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The Runaway View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 15 2009 at 10:00
*claps*
Trendsetter win!

The search for nonexistent perfection.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 15 2009 at 17:15
At the First Glimpse of Morning I Raise My Eyelids and Vomit a Little

I thought of this
fine title for
a poem but
that's all I thought of
so . . .
so what.
so what now?
what now?
hat now?
at now?
now:
ow!
w
v
w
wv
ww
wvwv
vwvwvw
wvwvwvwvwv
vwvwvwvwvwvwvwvwvwvw


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Luca Pacchiarini View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 20 2009 at 10:52
New ones by me:
(translated from italian)
 
Stratosphere
 
Every time you open your mouth
Infinite spaces acquire a new name
 
 
 
Darkness, Dawn And Closure
 
We were born in this corner of bare grass
not a metre from here
We learnt every rhyme they wanted us to
We memorized the name of every artificial colour
We said everything we had to
We waited for our limbs to become human
We searched, moving shadowy angular objects to see
if something really hid behind.
 
We began to worry that our burden
could disappear in a cold morning of spider webs
leaving us in an empty motel room
smelling of grey lime
on whose doorbell "Freedom" was written.
 
We stood still in the green submarine dawn
when the seabirds glided in the watery vault below us
We raised the head towards the sky
and drowned with water in the nostrils.
 
 
 
Avenue Psalm
 
And like the wolf in the shiny jacket
explains to us in detail
each frame of the garden beyond
 
Your candied faces
show us the way
and make us understand with broad gestures
how wrong it would be to reject this special salvation offer.
 
 
 
I Watch The Policemen
(For Robyn Hitchcock)
 
I watch the policemen
in front of the pastry shop
with their black pointed top-hats
that shift the hives on the trees
 
They go to prostitutes as well
to eat a snack
and the prostitutes wait for them
playing Monopoly between themselves
 
Don't annoy them
they might play a trick on you
they might scare you with their black masks
screaming cuckoo from behind a bush...
 
I watch the policemen
down in the street a bit sad
dancing a still valzer with the prostitutes
they shake the yellow leaves that fall on them...
 
 
 
In The Garden Of The Junk Dealer
 
It didn't seem fair to me
that's it.
Half thought is born, crooked
lame truncated
It waggles rambles staggers
then falls down
legs on the air and remains still.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 21 2009 at 03:17

I really loved your 2nd poem, it gives the world this dystopian feel Wink

Trendsetter win!

The search for nonexistent perfection.
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Luca Pacchiarini View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 21 2009 at 06:44
Originally posted by Aragorn224 Aragorn224 wrote:

I really loved your 2nd poem, it gives the world this dystopian feel Wink

LOL
Then it must be a coincidence, since I don't know what "dystopian" means Confused
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 23 2009 at 15:55
I tried
to eat
canned
beans
today.
I did
heat
them,
but they
tasted so
horrible
that I
just had
to add
some
salt.
so I
added
some salt,
and then
some more
salt, and
then some
more salt,
and then
some more salt,
and then,
when I
had done the
best I could,
I threw them
away.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 25 2009 at 07:27
Finally, a Vision, Yes?

It's very confusing
how sometimes the lamplight
curtains or not
you know what I mean.

The proud asphalt surface
still wet today
speaks to me
the ancient something.

Like I would watch
sometimes but
yet not yet
correct?

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 25 2009 at 08:46

Got myself dressed and ready

put some gas in my car...
gonna pick up pretty Jackie
we'll follow the Northern Star
 
When the Saints come rollin' in
I'll be by the riverside
when all is said and done
feelings are better left inside
 
The Wild wood is on the horizon
Wild wood will soon pass by
the moonlight on this country road
makes our spirits high
 
Say hello to Aunt Cissy
give my regards to mrs. Tice
such a black night up ahead
can't you feel it in your eyes
 
Turn the page just keep going
the maps are left behind
taste of a milkshake moon
is all we care to find
 
 


Edited by weetabix - July 25 2009 at 08:47
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: July 27 2009 at 06:48
could someone please fix my right-hand shoe?

sometimes I wake up and
mistake myself for someone else
than who I think I am.

at such an occasion
it's usually past noon

and the children squealing
could be birds
but I wouldn't bet on it.

