tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1394317283643179352024-03-13T10:03:40.709-07:00Helplessly awakecraigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-59795334210278860752011-03-05T13:50:00.001-08:002011-03-26T13:07:56.824-07:00I Distinct in Script<br />
<br />
<br />
I, in this pit<br />
lit this light,<br />
find this ring in ring<br />
victim in ill writing.<br />
I fight this spirit<br />
spindrift midst high hills.<br />
<br />
~~<br />
<br />
Its id instils<br />
twisting criticism, <br />
which mimics<br />
wit sighing in rifts.<br />
Still, I insist in this iris,<br />
in I, with limits in signs<br />
which inflict thirst <br />
in sinking wills. <br />
<br />
~~<br />
<br />
In hindsight,<br />
this fix is bright,<br />
I sift within this sinking.<br />
Bliss in kiss, might I,<br />
with thin lips pin<br />
if in is?<br />
<br />
~~<br />
<br />
I diminish in width.<br />
I dismiss it,<br />
stirring in nihilism,<br />
firing blight within <br />
this twin’s district. <br />
Drink in this slick schism<br />
its film distils his limit;<br />
his thrill might finish;<br />
his wit it might stir;<br />
still inflicting this victim <br />
with rigid might.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
~~<br />
<br />
Slight wrists in thin splits – <br />
hindsight spills.<br />
This spirit, high in his pitch<br />
splits I in blight, I in this dividing rift,<br />
I in script's this prism.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-45188243174691587652010-07-27T12:10:00.001-07:002010-07-27T12:10:45.806-07:00--Nyctalopia<br />
<br />
Two eyes looked into me through the darkness;<br />
two shades darker <br />
than the night that drowned them.<br />
The eyes that opened <br />
and the manner in which they opened<br />
disturbed the unmoving night air<br />
with the noumena of fear.<br />
<br />
I was unable to <br />
know why they chose me,<br />
or from which distant deeps or skies<br />
it was made, malignant and horribly alive.<br />
No window can frame this,<br />
no epithet can encapsulate<br />
the dark indefinite borders<br />
that ensnare the outlook<br />
that grips me so completely.<br />
<br />
When it was given the breath of life<br />
that air must have transfigured <br />
the sepulchral moon into<br />
a melancholic vermillion,<br />
discordant, and cholerically<br />
circling the night.<br />
<br />
Unable to see it<br />
as it exists, in itself,<br />
I am left only to assume<br />
all of its essence, because <br />
<br />
those mysteries close themselves<br />
pitch drowns the dark vision,<br />
the apparition seals <br />
the window to the soul. <br />
And I am left<br />
unable to know, whether <br />
it meant me any harm,<br />
other than this.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-88761247735003074672010-07-21T17:01:00.001-07:002010-07-21T17:01:53.474-07:00--The Image of Alterity<br /><br />a trick knee<br />is the ultimate blind spot<br />a snapping from the inside<br /><br />or this bone spur<br />a build up of calcium <br />and discarded grudges<br /><br />these are the body’s brave faced defectors<br />the inept entities that are all<br />concept without form<br /><br />but all the connective tissue links to –<br />every relation, this is the definition <br />this is contraception<br /><br />the unmaking of the self<br />through a bee hive of an osteoma<br />that spreads across your own borders<br /><br />or finding that your own name<br />is an anagram<br />for everything that you hate<br /><br />the only opposition you can’t see<br />is yourselfcraigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-63777714662961555932010-06-02T15:56:00.001-07:002010-06-02T15:56:53.492-07:00--Limerick to Irony<br /><br /> My paradise, my favourite windswept bay <br /> is where I thought myself to be, on this morning of May.<br />But laying in my apartment<br />the wind only sounds like waves on the escarpment<br /> with the traffic of a busy city.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-83556519494920092862010-04-18T22:42:00.000-07:002010-04-20T15:52:19.330-07:00One Endless NightWell, it has been quite some time since my last blog. I have had quite a bit going on, inside and outside of school. Needless to say, I have a lot of creative works coming together, it is taking some time to refine them enough. To the point that I'm settled with at least. I'm posting a very old (about a year old now) series I wrote. It is probably a personal favourite of my own, let's see what you think though.<br /><br />~<br /><br />One Endless Night:<br /> A Translation<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> The Epigraph: Apparitions in Apposition<br />This is the gateway,<br />the form that I give to you.<br />It is all I can give<br />and in the end, all that I have.