They do not like voices

October 2, 2009 at 8:10 pm | Posted in writing | 11 Comments

they cannot control which undermine positions long studied.
There was a Zen Buddhist temple and I was hungry and it was the somethings, a decade, perhaps it was Crowley in a turban, the monk was armed with a bamboo switch and no need for excuses.

I ate rice. Uncooked. I drank water for years. I had come as messenger and was mistaken for message.

You talk to me of strangenesses he said and things you have forgotten which are of no use to me. To find the boss, follow the money. To find the money, follow the boss and there was cosplay he said and left.

11 Comments »

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

  1. i lv this, it was something a decade, i lived in a xen buddhist temple, really. and so this works on all these levels 2 me. i’d come tho as a jewelseeker and was misgiven to a fancy box of treasures ha ha. buddha revived himself after the longest fasting
    with one grain of uncooked rice. true or as legend the thought is in there but then it comes right up to the present cosplay no need for xcuses, i like he has a bamboo switch not a nunchuk or sword, its musical

    Comment by tipota— October 3, 2009 #

  2. So much of life is they and I. They and I is like a dance one imagines inside one’s head, when so much is really just I. (But don’t mind me, I’m an only child.)

    Comment by alethakuschan— October 3, 2009 #

  3. Perfectly Hessian… I can think, I can wait, I can fast.

    Comment by Mark William Jackson— October 3, 2009 #

  4. […] @maekitso read that @gingatao is not fond of the given word ’slam’, so in keeping with all of the tension about I […]

    Pingback by Claquement « Maekitso’s Café— October 3, 2009 #

  5. Magical and mysterious, though I had come as messenger and was mistaken as message is all too real and common, at least for me.

    Comment by The Querulous Squirrel— October 4, 2009 #

  6. i came as a passenger but was mistaken for a massage. shades of marshall mcluhanland!

    Comment by jason— October 4, 2009 #

  7. Love how the title segues so perfectly into the poem — and how your words twist and turn, reflecting each other like little mirrors.

    Comment by Thomma Lyn— October 4, 2009 #

  8. love this on all levels. have a great night.

    Comment by Michelle Johnson— October 4, 2009 #

  9. Paul, this is some seriously great shit. I love the way the title works with it. You tell em, tell em all about the things that are forgotten and are no longer of any use.

    Comment by harmonie22— October 4, 2009 #

  10. Well name one thing that isnt a waste of time 🙂 … They must have their illusion at all costs, it is everything

    Comment by Mental Mist— October 4, 2009 #

  11. Here, here. The first sentence is so true. I need to find out what Crowley in a turban means – I had a best friend Crowley so this turned me off a bit (but that is my problem). Love the mannequin – your outfit for the speedpoets!

    Comment by Gabrielle Bryden— October 4, 2009 #


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar
WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Cancel

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.
Entries and comments feeds.

%d bloggers like this: