/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.2768043]

/lit,

so i've moved a lot in the last three years (2 continents, 5 cities, moving to a 6th in august), and i've kept an ongoing notebook throughout. in no way do i consider myself a poet of any form, and much of my scribblings in said notebook are mere doodles, but i like to play with language and tend to record scenes that i find particularly compelling. so, in a basic attempt to move from pen to screen, i've decided to dump these random musings.

i'm not sure how i feel about them, and their fractured/scattered nature does not help. either way, i'd like to finally get them into text form, and figured i'd share whatever i've got. their relations are non-existent, and each one stands as a small description of a given scene.

in any case, hopefully you might enjoy one or two.

[Anonymous No.2768044]

>>2768043

a neon glow
hangs from her porcelain cheeks,
like hot Havana nights
or cool Savannah evenings,
the Parisian response
to a most tepid inclination:
a lingering question that dips
and fades amongst the silver-chrome braids
of the Seine, breathing life into the twilight sepulchers
of a poetic discourse that,
born during a dog-day afternoon
of satin sheets, white pillows
and lazy stares,
became something more than I could ever bare.

[Anonymous No.2768046]

>>2768044

her hair was thistled by tossed
metaphors, gloating with the narcissism
of surrealism and penance

hanging floral arrangements from the clenched tips
of worn gravestones, walking barefoot through cimetière de l'Est
at three AM, seeking holy verdicts
that lived beyond the sharpened edge
of our isolated moment

[Anonymous No.2768048]

but tumbling gyres folded by whimpering liars
swelled into mirrors
of accolades and pheasantry medals,
peasantries betrayed by ontological peacocks
that barter for opiates on empty shores:
he swaddled the resin of our mortal flame
and left without a letter

being is a descriptive utterance,
muttered in short putterings
that tilt and tutter at the edge
of a messy sputter, buttered and fluttered
in spicy seasonings for appetites not accustomed
to a little indigestion

[Anonymous No.2768051]

>>2768048

but it was I who sang through the galleries of morning
that clothed the vanity of our naked years:
we stood in the twilight of remembrance,
bequeathed by a tepid anchor
of collected detritus, implacable
to the sound of crashing waves
carried through the dimming sunset
on a carriage of ambered russet,
with kohled eyes that droop and hang
with the weight of distant futures

[Anonymous No.2768056]

>>2768051

underneath
the orange glow of a setting moon
that sings the elegance
of auroric constellations,
the Dionysian sunset plays host
to a symphony of cosmic streams
and an orbit of nebulous dust
that bears the weight of stars


among the crags we lay,
engulfed in the sureness of the surf,
where pi repeated itself in the (re)iterable law
of its permanent reiteration, where no key was less than zero
but no lock was greater than nothing,
and nothing was the not she always needed

[Anonymous No.2768060]

>>2768056

and so we blaspheme in libraries
of interlocking hexagons,
spread amongst a district
of white windowsills underneath the cloudlessness
of rippling skylines where summer cornfields
witness the blush of first kisses
that cried because they knew
there were never enough mornings left


her promise was never enough
to suspend the placated reality
of distant parallelograms
tanning on nearby shores,
hidden behind midnight barbies
that appear resentful in red,
fanning into rebellious anachronisms
which always had trouble with truancy

[Anonymous No.2768061]

tad pretentious, but lovely. i appreciate this thread

[Anonymous No.2768064]

I like it but feel you'd've been better off in the Beat generation. I get a Ginsbergian feel from your works.

[Anonymous No.2768068]

>>2768060

the marionette twirls
to the amethyst beats
of the urban theme;
clothed in a sweater of ebony
and the frozen indigo
of reflected constellations,
waltzing towards the Hyperion
supernova where aurelian fantasies
crash into the electric,
abysmal depths
of a gunmetal romance,
where sunsets splashed across
the marble ceiling
of this sapphire world
reflect the dying light
of ten thousand sunsets
that bled across the golden seas above Babylon

I spend my days against frosted panes drawn from oaken floors;
I paint the grays listening to metered rains and closing doors

crimson leather, jet-black tapestries
spread among lavenders
that befriended eternal sleep,
fleshed from the hushed requiem
of the dancer years,
which spawned the weighted variegation
of this charade of enlightenment

[Anonymous No.2768072]

>>2768061

that's really what i'm worried about. i, too, feel it's overraught, and to be honest i'm a little embarassed to share it. but, it ought to be done, and i'm young enough that "style" is still a synonym for experimentation.

thanks for the feedback, though.