<br />Remember that this is a story,<br />not in feeling or in form<br />but in what resides<br />between<br />the divide being torn:<br />the devotion to denotation<br />and the fog of connotative thought.<br />Remember reality, as a paper<br />found in the rain;<br />it is not entirely static.<br />No definition is.<br />Here: the dilution of definition<br />Here:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> One – Insomnia<br />I lay my head down to sleep.<br />But I will find rest in unrest.<br />Stillness, echoes of non-existence.<br />Life is not defined by death,<br />may my body not be constrained by soil.<br />If I must embrace the bodies undeterred needs<br />then I will escape in the black ink of night.<br />In the aim of suturing together the dissonance and the skin,<br />it will be in the filling of an hourglass<br />where I will glance at my reflection.<br />This moment has been given like a gift<br />of deep silence, along the night flooded floor,<br />still I find no rest.<br />So I lay, and let another fire cross my skull.<br />I write my skin across tattered pages<br />and hear the world with laughter.<br />Will this night end with the blessing of a bed,<br />or will the endless scripture of writing be shed?<br />I cannot see what will be known of me<br />in the unending eyes of forgetful heirs.<br /><br /><br /> II ~ Prologus Mutationi<br />I feel it under the surface of skin<br />and in the matter that makes me<br />resonating in what I think I am<br />it gives rise to a tidal wave of dissonance<br />a side step preference for an effigy<br />a new transmission of foreclosed flesh<br />floating unwilling like a buoy on the tide<br />the twisting of thoughts in the wind<br />scatter out beyond my reach<br />I had seen a path, now there is none<br />but I welcome you, through this wall of white paper,<br />welcome<br /><br /><br /> Three – Lacerations<br />Let blood and let loose the livid fever,<br />and let it affect the limbic system, letting lesser thoughts flood red<br />spelling out with the severed fluid palms enclosed and incapable.<br />A part of my pride wakes up and screams, muffled in the memory banks.<br />Put down the scissors. Let go of self sculpture and sacrifices.<br />But I must write down<br />in blood or in none, the definitive lines that line each divide.<br />The separation of pen and paper, and paper and mind,<br />and the endless constraints of unalterable flesh<br />placed upon a new age alter.<br /><br /><br /> IV ~ Febris, Stagnum, Atrāmentum<br />still hold fast to the forever fever that furiously fends for never ending bed times<br />still sleeping my mind battles wake filled body of water in a wake of nothingness<br />still all I do is curse my curse and most of all myself<br /> at night<br /> at night so deep in the night that to sleep is to surface too fast from under the ocean<br /> that dark ocean that ruptures with airy weight in the lungs<br />black ink colours me all around<br /> and from my fountain pen<br /> tailoring the image of man<br /> pop go my piercing eyes<br /><br /><br /> Five – Malleable Metal; Spores in the Sun<br />Life has run its course in my heart and in my stomach.<br />The world once writhed around me like snakes,<br />and something seeped into my mind. Like black water in the walls.<br />It took its time, the pathogen in the path, the form fitted mould.<br />Building the colony, its kingdom of mold.<br /><br />This tin can is corrugated. Not magnetized. It draws no current.<br />Caustic casualties with severed casual ties.<br />Still stiff bends in this still surface still horrify me.<br />That through the rust and corrosion, the heartbreak and implosions,<br />have all smeared the ink and tore the page<br />that my character slept in and aged.<br /><br /><br /> VI ~ Umbrae<br />murky water with the smell of algae<br />bright skies on your side, under sub-surface dwellings<br />a new view of the earth<br /> what if my words bled through the barriers<br /> would they meet your underwater ears<br /> refracted far off my meaning<br /> half reflections in the pond<br />now an elusive Shade in the silt<br /> how does a man know he is<br /> either hear or there<br /> when no one seems to here<br />I plunge my hand into the pond -<br />a fist full of sand<br />one day a pair of eyes will<br />turn this body of water<br />into an ocean<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Sketch of the Afterdream: An Intrusion of Extricated Meaning<br />This, the aside, where the meaning and the matter<br />make one and reside.<br /><div style="text-align: right;">They lay, in fractal offerings and evade<br /> every translation, and the fluid form of definition.<br /></div>Senses insinuate with sounds too subtle,<br />silent alarms bring us the signs,<br /><div style="text-align: right;">the significance of the shifting weight of a signifier’s decline .