poems, no less

[samplestiltskin]

i just discovered a disc full of old poetry and photos when i tried to burn some stuff onto it. exciting, this is all stuff from my last year in college.. but i have no idea who wrote some of these poems. for instance:

encounter

i was staring at a feather
on the front of her dress.
the magnificent hyacinths on the material welcomed me –
tropicalia bears the scent of warm regard.
she had swathed her self in benevolence.

her eyes, i saw, were litter in the paradise she presented.
stray shards of a Budweiser bottle,
like a tourist had tossed them away, and they…
pelted me. she smiled at me. fermented pain and peace emanated from her lips.
…she had no mirror! i saw her spirit.

i stood back, hesitant, vacuously stalling.
should i act on the dress
or the cold glass eyes?
slowly… i noticed the feather
on the front of her dress.

she wore it like a native fetish,
as though it had mana. she knew she was safe.
i envied the feather, her Budweiser eyes.
even the pain. she was a woman
while i still held my social mirror up and was a girl.


. . . come to read it a bit deeper i suppose it seems like me. how horrible that i don't even remember my own? anybody want to claim it? W&G maybe?

[samplestiltskin]

fuck. i think it's mine. i think all of these are mine. too much weed!

[Thorngrub]

hey I like that poem

[samplestiltskin]

um, thank you. i probably already posted it at some point anyway. i have two of JLLM's that i could inflict too!

i meant to tell you thorny, you probably shouldn't ever break up with sisyphus. it will make things awkward here. have you discussed custody issues of the boards etc?

[sisyphus]

trippy poem, samps. good to see you bump this board.

[sisyphus]

lol

[samplestiltskin]

thank you miss sisyphus. i seem to have hit a wall in the short story i'm trying to write, so i'm cheating with old poetry now. waiting for dreams to nudge the story back into action.

[wayved]

"sticky sticky"
"Sticky Sticky etc"
"sticky sticky" --1910 Fruitgum Co (B side to "1,2,3, Red Light)

[wayved]

Threes Company:

ones enough for me
how much better could it be
the man thought I was gay
with two girls I could stay
we all pay the rent
but I cant get anything from them yet,

Jack Tripper. Jack Tripper. Jack Tripper.

[samplestiltskin]

are people completely afraid of poetry now? our poets have all fled. everyone is too afraid to comment. i remember it used to be quite fashionable to post poetry.

still working on the short story. i have completely lost momentum.

[Thorngrub]

Well, ^ this last post of samp's is quite appropriate, seeing how the reason I came to this thread was not to post a new 'poem', per se - but rather, to post an actual short story - an extremely short story. Which makes it kinda like a poem. Only four lines long or so. It resulted from a mild dare on the john shirley boards yesterday. Someone ventured to post their "very shortest sf story", which was only 2 lines. Then a few others added theirs. So I thought about it, and took up the challenge to craft my own science fiction story, and it ended up four or five lines long.


In order for you to appreciate the meaning behind it all, it might be necessary to look up the following words:

"consilience"

and

"extropy"


Also know that the >H symbol (itself the title of the story) stands for "transhumanism", or more simply "transhuman". I like the symbol because its interpretation is flexible enough to allow for the broader "more than human" (i.e, "greater than human") which in and of itself is a stand-in term for "posthuman". And posthuman is the end-all designation for "transhuman" . . . Anyhow, it can get a bit complicated but ladies and gentlemen of RS.castaways, I present for you my original four-line SF story, >H:

[Thorngrub]

>H

Four years later, the first transhuman in vivo Minksian-Kurzweill clone emerges from its neonatal intensive care unit, eyes unblinking. Max would quickly grow to establish the first CORE school (Consilience Of Recombinant Extropy) by the seasoned age of four. In the year 2020, eight year old Max would engender a transubstantiative doctrine reprising Heraclitus' ideas of flux, and publish his manifesto >H by sending it back in time to his conception-year, where it now appears on carefully selected nodal points of the internet.

[wayved]

my poems aren't serious enough. thorns are fantastic. Im gonna interrupt with my sopolistic drivel (sp) and let thorns get back to his story...

FOR THE SIMPLE MIND

in a ghost land
in your dreams
where you can't purchase anything
the stars above you are manmade and mean nothing
and your feet that you cant feel they walk

and your ideas are all shreds
you wished for nothing to matter anymore
but what does that matter?
your dreams are burnt out and you try to control them
the cartoon sleep you pray for

when you try to think but cannot
and you are carried by waves
by internalizing every emotion
but not understanding what they mean

questing to be profound
but the atmosphere is really high
your kite has been shot down
out of the sky
even though you did try
in the hot sun
in the yellow heat
where the grey flames of dullness live
where uninteresting beings live
where nothing can learn
and the grass is your best friend
you can never do it
you are silent when it counts
and innocent when it does not

not knowing where you are
the simple mind

[RocDoc]

...i wish the grass was my best friend again.

it was a far simpler time.

lay down in a field at the park

and contemplate

a blade.

[samplestiltskin]

Nice, wayved. One of those that pretty much anyone can take whatever meaning they want out of. Made me a little sad because I see some BPD-sounding stuff in there, but then, we all see what we want to see.

By "sf" i thought you meant san francisco thorn. I just got back from there, and I think I will try to move there within the next couple years. As for sci-fi... bleh.