[Anonymous No.2768074]

these are the only two that go together:


putrefied apple, razor edge,
disillusionment in the time of serenity now:
punkrockfairytalehipsterprincess from hell,
no-street-smart-enough girl
with haffa bottle of jack
and two more stops till midtown:
riding the downtown late-night express,
with a tilted hat and faded rims, slick and slender,
holding an apple like a curve ball,
pressing it against her lips
with cherry red liner
and too much mascara:
a quick deposit and a late night show,
a screening of Orpheus and she’s ready to go,
silver-glazed pearls under the neon glow,
satin high-heels and a habit for blow:
"neon, baby;
you’re nothing but a neon baby”

she taught in New York seminars,
where questions of distractions ran rampant,
and small doses of iodine
coated the signature of the nothing,
grafted onto the trauma of her open-toed boots:
watching this neon baby,
with hot-pink lips and an electric expression,
torn from a sparkling dawn
in the frieze of October,
humming whiskey centuries
under a darkened sky
with a marriage of insecurities
above a candle lit high, sighing:
“neon, baby:
you’re nothing but a neon baby”

[Anonymous No.2768077]

>>2768074

the hours were halfway houses,
carrying patients between the slumber
of poplared fields
and the arrogance
of afternoon brunch


we stood, fixed and folded,
staring from back-door porches at
addicts, angels and stray cats,
licking the sublime misery
from the soles of the pavement,
spilling oil into globs of fractals
that gleam in the salty taste of afternoon

[Anonymous No.2768078]

>>2768077

but he was just a low-beat
high-altitude kid
with nowhere else to be on a Saturday afternoon
save for the glory of fame and fortune
found amongst the fountains of ferns
that grew south of Ares:
covered with beads of black tulips
lined in lunar veils,
we were magnetized by the heavy draw
of a powerless king:
no, no
there is no center after all,
and so I erase each word before it is even written,
failing in falling notes
of blind authorship,
squinting at the anagrams of a self-slanderous language
peaked by stone valleys
grasped by a gripping game of go

[Anonymous No.2768080]

>>2768078

he walked amidst the tangled gardens of Versailles,
seized by the blush of a young love
caught in the mirror of frosty pools that divide
an immanent frame of perspective

he was always
Freud’s favorite patient:
stained bones
sleeping beneath the paradoxical baths
of our burnt etymology

dreams protruded from his exoskeleton,
waving like so many whimpering souls
during the thrash of a midnight storm

[Anonymous No.2768081]

>>2768080

infused with lilac wine
and inscribed in the stoned archives
of disappearance, she danced away
into the liquid oblivion
of an evening memory,
trampling the scented stars
that illuminate the domed scope
of our sight,
gaping with the gorged galleys
that we sent, so long ago,
to chart those precious waters;
but a Daedalian dream
is never as soft
as the woven fabric
of the social imaginary,
so she grazed the tip
of our holy light,
found that the coronet
of memory-laden snows
wreathed an equator
of some other mind,
and fell back to earth
with a muffled “thud”

[Anonymous No.2768083]

I like this all very much, but I'd really enjoy hearing the reason for all of these moves.

[Anonymous No.2768087]

why the fuck arent my posts posting this is bullshit

[Anonymous No.2768088]

Mind sharing your background, OP? I'm interested in how/why you did all that moving.

[Anonymous No.2768089]

>>2768081

finally alone, we spent the search for Thursdays
with Mme., in parlors of steam and ateliers of smoke:
she caressed the ridges of the pyramids
with a hand careful in its blank engineering,
like those seven sisters seven times
the sevenfold measure of seven,
crying over failed modalities structured
in the repose of forgiveness,
stammering shyly
over reflexive verbs spun in the divine genitive,
casting a net of present participles
upon of a pond of soft jewels:
but the ellipses of our eclipses
choreographed the fall of an absent dream,
opened to itself in the raw purposelessness
of a clause without content

[Anonymous No.2768095]

>>2768088


thanks man, i really appreciate it. and to answer >>2768088 as well, most of my moving was academically-oriented. i started out in washington, DC (which is where i'm from), spent time in princeton, NJ; NY, NY; paris, france; and now in the san francisco bay area. i'm moving to ithaca, NY in august.

all have been to either study or teach at a university: i'm currently a graduate student in political science, with a focus on theory and mathematical methods.

