aspie ranting |
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If I seem a little distant or incoherent, it's because I am. I am not a NeuroTypical and I have no desire to become one. This is simply the area in which I stim my creative impulses. (WARNING: All entries are either ENTIRELY TRUE or ENTIRELY FALSE and anything claiming to be one of the latter is, in fact, one of the former. There are no exceptions to this rule.) comments, marriage proposals, and death threats can be sent here 
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Wednesday, June 30, 2004
when to sleep perchance to dream means dreams full-fledged and foreign and lies expressed with contempt and the callous disregard of truth. Sweet Dreams, indeed. Wednesday, June 23, 2004
I carry a picture around to calm my nerves The picture of perfection a girl who used to be my reason to breathe who only chokes me up. I have to lose my wallet for any reprise. Friday, June 18, 2004
A very frightening experience when you discover for the first time you are in world full of people who have no reason to love or even like you and some even dislike you for reasons best known to themselves. They told me I would have friends... but how do you tell friend from foe? I am torn and twitching craving a stim of anything but who you are. Your face -- I remember the look on your face; I am still trying to decipher. The only thing I could think as you approached my car was "help me, please." I can't go on like this, craving your release denied the only one who helps. Tuesday, June 15, 2004
descent of Tanaerum. stained stench of guilt guards the entrance -- no taste of Cerberus. Soul of Dragon Rouge split path matched to forked tongues two heads become one, not unjoined -- no glimpse betwixt. antinomian parenthesis (that we were) a single voice. regurgitated lover bile-drenched memory of a whore not fit for Eleusis. Persephone's fall doomed to archtypal repetition. so Iambe's cries echo across even this distant time, and the scorpion's instinct is cruel subtlety. Friday, June 11, 2004
Steely stars and moon of brass, How mockingly you watch me pass! You know as well as I how soon I shall be blind to stars and moon, Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tree, Dumb when the brown earth weighs on me. With envious dark rage I bear, Stars, your cold complacent stare; Heart-broken in my hate look up, Moon, at your clear immortal cup, Changing to gold from dusky red -- Age after age when I am dead To be filled up with light, and then Emptied, to be refilled again. What has man done that only he Is slave to death -- so brutally Beaten back into the earth Impatient for him since his birth? Oh let me shut my eyes, close out The sight of stars and earth and be Sheltered a minute by this tree. Hemlock, through your fragrant boughs There moves no anger and no doubt, No envy of immortal things. The night-wind murmurs of the sea With veiled music ceaselessly, That to my shaken spirit sings. From their frail nest the robins rouse, In your pungent darkness stirred, Twittering a low drowsy word -- And me you shelter, even me. In your quietness you house The wind, the woman and the bird. You speak to me and I have heard: If I am peaceful, I shall see Beauty's face continually; Feeding on her wine and bread I shall be wholly comforted, For she can make one day for me Rich as my lost eternity. I thought of you when I was wakened By a wind that made me glad and afraid Of the rushing, pouring sound of the sea That the great trees made. One thought in my mind went over and over While the darkness shook and the leaves were thinned -- I thought it was you who had come to find me, You were the wind. Remember me as I was then; Turn from me now, but always see The laughing shadowy man who stood At midnight by the flowering tree, With eyes that love had made as bright As the trembling stars of the summer night. Turn from me now, but always hear The muted laughter in the dew Of that one year of youth we had, The only youth we ever knew -- Turn from me now, or you will see What other years have done to me. Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me -- That your love would never lessen and never go? You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted, You were too young to know. Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year -- Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking, I know your secret, my dear, my dear. Saturday, June 05, 2004
if you feel love, you can buy love you can fall the long way to empty nights and empty flights of fancy in an ordinary way if you feel love I don't feel love anymore |
faeries have died because YOU haven't been clapping hard enough.