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Post by themirrorthief on Jan 4, 2017 12:51:38 GMT -5
pushing against all these walls is a strange thing a difficult song hard to sing I feel surrounded they are high and wide and thick AND they make me sick life is a trap you are drained by so many insane things programmed shame insidious claims like pouring rain Atlas can hold up the world but who can hold me up when I fail and need a lift maybe everyday is just another day filled with pointless pushing yet the walls keep closing in they crush you again and again its a game or a mental cage some horrible taylor swift song incredibly overplayed and screeching its way into the more serene recess of your brain its hard to stay the same, sane ignore the pain when the shadows of the walls block out so much sun and suck away so much of your life
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Post by themirrorthief on Jan 10, 2017 12:12:44 GMT -5
mystery river madness converging somewhere on Venus land of poison gas and space pirates from the past there are no chemicals in my sadness just blood and tangled brain cells twisted into a weird kind of introspection and I drift on on and on down my misty river pushed by howling winds I can't say where it all takes me God grant me energy to partake in your infinite bounty I'm not a wise or talented poet more akin to some repressed stoic going where the current takes me while I resist with all my waning strength the colors of the rainbow that spell out happiness
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Post by themirrorthief on Jan 12, 2017 11:30:34 GMT -5
In dreams
we fly
or walk beside
mighty waters
we interact
with the famous
the unknown
and the dead
the visions
can be worrisome
perhaps
even forewarning
us of the future
monstrous entities
appear
along with monoliths
so strange
alien invasions
and personal fantasy
beautiful women
soft and desirous
men with guns
and knives
seek to frighten
and conspire
against us and ours
a child in danger
in our beds we
seek
to save and protect
no rest for the parent
day or night
sometimes we soar
over great mountains
vast oceans
bottomless rivers
or even journey
into
the lands of the dead
where all is grey
and mysterious
with no ray of light
vast cliffs and forests
without leaves
and boats
with faceless oarsmen
they take us to
our next destination
whilst we can only
stand
dumbstruck with awe
as a secret place
in our brains
give us a preview
of the phantom cursed
train
where all is unreal
or to much real
but then we wake
until that time
when we do not
why dwell on such things
because its life
that is the dream
take it into your heart
hold on til it stops
and you take that
grey trip
down that black river
and hope
for the best
mysteries
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Post by themirrorthief on Jan 16, 2017 9:08:26 GMT -5
Their Ancient cities lie crumbling rust covers their war machines their lover's bones mold and dissipate the horrible vampire queens of Planet AIDS once a paradise it was beautiful, inspirational with proud and gleaming spires and towers now only darkness and ruin dank odors and dread the handful that remain are beastial cavemen at best cannibals at worse and the vampire queens sleep fitfully in their ageless tombs of glass awaiting the new race that will come with fresh blood not tainted by nuclear waste disease and de-evolution non infected fresh faced creatures that will lure the vampire queens away from their cavernous tombs they will feast again and have sex lots of sex and produce more twisted, ganregous rancid offspring the vampire queens desire blood and love only its not real love its only sex lots of sex wicked, wicked sex but now they sleep and dream while above the beast people dine on each other and rats huge fat rats rodents supreme repulsive and rotten like cabbage from a dumpster with maggots the images are not nice such is the spawn of vice and the queens await with eagerness anticipating the re funding of our space program
Sex Lust Among the Vampire Queens of Planet AIDS
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Jan 17, 2017 3:44:07 GMT -5
Their Ancient cities lie crumbling rust covers their war machines their lover's bones mold and dissipate the horrible vampire queens of Planet AIDS once a paradise it was beautiful, inspirational with proud and gleaming spires and towers now only darkness and ruin dank odors and dread the handful that remain are beastial cavemen at best cannibals at worse and the vampire queens sleep fitfully in their ageless tombs of glass awaiting the new race that will come with fresh blood not tainted by nuclear waste disease and de-evolution non infected fresh faced creatures that will lure the vampire queens away from their cavernous tombs they will feast again and have sex lots of sex and produce more twisted, ganregous rancid offspring the vampire queens desire blood and love only its not real love its only sex lots of sex wicked, wicked sex but now they sleep and dream while above the beast people dine on each other and rats huge fat rats rodents supreme repulsive and rotten like cabbage from a dumpster with maggots the images are not nice such is the spawn of vice and the queens await with eagerness anticipating the re funding of our space program Sex Lust Among the Vampire Queens of Planet AIDS Hey i like your space vampire queens poem. Thanks. [ and you re-awakened fond memories of the sifi horror film *Lifeforce* ]
