A Pause

happiness isn't equated with momentary pleasure. Suffer a little bit, but go find the nearest jolibbee to cope with it. Run, run the sadness out, chase it to the sun of its math.a

center is amde. No doubt. There are infinite possibilities, but you can center. Choose one, this data, this assumption. You will be happy detached from reason, attachment to feeling; the central issue is the value of feeling.

Focus out. Do not maintain the illusion of bliss eternal, bliss moment by moment. Concern your sadness
to a method of your own. Believe that there is no conspiracy. Believe that there is no alien, that truth is like I don't know but you will still know. It is in the between.

Do believe that there is Irag. DO believe what is water. There is thesis, there is rank. Pretension all over this is good. This is promise, a reach, climb to the power of tomorrow. There is a point.

There is a point that you will suffer a day.
The happiness is worship, suffer the pain, suffer the daily grind.

You will be taken out of context of lonely.
You are connected, to a conflict inside is nothing. So hard so hard: conquered.

How will you do how will you do?
Start with the no awkward at kk it. Start with the acceptance, the treatment. The reality is that you have
doubt that anything exists outside you. That there is one. That there is more than just like What If

You are the only one who saw this. There's time, when like, there's time, like when you know
That nothing is there. How can you feel the one outside you without feeling it too?

The secret is worship, the secret is worship, worship the Oh Lord The Tomorrow.
The Lord of Tomorrow.
The Lord of Fries.
Of Routine. Of Conquered Boredom. Of tulips and mad.
The Lord of Terror Conquered. The Lord of Now Sharpened to Nothing.
Ballast killed: you the ballast, you the sad. Sadness get away!

Sadness, says the 5 year old lady, you owe me nothing but you stick!
Get away!

I will forever deny the product of you, sadness. You are nothing
Compared to the hope of like the Now The Tomorrow! Day by day, day by day
Day by night, there is concept new and not proud and felt by me in the context of like
There's a forever listing of possibles. There is one here though that is not denied.

Day by day, there is a laugh, minute, minute. It is enough. Find that one.
Find that one and then sleep and run and visit and it will pass. This sadness will pass
Your papers please.

Posted by Richard J.A. at 10:03:00 PM | Permalink | Comments

There's talk of synagogue, plan of body.
There's talk of isotopes, retreat, attention to cats.
And then he say: "Of course I'm hero
of the unquestioned answers.

Of course I am blight in your waiting.
Fleeting the innocence, arrest from answer.
Lions tamed, bisons lame. Plain sorrow lost to a ride.

This scripture I'm writing
Knows no keeping of time

This area of defeat
Harbors no sets.

jury for the Luster
defend no one from the last

Lost tickets, ladies mentioned
in mouths unsucked.

Your body is stretched
Prone for worship. My trite limbs
Kill for your shallow.

I write nothing for the killer of the limb.
I close my eyes and attend the nature of the south.

Clear the pathway: the medicine has a toll
Our lives lost lust for lively leads.

I mouth your ins.
Suggest theories of fragments, neons unlit. Remembered pools.
A girl in time of a fall, girl in hold of cup, girl in waiting, girl wet.
Girl in lawns, on chair, in short-lived principle. Girl in mind, skirt
Swift like mania.

Girl of win: dull face: body of ugly, untamed day. Wanting, full of wanting
Of face of none yours. In full take of a stand: that one is nothing

If you think of yourself.
Oh creator of naming. Oh sellers of fish to the witch.
Upset me,: make me a new
Engineer menstruated knives
and in lieu of this: show me a crying architect.

Posted by Richard J.A. at 11:08:00 PM | Permalink | Comments

Anger at Ursula Le Guin.
You talk in the form of a scandal extraction, thing in the light darkened to a fighting
You hide it, and call upon the delight of you above. The caller of attention, teller of people
That the only way out is to find a piece, tell of it, make sure it's real
Astonish the illusory. Deny it all you want. Function like a bishop, lay like a chess
Pieced together formed like dung, light in the black space. Light in the closed eyes.
When furnished falsettos glare upon you, make no sense of it.
There's charm in this, but the sense? AMiss.

Enter your typing, enter your pick.
You need the issue to pick at, because what else function is for
If you have no flock to carry. You read and more
Shit. Comes out of. You.

You want a following, you listener of dreamscape
Radio station in the midnight clock.
YOu talk in the lobby of waiters.
You listened by no one, talk. YOu listened by not you, talk,
You talk because you are not listend
to.

Talked in the attempt to make sense, that starts at the beginning of the not having
No one to listen to.

Talk in the issue of lonely.
Talk in the form of like a trial in the face of wa tomorrow that doesn't come
Coming, leaflet unread. Seeing the back of a white skin.
The landscape of tarmac, all you hold back, you step back
A one a two there you go, you are now in front
The spectacle of a stellar link to your dick.
Dick di ck dick dickl  cid,ck dick dickl
Dick is written in ways you can only say.
Not do. Do Do do her
In your mind, a stellar landscapoe of wrong types, of blindfolds, of
Richj histories linked to caspers and neon days
and lights in hte back of a man in front
of a girl, her crying.
In the airport.

You are a wiotness of a crying couple in the airport.
Youi are recipienmt to grandiose dicatiotrial shout.
You are missed by your self, because you left
NMo trace for heroes to pray for.

YOu are left with a stalk.
YOu listen to an acc

ve writing you.
Are lights off. Type type. Hands, licgj lighjt
AL hherroes a .

The nights have heroes you tarigh talk. Talk of the lighted one.

Nothing of making sense.
All of beat up trashlike talk. Staer at the tarmac of skin, stare at the emotional access.
Stare at the attempt to linger, the call for lion. The typing
is entered. You write, the type is set, you alomst asleep
think of a dick, think of a ghrapple. Think of a livid drying day

You need a concept. You need  a family. You make it.

For an audience. The audience to apture.

The zen is not th

The zend in is the bend. UI cabnoaonly imagine what you think.

THere's nio logic in the commitment.

To a God, you only know.

More here: http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2013/09/03/introducing-our-fall-issue-2/

Posted by Richard J.A. at 1:58:00 AM | Permalink | Comments