<br />This comes of reason, of multiplicity of mind,<br /></div>wayward view points and delineated denotation,<br />and the outcast connotations that avoid translation.<br /><div style="text-align: right;"> Overcome by hand-me-down languages<br />something escapes, eluding a solid grip.<br /></div>In the gap between precept and percept<br />something is lost<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Seven – Within Him, No Army Stirs<br />It takes one swift motion,<br />to shake that part of me that glows like a jewel<br />and tear it out.<br />The piece that makes me a valuable man,<br />shining like an incisor, like a candle in the night,<br />I will bury it, tarnished and tepid.<br />I will be buried by it, flesh rot and putrid.<br />Sewn with earth through famine and draught<br />light will recede from me and time will pass,<br />and in deluded desolation I will smile and laugh<br />knowing that nothing will grow.<br /><br /><br /> VIII ~ Geminus et Speculum<br />this wretched thing writhed and heaved<br /> hauled up from the depths in a bloated net<br /> sea sullen and covered in weeds<br />it was twisted biology, it was uncharted land<br />foreign flesh, poisoned spines, fins, fur and femur<br />this was born of the sea, now it was entangled in nets<br /> heavy eyes fell like hammers<br /> it looked so strange as though it might<br />in some way have my name<br /><br /><br /> Nine – Correlative<br />This is a sinking fact that has risen in my mind:<br />the human that I am is suffocated by empty space.<br />This space is empty and the thought fills my head.<br />Now I fill this page with polluted water, too clouded to see through.<br />I dream of a proximity that will heal open wounds.<br />A warmth that may come immediately or soon.<br />Something that can catch me from the ocean of emptiness and pull me through this life, the ever deviating definitions that starve the meaning filled matter that I am, as I spend my daily days which influence and slow my empty heart, all that which feeds my empty brain, emptied by thoughts of an emptied life.<br />This far off closeness will be felt and fed to me<br />one shovel at a time.<br />A summit of soil grants supreme solace<br />in that I am surrounded in absolute silence of thought.<br />What once made a man<br />now makes a lake bed.<br /><br /><br /> X ~ Cephalopod<br /> all of the smiles that I have seen<br /> and all of the subtler poisons in my veins<br /> have ran their course, coarse, coursing in the discourse<br />is it subhuman to transform, in neglect or rage outworn<br /> it was gravity that pulled me under<br /> sunk under the alter of ink<br /> i sunk so low, less myself in the<br /> misunderstanding, epithetical apathy<br /> strands of flesh strip off like tentacles<br /> unwinding around my humane neck<br /> detached and deployed from my spine<br /> my head descends enveloped in black ink<br /> out of reach in the depths of the black ink<br /><br /> One voice is heard,<br /> “What do they call you?”craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-14523806295103286272009-10-15T19:13:00.000-07:002009-10-15T19:14:37.613-07:00long time, no seeSorry for the lack of updates guys. I've been incredibly busy working with school-related stuff. Here's a relatively new poem!<br /><br />The Spring<br /><br />I came upon<br />a pool of water<br />sitting silver in the light.<br />Staring into the still surface,<br />the unstirred, undisturbed pool,<br />illumined to the bottom its living underbelly.<br />Entranced, <br />as time elapsed<br />my eyes engaged at first<br />with the glorified inconstancy and youth<br />the permeation of cast and calling<br />synchronized with the intricately cut composition,<br />the water, the reflection, refraction and <br />the silver cords of light passing through it all.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-33481369035123789082009-08-25T19:24:00.000-07:002009-08-25T19:27:04.281-07:00Old FodderHere's a slightly older one I wrote just before summer started. I'm still waiting on finishing the edits for my series, once I get that done a lot of new work will flow out as well.<br /><br />Phantom Limbs and Peripheries<br /><br />The ghost man marches before the gloom of morn,<br />before the dew settles, and a new world born.<br />He is many shades of darkness, walking and unable to be caught.<br />Evaporating in front of eyes which may only visualize<br />something that resembles an aerated ink blot.<br />He treads like a visual whisper among the mist.<br /><br />The ghost man is missing a limb,<br />walking through the mortuary with one arm.<br />He gropes at the gap in his missing rib,<br />but with no eyes, he cannot see that he is condemned.