has vanished, I am now poetry. into the amygdala, I delved; I have exhausted anger. within my frontal lopes— Sophia appears; she has awakened me to the disappointment of Buddha. never have I loved idols. I am the potential of action; charged as the apes gone mad—but I cannot explode. and what does he know of me? and why does she mistrust me? can she explain? too much to ask—I am certain! I have swallowed glass. my throat is bleeding—screaming: take thy doctrine back. I met Emily Dickinson in a vision. she begged of me to breathe. All mystics, do return—embody the carcass— enliven the stars—I want to see heaven dance.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1853 (view)

MANDRAKES house by the fire...for all to share Posted: 3/22/2009 7:32:35 PM
remember when I could not breathe? the blackdamp had suffocated me. All I knew was the sun, benighted. I cried alone. I prayed alone. I begged God to forgive me of what I could not remember. I waited at the pool of Bethesda, but He never arrived. please, tell of me to take up my bed and walk. tell of me to be free. is not my faith wider than despair? in Gethsemane, did we not sweat tears of blood. in spirit, we have always been one. I am the spirit of James. remember you appointed me— when they all believed it was Peter? I am not bankrupt; but my account of compassion is draining. I asked a priest for truth—he called me into his chambers—I became an ape— forced to remain calm—he now knows my name. loving you is my last cry for help. I will now put away the razor. I had to write my way through it. I thank you, God.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1601 (view)

free write with reason Posted: 3/22/2009 7:25:59 PM
remember when I could not breathe? the blackdamp had suffocated me. All I knew was the sun, benighted. I cried alone. I prayed alone. I begged God to forgive me of what I could not remember. I waited at the pool of Bethesda, but He never arrived. please, tell of me to take up my bed and walk. tell of me to be free. is not my faith wider than despair? in Gethsemane, did we not sweat tears of blood. in spirit, we have always been one. I am the spirit of James. remember you appointed me— when they all believed it was Peter? I am not bankrupt; but my account of compassion is draining. I asked a priest for truth—he called me into his chambers—I became an ape— forced to remain calm—he now knows my name. loving you is my last cry for help. I will now put away the razor. I had to write my way through it. I thank you, God.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1871 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 3/22/2009 7:07:58 PM
going deeper, the glossary of despair is not exhausted; but I am the dictionary of miracles: did mother awaken you, sweetheart? I will pray her asleep. purgatory is severing her being. she only wishes to become free. reboot me. your move. my hard drive is jammed; but I have removed the virus—the infection has been quarantined. I will not revisit satan. what is the genotype of love? what is the phenotype of deception? how do we tell when we are face to face with hope? I cry for you father. I have too much pride to let go. take me to war.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1852 (view)

Brizo's poems Posted: 3/22/2009 6:56:15 PM
without qualification, I love you—burning and fallen upon sanity. I have cried to the wilderness— my echo resounds in the mountain: but I am God’s chosen. have you felt the Autumn breeze—heard the raven cry— felt the words of truthisee— looked into blackmary’s soul— drowned in intensity—looked into brizo’s eyes—or known that the shadow was watching? I am but a man. why does the sky open for you? why did you marry the wrong man? why do I have a child that I cannot see? why are we insurmountable riddles? I howl at the moon. the wolves have loved me—fallen in love with the spirit of unpredictability. we are the same; gnawing upon loneliness—scared to ask of God: what was your plan? I asked Sophia for a dream. she ambled into the desert. I followed her. she chastised me, for doting over madness. she is the last I love. I now love prayer—the enlargement of my heart— vibrations of the spirit— thoughts that I must forsake— women that I cannot love— souls that beckon me to mass— psalms—demons I must war— enemies that I must love— scholars that act childish— and a world that is just beginning to understand me. I return to ground zero.

naiveandwitty

Joined: 4/14/2007

Msg: 1870 (view)

Abstract Rhythms Posted: 3/22/2009 6:52:31 PM
without qualification, I love you—burning and fallen upon sanity. I have cried to the wilderness— my echo resounds in the mountain: but I am God’s chosen. have you felt the Autumn breeze—heard the raven cry— felt the words of truthisee— looked into blackmary’s soul— drowned in intensity—looked into brizo’s eyes—or known that the shadow was watching? I am but a man. why does the sky open for you? why did you marry the wrong man? why do I have a child that I cannot see? why are we insurmountable riddles? I howl at the moon. the wolves have loved me—fallen in love with the spirit of unpredictability. we are the same; gnawing upon loneliness—scared to ask of God: what was your plan? I asked Sophia for a dream. she ambled into the desert. I followed her. she chastised me, for doting over madness. she is the last I love. I now love prayer—the enlargement of my heart— vibrations of the spirit— thoughts that I must forsake— women that I cannot love— souls that beckon me to mass— psalms—demons I must war— enemies that I must love— scholars that act childish— and a world that is just beginning to understand me. I return to ground zero.

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