Like the prayers of our fathers.

And the dog ate his placenta, or was it hers.

They're eating me

thanx 4 yr comment on SD @ A MtN

you might also like

http://www.brink.com/poetic/3799

Yes, I do like it - especially the metaphor about "old singing bone. It's a story.



I think, sometimes, "it's less dangerous, with the lights out." As Dan mentioned, people are here to be entertained. Perhaps the story you've written in poetry would be enjoyed in a more straightforward narrative. Please don't get me wrong. I'm not a writer, don't have any intention of being one, and would never try to tell anyone what they should do - unless, of course, they were aiming a gun at innocent people. Then I'd tell them to put the gun down.

I'm just making a humble suggestion, which is probably what I would do in the gun scenario before I would be fatally shot:



"Please friend, won't you hand that gun to me so I can kill myself"



"No man, I'll do it for you, then finish off humanity with the rest of the bullets Dr. Bush sold me."



Sorry, I'm rambling again, so I'll continue



The Brink makes me laugh. I was recruited to practice spelling here and the recruiter is still cursing his judgement. What did Vinik expect when he named it The Brink? But I've heard that by this summer there will be a psychological profile used in the registration process that will eliminate those deemed over the brink, or beyond.



I like it because it's:



-possibly anonymous, i.e. I like to think no one can figure out who I am.



-impermanent. Let's say that a great writer showed up here, or someone of future historical significance. Internet databases will change formats, and likely vanish as our "Children's Children's Children" live their lives. Maybe that's not so good, but look at the name I chose



-freedom. There is freedom to speak as you will here. I suppose that the known contstraints still apply. It's not too hard, or expensive to set up a website these days, but I admire Vinik for creating a space those disinclined can use. He probably has ulterior motive - meaning he's not doing it for the benefit of humanity. That's ok. This is America.



Anyway, my hour of babble is falling into another "space in time." If you've read this, please tell the folk in that BDSM dungeon not to kill you. In the end, something else will anyway.

I can't say. . Will you choose social acceptance, or what you feel is right.



The Brink seems destined for the end, as we all are.



Let's write a new song

No one understands the ambiguity evanid. Like the leader Americans chose, you're a laughingstock, but there's not too much that's funny. It's just another distraction, another way to escape the unpleasant situation that exists. You should know.



I know you evanid. Your hobby horse is ridden by a bottle of whiskey in that left hand that is dying and the syringe that you sometimes plunge into cerebral neurons.



But you try to be kind, living in the tradition Christ, Buddha, Allah, spoke of. This is all we can do. I feel the pain that is coming to you. Your body is in pain. We all are - even the man in the mansion on the hill.



We search for flowers in the "killing fields." God took them to a better place, leaving the blooms of a better world behind. She knew that our perceptions often leaves us blind.



What does it mean as the fools wander. You're a fool evanid, but you'll never reach "the hill."



And a flower blooms on the mass graves of eternity

No one understands the ambiguity evanid. Like the leader Americans chose, you're a laughingstock, but there's not too much that's funny. It's just another distraction, another way to escape the unpleasant situation that exists. You should know.



I know you evanid. Your hobby horse is ridden by a bottle of whiskey in that left hand that is dying and the syringe that you sometimes plunge into cerebral neurons.



But you try to be kind, living in the tradition Christ, Buddha, Allah, spoke of. This is all we can do. I feel the pain that is coming to you. Your body is in pain. We all are - even the man in the mansion on the hill.



We search for flowers in the "killing fields." God took them to a better place, leaving the blooms of a better world behind. She knew that our perceptions often leaves us blind.



What does it mean as the fools wander. You're a fool evanid, but you'll never reach "the hill."



And a flower blooms on the mass graves of eternity

I looked up. then down. And the words, maybe thoughts, came as things frayed.



The fragmentaton greande explodes.



We're not here anymore



The dog is pissing on my head as I sleep.



But we're all pissed. Some on religion. Some on the opiates I love so much.



We're awake, but not conscious. "The time is now."



... as the fabric frays

In the "Madman's Theater," I know you're sleeping. What do you dream of? Where will you be tomorrow? Who cares? Well, I do.



The fragments are embedded in all of us, like everything we know Good night evanid. May peace come to our dreams