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Post by themirrorthief on Jan 18, 2017 22:19:26 GMT -5
many thanks Buxandra
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Jan 20, 2017 3:20:46 GMT -5
You are very welcome, 'Mirr-O-Teefuss'. [ watch out for the big magic mirror in my pink crypt: it may suck you in? ]
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Post by themirrorthief on Feb 7, 2017 18:01:26 GMT -5
I have lately dedicated my life to art however I often pass gas in truth, I fart you may ask what hath this to art in truth nothing but art is truth thus I fart in the name of art sailing upon a calm ocean helps me dream and bloweth the stench away thus I sail in the name of art far out to sea where no one can snift my farts that I expound in the name of truth and art
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Post by buxom9sorceress on Feb 7, 2017 18:31:20 GMT -5
I have lately dedicated my life to art however I often pass gas in truth, I fart you may ask what hath this to art in truth nothing but art is truth thus I fart in the name of art sailing upon a calm ocean helps me dream and bloweth the stench away thus I sail in the name of art far out to sea where no one can snift my farts that I expound in the name of truth and art Lovely. that stinks of fun unbound.
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Post by themirrorthief on Feb 7, 2017 21:21:47 GMT -5
truly my poetry stinks...thanks buxandra
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 9, 2017 8:03:23 GMT -5
I have lately dedicated my life to art however I often pass gas in truth, I fart you may ask what hath this to art in truth nothing but art is truth thus I fart in the name of art sailing upon a calm ocean helps me dream and bloweth the stench away thus I sail in the name of art far out to sea where no one can snift my farts that I expound in the name of truth and art Ha-ha! I freaking love it! It reminds me of an old one of mine of a similar nature. A friend and I used to frequently write these critical pieces of creative writing, utilizing all the innuendo we could lay our hands on... Oh Hole!
Oh hole! Thou sweet and timeless thing - that upon Thee breaks the wind of time; a zephyr holy and fragrant that is Thine, to waft... upon the unknowing...
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 9, 2017 8:22:40 GMT -5
Here's a typical example of our 'creative discourses' - haha. I've got others of these - they're great fun and really exercise your imagination. May have to post my Cap'n Ahab!
Glory below the waves!
Pvt. Hirohito Nagasaki stroked the oily, brown side of the torpedo's cylindrical shaft he had been greasing. The sleek object would soon be sliding down the tube into the watery depths. As he eyed the soiled rags in his hand and looked for a waste basket, a puff of air oozed from the shaft, its acrid scent stinging his nostrils. Ah, he thought. The Divine Wind! Soon it would guide his torpedo to glory for the Emperor! At that precise moment, a sudden pang cut across Hirohito's lower abdomen. Hmm, he thought; I think I need to go grow a monkey tail.
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Post by ChrisLAdams on Feb 9, 2017 8:26:38 GMT -5
I would be remiss if I didn't post my buddy's riposte:
Glory above the waves!
Unbeknownst to him, above the briny waves, Seaman Bradley, after a hearty dinner of corned beef and cabbage, was preparing to sunder the deep with a depth charge of colossal proportions.
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Post by themirrorthief on Feb 9, 2017 13:35:28 GMT -5
oh noooooooo
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Post by themirrorthief on Feb 14, 2017 9:46:10 GMT -5
a voice whispers to me its accent soothes me speak not of love alone but of beauty and soft tones and time spent joyfully near an aphordite more pleasant than tender kisses from a mother or daughter a touch that is hers can make a heart seek life unending and like a dream unfolding and sweet love flowers, its aroma brings the spring no matter the season and beyond all reason such is beauty cannot I share another ode to the majesty of all things Godly pure and whole just a few moments into eyes large and deep like sparkles in the stream tossing over pretty stones and little crevices I fancy more time with beauty tho I can only offer a poem which is not even a sonnet
Not a sonnet but of beauty by meanus
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