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 05 2009 at 05:04
A Premature(?) Nocturne

Hark! The Lark, on this morning so dark,
resembles the bark of a dog.
Make no mistake, mark the width of the lake,
and the park, and the trees, and the fog.

In bible black water in crimson red dress
lies the body of sweet Emmie Drey.
And a trout swimming by mourns the woe in her eye
with a shriek of a horrid decay.

(And may I point out that the trout that did shout
in a language so fishy and moist
couldn't bring my love back in a worn iron rack
but my heart from its depths did it hoist.)

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 05 2009 at 05:13
Originally posted by Vompatti Vompatti wrote:

A Premature(?) Nocturne

Hark! The Lark, on this morning so dark,
resembles the bark of a dog.
Make no mistake, mark the width of the lake,
and the park, and the trees, and the fog.

In bible black water in crimson red dress
lies the body of sweet Emmie Drey.
And a trout swimming by mourns the woe in her eye
with a shriek of a horrid decay.

(And may I point out that the trout that did shout
in a language so fishy and moist
couldn't bring my love back in a worn iron rack
but my heart from its depths did it hoist.)

Great Big smile
 
I have a melody in my head and I tried to sing it with this poem as lyrics... it turned out pretty good actually Shocked
 
Shame that I don't have a microphone
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 05 2009 at 09:52
Winona Ryder, how I wish I could ride her
horse, but I don't even know if she has one.
And even if she did, she'd probably keep it hid
in case someone tried to get it on vid
and then sell the tape to her fans
along with some stainless steel pans
that she used to cook food on
before they got mysteriously stolen
from the kitchen where the ink in the sink
is not nearly as pink as one might think.

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 06 2009 at 15:23
Don't you just hate it when all those raw vegetables
            follow you home from work when
       you don't even
                       have one?
  and when they sit on your coffee
                 table, all red
                          and orange and green
           perhaps wave
  (but only a little)
                   and say: what
          have you done today?
     (nothing.)
                 and when you try to leave
                            your apartment
             but can't
                            because they're
             blocking
                            the
                     way
    and
            that's
                       when they begin to get
                    closer
             and
   closer
 and
      closer.
                   all red and
                                      green
                               and
                                      orange.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 06 2009 at 18:32
They Tore Down The Lighthouse (Robert? Can You See Me?)
 
 
Sand is quite metastable
when put inside a blender
and put inside the sunlight.
The dark, dark sunlight.
 
Sunlight can not fill
and empty bathtub full of eels
wriggling to find a habitat.
The dark, dark sunlight
sucks the pain out of plants
and water out of man made apricots.
Tasty, tasty apricots.
 
The giant aquatic peaches
smother me. Crushing me.
Suffocate me. Bother me slightly.
 
The dark, dark sunlight
is filled with rage
waiting for a hapless sole
that needs a soul
to sale on monday nights
for vegetables and breakfasts.
 
The dark, dark sunlight
smells of dankness and blackberries
that have been submerged
in electrical wiring that has melted
from the cold.
 
The dark, dark sunlight
tastes of poison.
Like a cancer, or a blowfish,
living only on the dead
before the living can cascade
into oblivion.
 
The dark, dark sunlight
feels cold, yet warm,
fuzzy, yet stark
smooth, yet rocky
holey, yet demonic.
It shakes too violently to test it
conclusively.
 
The dark, dark sunlight
sounds like the night
full of emptiness, dispear
fog, erroneous headlights of cars that drive themselves nowhere,
fear, hatred,
and a gentle whine.
 
The dark, dark sunlight
appears to be a spirit, a specter
an apparition, that casts its white
shadow down
into the cavities of humanity
carefully guiding its hands
to your errongenous zones
ready to fulfill your need for pleasure.
 
We're all ghosts.
We're all ghosts.
We're all ghosts.
 
In the dark, dark sunlight
We're all ghosts.
We're all ghosts.
We're all ghosts.
Dig me...But don't...Bury me
I'm running still, I shall until, one day, I hope that I'll arrive
Warning: Listening to jazz excessively can cause a laxative effect.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 06 2009 at 18:52
Untitled By Anonymous
 
People walking by me
as I sing a song
a song to open wounds
and visions to the past.
 
So many people
walking by
leaving imprints in the concrete.
Faceprints imagined, fallen laughter
Graceful and refined
Taller and taller
Greater and greater.
 
They look, tilt their hands,
perhaps pose a query
of why you don't have hands.
You answer:
 
Soapbox reform a sock left to rot in a pile of decomposing remains
of a different time, a different day
But a stain now,
But a stain now.
A blemish left to mar
and distract from another
time or place or fancy or gravity
and yet the perverse pleasure recieved
for deed undone but in imagination
time reflects casulties
For time is a liquid,
formed akin to plasma,
that isn't tangible
that isn't imperishable
that isn't meant for me.
Shaded glen hold me for eternity
until the ground permits me
to give back to the world a more sustainable solution
masterly and mastering the essence of a condition unstated
unsealed and unmotioned
The price is falling.
The sky is falling.
But no one really needs the sky, its a placeholder.
 
So many people
like so many seconds
drifting by, drifting by, drifting by.
Not for me.
Not for me.
Dig me...But don't...Bury me
I'm running still, I shall until, one day, I hope that I'll arrive
Warning: Listening to jazz excessively can cause a laxative effect.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 06 2009 at 18:56
Testracks
 
The bit ch lik e a kni sh
wa ve rin g in  pa in.
Th e d og s cre a ms,"
Are n't yo u do ne w ith  th at h ot  dog  y e t?
" A nd th e w or ld w il l  n e ver k now .
Dig me...But don't...Bury me
I'm running still, I shall until, one day, I hope that I'll arrive
Warning: Listening to jazz excessively can cause a laxative effect.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 11 2009 at 08:40
everybody knows about the peas I bought
so instead I'm going to tell you about the
girl who sold me those peas.
it was a bright summer's day and the people
were walking in numerous quantities
on the pedestrian street because isn't that
where people are supposed to walk when
there is one and in this case there was one
and the people were walking on it and I was
walking on it too.
what happened next was one of those young
red-haired girls with paper and stuff, collecting
money for the Amnesty or the Greenpeas or
something like that, began to approach me,
but I know their tricks, I know how they do
the ambush, so I circled around the parked
bicycles and stayed close to the wall and
picked up some speed so they wouldn't
get me.
yes, I got away in time, but then I saw
the peas in the stand and they were very
cheap peas and there was a girl behind
the stand selling those peas, but she
didn't look like the kind of girl who would
sell were cheap peas, in fact she was
very pretty and looked like she usually
sold very expensive peas (but obviously
not too expensive but worth the price,
high-quality peas just like the girl who
sold them), so naturally I thought that
there was nothing wrong with the peas
but they were so cheap because they
had so many of them and tried to get
rid of them while they were still fresh,
so I bought four litres of them, and I
think the girl actually gave me five,
and she smiled to me when she
actually gave me five, and I paid and
left and went home and ate some
of those peas and they were very
large peas, overgrown peas, and
there were quite a few worms there
with them and some of the peas had
already been eaten by the worms and
perhaps the girl who sold them didn't
know what kind of low-quality peas
they were, but I really think she did,
but then again, she was very young
and she only worked there so I suppose
it's fine because now that I think about
it I guess she really didn't smile that
much after all and even if she did she
had probably been told to do that because
customers are very happy customers when
they are smiled to by a young and quite
charming girl even if the peas she sells
are barely worth the price.

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 12 2009 at 16:32
Originally posted by Vompatti Vompatti wrote:

everybody knows about the peas I bought
so instead I'm going to tell you about the
girl who sold me those peas.
it was a bright summer's day and the people
were walking in numerous quantities
on the pedestrian street because isn't that
where people are supposed to walk when
there is one and in this case there was one
and the people were walking on it and I was
walking on it too.
what happened next was one of those young
red-haired girls with paper and stuff, collecting
money for the Amnesty or the Greenpeas or
something like that, began to approach me,
but I know their tricks, I know how they do
the ambush, so I circled around the parked
bicycles and stayed close to the wall and
picked up some speed so they wouldn't
get me.
yes, I got away in time, but then I saw
the peas in the stand and they were very
cheap peas and there was a girl behind
the stand selling those peas, but she
didn't look like the kind of girl who would
sell were cheap peas, in fact she was
very pretty and looked like she usually
sold very expensive peas (but obviously
not too expensive but worth the price,
high-quality peas just like the girl who
sold them), so naturally I thought that
there was nothing wrong with the peas
but they were so cheap because they
had so many of them and tried to get
rid of them while they were still fresh,
so I bought four litres of them, and I
think the girl actually gave me five,
and she smiled to me when she
actually gave me five, and I paid and
left and went home and ate some
of those peas and they were very
large peas, overgrown peas, and
there were quite a few worms there
with them and some of the peas had
already been eaten by the worms and
perhaps the girl who sold them didn't
know what kind of low-quality peas
they were, but I really think she did,
but then again, she was very young
and she only worked there so I suppose
it's fine because now that I think about
it I guess she really didn't smile that
much after all and even if she did she
had probably been told to do that because
customers are very happy customers when
they are smiled to by a young and quite
charming girl even if the peas she sells
are barely worth the price.

 
Holy sh*t, that's one of the most incredible things I've read in all my life
 
Loved the way you recorded on paper (well, in digital form) very twisty and tortured streams of consciousness, especially those parts where you repeat certain words and concepts as the narrator thinks.
 
How do you write things like these?
Do you ever published one?
Do you have a job?
 
 
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 12 2009 at 16:44
Originally posted by Luca Pacchiarini Luca Pacchiarini wrote:

Originally posted by Vompatti Vompatti wrote:

everybody knows about the peas I bought
so instead I'm going to tell you about the
girl who sold me those peas.
it was a bright summer's day and the people
were walking in numerous quantities
on the pedestrian street because isn't that
where people are supposed to walk when
there is one and in this case there was one
and the people were walking on it and I was
walking on it too.
what happened next was one of those young
red-haired girls with paper and stuff, collecting
money for the Amnesty or the Greenpeas or
something like that, began to approach me,
but I know their tricks, I know how they do
the ambush, so I circled around the parked
bicycles and stayed close to the wall and
picked up some speed so they wouldn't
get me.
yes, I got away in time, but then I saw
the peas in the stand and they were very
cheap peas and there was a girl behind
the stand selling those peas, but she
didn't look like the kind of girl who would
sell were cheap peas, in fact she was
very pretty and looked like she usually
sold very expensive peas (but obviously
not too expensive but worth the price,
high-quality peas just like the girl who
sold them), so naturally I thought that
there was nothing wrong with the peas
but they were so cheap because they
had so many of them and tried to get
rid of them while they were still fresh,
so I bought four litres of them, and I
think the girl actually gave me five,
and she smiled to me when she
actually gave me five, and I paid and
left and went home and ate some
of those peas and they were very
large peas, overgrown peas, and
there were quite a few worms there
with them and some of the peas had
already been eaten by the worms and
perhaps the girl who sold them didn't
know what kind of low-quality peas
they were, but I really think she did,
but then again, she was very young
and she only worked there so I suppose
it's fine because now that I think about
it I guess she really didn't smile that
much after all and even if she did she
had probably been told to do that because
customers are very happy customers when
they are smiled to by a young and quite
charming girl even if the peas she sells
are barely worth the price.

 
Holy sh*t, that's one of the most incredible things I've read in all my life
 
Loved the way you recorded on paper (well, in digital form) very twisty and tortured streams of consciousness, especially those parts where you repeat certain words and concepts as the narrator thinks.
 
How do you write things like these?

I don't know, I just do.

Originally posted by Luca Pacchiarini Luca Pacchiarini wrote:

Do you ever published one?

No. But I've only tried to publish the worst ones.

Originally posted by Luca Pacchiarini Luca Pacchiarini wrote:

Do you have a job?

No. I'm not good at anything.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: August 12 2009 at 18:20
Substance
 
We were all born
With a splash of sperm
We'll all die
With a splash of blood
 
 
 
Weird, I am happy at the moment, but something like this, so nihilist and gloomy, came through my headConfused


Edited by Luca Pacchiarini - August 12 2009 at 18:20
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