<br />As he wanders away from the north star,<br />the wind rises, and with it the dust.<br />Ignorance is enlightened, out of our reach<br />heaven stretches infinitely far.<br /><br />This lost man is only ever found in the corner of one’s eye.<br />When once his disfigured form meets history<br />his shadowy body blurs and blends with the sky.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-10890337221448347952009-08-22T09:52:00.001-07:002009-08-22T10:02:05.616-07:00Who KnowsFinished rough work on my series <span style="font-style: italic;">Organics.</span> It will be a little while for editing, but I'll be putting the parts up every two days once I start. Seven parts. I think it will be fun, just have to slug through the horrifying mess of editing. For now, here is a newer poem I wrote a few days ago.<br /><br />Gamble<br /><br />Without steady hands<br />its turned over<br />and over.<br />Flicked - it sways<br />and weighs the heavy odds<br />of shabby cloaks and jeweled rods.<br />To the top-down fall of our<br />everything and all.<br /> -Tough luck<br /> the King's crown on the face of the coin<br /> faces us.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-67201729423938832332009-08-15T08:46:00.000-07:002009-08-15T09:52:57.982-07:00UpdateHello, just thought I'd outline what I plan to do over the next few weeks. I'll be releasing a few smaller poems here and there, but I am currently working on a newer/more major project. I'll be releasing new sections of the project here, so check up and maybe you'll see some rough drafts or something. Hopefully it will build into some lord of the rings type epicness. Have a good one everybody.
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<br /><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CADMINI%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-CA;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">Room of a thousand keys</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">I was locked in a spacious room</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">and upon the walls I could see</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">photographs and paintings rich, </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">and even taller libraries.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">hanging from thinly strung strings</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">were many shining keys,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">and I walked about this room, studying its luxuries.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">every amusement and every novelty</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">could not distract from my noticing</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">that there were no doors to this room,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-CA">but one thousand keys.</span></p>
<br />craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-70411336371849878952009-08-11T16:14:00.000-07:002009-08-25T14:09:47.738-07:00Two poemsAutumn is auburn in the ache of morning's rise,<br />with the senses senescent to gradients of blue.<br />Blearily bleached eyes run from sun filled openings<br />and hands try to hold onto semblances of sentences.<br />Creaking joints comply to pressure,<br />the watered down dawn of the dark.<br />Every eve kneels and sees overanxious stars<br />settling in to give up,<br />always to the endless swirl of senescent stars.<br /><br /><br />In Praise of a Straight Line<br /><br />Steady<br />is something in<br />ironies best.<br />tonal<br />top down it goes in<br />syllabic stress.<br />straight way<br />until the y<br />downward.<br />a cliff<br />too deep to see<br />the bottom.<br />so eas<br />y it is to<br />ease up.<br />let go<br />and free yourself<br />from drag.<br />this is<br />why I praise the<br />certainty, the<br />sure foot,<br />the undeterred<br />straight line.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-139431728364317935.post-25557770811783779382009-08-11T15:55:00.000-07:002009-08-11T16:02:24.725-07:00Gradients of BlueHello all. This blog (as much as I hate saying that I, in fact, have a blog) will not entirely be a blog. For the most part this will count as a platform for me to share some creative works with friends and any others who may be unfortunate enough to stumble upon it. I'll keep the meanderings to a minimum. Hopefully this may be an intriguing way to share some works, as far as I read on the sites policies they said they reserve no right to any thing published here (here's hoping I read correctly). Hazaa. I'll probably have a decent feed, maybe weekly. Otherwise, too bad. Maybe a rant here and there. Get psyched.craigd64http://www.blogger.com/profile/01514410118480167612noreply@blogger.com0