[Anonymous No.2768097]

>>2768095
dude. you rock.

welcome home

I hope yo'uve read IJ

[Anonymous No.2768100]

>>2768089

and there, Biscayne, sputtering
"fye, fye, fye!" with a gin-soaked tongue,
reaping the rapture off the backs
of golden-green nymphs
who strummed serenades
with lost tongues,
the chrysalis of Iblis grew bright
with the depths plumbed from the morning star,
fresh from the slumber of rye:
Nod was the beginning of paradise,
where, with magnolia lips
creased with unrestraint, I would softly whisper:
“you are beautiful”
(she never thought I meant it; I always meant it)
etched upon the cheap plaster
of his acrylic tombstone:
“there is no covenant here" informed the sign,
next to "no vacancy" and "girlsgirlsgirls"
(the worm puppets the pageant
of a ceramic Eden)

hanging from the chapels of Illiers
were our snapshots of memory,
anecdotal and withered,
collaged and covered in vines,
a threaded edge of language
draped in melancholy:
playfully we rippled along its tragic margin,
waltzing to an exhaling melody
that, tangled in games of infinite syllables,
departed from the depleted scope
of purpose and cause

[Anonymous No.2768105]

>>2768100

pandoric harbingers
of havoc who chant pandemics
of tripartite slivers of silver,
folded and molded
to the androgynous contours
of pink herons,
harems drawn from northerly lands
beyond the faded horizon,
blossoming with the billowing peaks
of snow-capped mountains
that trespass upon a tropaen breeze
that receives the whimpers of ephydriads

instead we sat, Biscayne,
singing and sighing our pater nosters
until the angel-choir of judgment day
arrived at the apocalyptic moment
when the cycle and circle
of time finally cracked:
but we speak of the stigmata
with hushed voices,
we talk of eschatology
and demonology and the difference
between the blue
and the black
in softened gestures
that betray the unease of secrecy

[Anonymous No.2768109]

>>2768105

a purpose
lit by the flickering candles
that dip and dart
in the shrouded folklore
of your stilted and parted songs,
a smoky catechism forged
from iron and pronounced
in the rhythmic totality
of your brooding ecstasy

his speckled tongue,
frail from a life of forced ventriloquism
and a mouth numbed
from septocaine and lies,
lyricized false epiphanies
and spawned a sorrow beyond forgiveness

[Anonymous No.2768111]

>>2768109

and there we were, Biscayne,
like wild children running naked
through that arid wasteland,
barking at a moon that threatened our low planet
with the coagulated blood
of its advertised transcendence:an empty grin
that spoke, solemnly and with an alien tongue:
"et in Arcadia ego"

before sleep, she would whisper:
"dream, pure love,
sleep forever more,
written as you are
into the arcing tapestry
of this fading moonlight;
dream me into the stars
that coat the banks
of your solitary slumber.”

her supple stare, spread against
a glass filament
of white magnolia
and blue lilies, promised
to deny the threshold
of our transformation

[Anonymous No.2768117]

>>2768097

fuck man i really appreciate it: really was not expecting that kind of reception at all.

and yes, i've both read and enjoyed infinite jest.

[Anonymous No.2768125]

>>2768111

he spewed flagrancies of lotus-lies,
mapping the satiated pregnancy
of worlds and words,
words that were worlds
which sprung from hamlets of wildflowers
cropped and sewn
in patterns of a most inimitable
and strange complexity,
tarnished with a varnish
recovered from libraries of dark oak,
where soft cherry blossoms,
spread upon jade pillows of rare velvet,
cologned the hanging air
with delicate aromas
that spoke of love and loss

like archons from Patmos
sailing to the hidden isles of Ithaca,
we flushed below
the slipping border
that separated sin
and sin alike,
saved for the reproduction of profiles
disguised in parades of butterflies
fluttering above red poppies,
an obsession with the grotesque,
with gutters and hourglasses,
rarefactions of candles
borrowed from the ancient orchards of Lilith

[Anonymous No.2768128]

>>2768125

ima take a break for now, to continue in a bit.

and really i want to thank those that responded: you guys are awesome.

[Anonymous No.2768175]

>>2768128

continuing where i left off.


we, the contagions
that spread brusque epidemics
of confused nomenclature,
refused the revelations
of indifferent oracles:
strangled as we were
by guilds of arachnids
and bureaucracies of bees,
grown in a potted herbarium
which stretched across
the bengaled Zion,
where scales of tonal clowns
dug gullies across chartreuse-stained paintings
and drafts of folded parchment
baked in the heat of a cowardly sun
that winked at noon


the droning of the surf will carry
our weary voices home, across this cerulean horizon,
forever and forever
until time itself will split and unfurl
its branched and blanched cloth
upon the crystal carafes
of another dream in another life
in another time and place:
trace upon trace
but never a signature

[Anonymous No.2768184]

>>2768175

dream me into the black void
of a petrified evanescence,
where I shall lie, drawn by your voice,
in a muted quintessence:
you will know what a painted blaze can accomplish
as it speaks its ambitious flames across the canvas
of our lost days


there is only so much,
in the nocturned decadence of our descent,
that these caesurae and elisions
can ever fully accommodate;
we shall not live our lives in the pluperfect:
our cowardly world is suzerain,
burdened by a haunted lacuna
that screams with the silence
of pistons without oil

[Anonymous No.2768188]

>>2768184

here stood the purification of weakness:
blackened by an accumulated soot
from rogue furnaces swarming
with locusts and dragonflies,
inhaling mercurial vapors
exhumed from neglected sacraments,
problematizing questions that were never a part
of their simple economies of good and evil;
but the scent of black roses has no memory,
and, among paladins of shifting palindromes,
concealed comets
rocketed across the stars
that line your gold irises, Biscayne,
as spotted in panther blue as they are

we tread softly across the dawn, in fiery masks
and oversized ambitions,
celebrating Walpurgisnacht among the fjords
that papered our icy hearts, where bonfires
cast streaking shadows across the twilight water,
as calm and as still as wind-swept coral,
colored brightly with the exuberance
of life and life alone,
where stagnation and absence grew
in the midst of this innocuous vacuity
of the void,
the split content of this nulled continuum
that is as bare and as paramount as ever

[Anonymous No.2768191]

>>2768188

ravenous ravens that conspire with doves,
caged rats and shackled goliaths:
a zoo of ghouls and martyrs,
a proverbial carnival of horrors
that is anything but proverbial,
where synecdochic metaphors,
verbs that challenge anagramic anecdotes,
alliterations that disrupt permutations
of perturbed profanity,
write poetries found in simple pleasantries:
"hello, good ladies, do come in;
the night is cold, and the fire is thin"

we stared through rusted cataracts,
smokey and inflamed,
with pierced eyes
that counteracted the blasphemous ovens
of sirens who, stranded on Anthemoessa,
were eventually exiled to Elba:
in desperation,
the furies furiously flew,
pocket watches in hand,
to catch the last ship to Naxos,
lachrymose in interrupted duties
(processed in fated wheels of smoke
that were never calibrated quite right),
tired of a civilization
that knew words upon words
and never a comma

[Anonymous No.2768195]

>>2768191

his retribution
suffocated in urns of lapis-lazuli
covered with venetian glass
and glowing hearts of opal,
ringed with the course covering of
Passovers celebrating the eve of a great extinction


under the glowing light of the star Wormwood,
like gemmed Orions that, beaded in sequences
of pink pearls, circle the necks of albatross,
we lay with astral belts
that girdled the infinite horizon
in corsets of goldenrod and frankincense,
perched under columns of interminable light
that splashed across wooden road signs
which lead to the polished epitaph of INRI

[Anonymous No.2768203]

>>2768195

among calculated probabilities of beauty, elegant equations
that determine the endlessness of chance in bonded statistics,
graphs that record the patterns of signs and symbols,
we walked, talking of alchemists and apothecaries,
of slavish dreams, of the proper names of things and places,
of blue ibises playing chess games of principalities and potentialities
where Osiris, with metallic plumes,
practices dialectics
in masquerade balls nestled in ancient cloisters:
beaked whereabouts bleeding upon stained sofas,
padded with Persian fleece and sweet oils,
drinking toast after toast to pink champagne,
roasting rare birds above pits of charcoal and brick,
ovens carved from stone
where opaque glass is blown

[Anonymous No.2768205]

>>2768203

we watched, from the theatre of our small ship,
as glowing embers and dancing cinders of thinned dust
roamed about that translucent emptiness
which spread itself into the region between heaven and earth
and, overturning worlds and stars alike,
closed the gap that has burdened us ever since

now, alone in vestibules of astronomic variables,
we charted the movements of hearts and hands
across this cosmic-comic grid,
where black holes suck the supple light
from parched tongues
accustomed to the taste of honeydew and melons
drawn from nocturnal lakes


i just wanted to briefly add that this is the third fucking time i have seen my name as part of the captcha. i have never seen another first-name to type. it's moments like this that i'm reminded both of Jung's synchronicity and the Truman show. fuck the burdens of solipsism.