Death of the Nonexistence

[Greenazure]

For so long a time, I
Keep asking:
"Who has separated the next Jesus into
Buddha's testicles and
Nvwa's womb?", or
"Who will provide
The circumstance under which
The reunion could be imminent?", or
"Is it a girl or
A ... ?"
...

Tomorning, a winter rain moisted the skin of
The earth together with mine, though
Spasmodically.
My quilt woke me up,
Quivering all the way till I
Went awray.
Occurred it to me that
Only by contracting the dark thick clouds drifting out
From my humid summer wet dreams
Could rain like this occurred.

And this is
Aimed to burn, for my
Current knowledge.
Raindrops are struggling
Hard against the breeze,
With their own ideal launchpad to land on.
It sounds like spring,
Smells like spring,
Gravity-defies like spring,
Improvises like spring.
I'm reminded of an
Awkward ballad I wrote about days ago,
"You come and you go,
From hi-high to lo-low,
Weep I and chuckles no,
From one love to two foes."
Or another I put on MBs,
"TRUE love, an automatic wrOtEr
with ink, quill and pOpEr.
TRUE love dOpEns the night.
TRUE love tears the sky.
TRUE love pOndErs.
TRUE love hOtes"
Or a sentence dedicated to my secret lover:
"Keep a cold winter kiss-breath of yours
and blow all the yellowish autumn leaves astray."

A n'athens school.
A prague school.
A chicago school.
the GREENAZURE school...

Finally I found a toilet and
Rushed into the 4th compartment.
It was eerily dark inside,
I unbuckled my pants, with an illusory look of
Approaching a desperate coitus,
Shot down my *** and turds of meteorites,
Kindled a cigarette, inhaled a puff or two.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
And I felt gigantically relieved.

The visual of a fluctuating sparkle-congregation
Swiveled into a vortex, driving the darkness even darker.
This was the scene before I was born,
Or by far before the tadpole found its mother.
Another cosmos, maybe.
No reason, no one, no orientation, no pre-, no -post, in-visible.
I am nothing but fearless,
Nothing but secure;
Don't know whether I am floating or running,
Don't know how long it lasts,
Don't know me as myself,
Don't know lumen, until
Feeble rays of twinkling light,
Same as the dying butt in my left hand,
Piercingly pierce my heart and eyes.

Ay, its dead body I held, and outside
Awaited me a dead day.
I tossed the filter tip and
Flushed down all the primal screams
Illuminated by billowing whiffs mingled with
Petals of a burning rose.

Income!
Outcome!
Outgo!
Ingo?
Magic squeaks,
Words meet.

No rules like language are
So deeply ingrained in every being,
The ones perceptible,
The ones imperceptible,
The ones coined,
The ones imagined,
The ones abstract,
The ones hallucinated,
The ones as non-existing,
The ones full of potentials,
Indulging and sinking downward into
The unknown dimensions
Just like me in abyss drowned.

Inspiration, aspiration, perspiration, desperation,
Vanish the RATION!

You come in real, and
Go in ghost.
Reality never cybers and
Becomes cold,
Cold, cold, colder, even colderer.
Time for living(!),
Leaving(!),
Departing, moving, jogging, running,
Up-speeding, acceling, up-pacing, erating,
Sprinting, gasping, gasping,
Gasping, gasping, sprinting,
Sprinting!
Yeah!
Hooray, hooray!
"Beyond the absolute zero!"
Phew...
Few.
Few words were uttered through
The mouth of a willow
Withered while flying hairs to the sky by the lake:
"So simple lingo mye!
Words wisdomic enough aber
Make center cosmos mye!"
I eavesdropped and nodded and extemporized a song in 4 notes, as:
" Let da vo-ca
Bularie fa
Mish and watch da
Surviva-la
Dance!"

People die for Love and
People die for Idea and
People die for Death and
People die for Nothing.

More electronic these days
My brain gets .
It's owing to the
Information Overdose.
Same way as the
Star Overdose or the
Quark Overdose.
Now I feel like that
Me can even be plugged in with
USB mouses, me can even
Voluntarily shuttle my roe within
4 layers of ConsciousNesses.

Holy cow!
Holy mouse!
Holy Mnymosyne!
Holy 4!

Here come students,
Nestles of knowledge!
Din for somnia.
Buzzes of bees.
Refugee the 1st time toafternoon,
And i know
god loves me and banishes me.
I'm now a boring moses or
A hermit enchanted.

This computer has never been a friend of mine,
He is mirror and
Tastes like a whore.
He is reducing me into a him with
Ether-connexion or
A hymn with millions of universes of praises,
Glorifying things beyond words.

The muse strikes no one but me just like the you love no one but me just like the door opens no one but me just like the poet eulogizes...

My skull is a tank,
My brain is water
Slashed by super-luminal fish,
I am now being reborn in an
Xls and
Keep emitting an vision of
Camouflagic visibility.

I cut off the internet and
Shut down the computer.
I am again dragged into the ideas like
Pre-marriage Divorce or
The Death of Non-existence
Slayed by odds or enlivened by monotonicity;
Either a battlefield, or
My last-wave migration of love and hatred.

[Greenazure]

welcome comments!

[cafolini]

welcome comments!

How could you avoid welcoming comments. What would give importance to the insanity otherwise?

[Greenazure]

this is a Chinese studying english literature right now and my very first time to try to write a poem in English. so still welcome comments, lol.

[Bar22do]

Welcome. There is a potential here, but your poem needs a thorough trimming and ridding of spelling errors. Rather confused contents, discouraging. In short, how could you show us what you wanted to say?

[Greenazure]

some of the wrongly spelt words are intentional. i am now crazily into the experimenal way of organizing words together. like wroter it means an ancient writer and i also use O&E to substitute the original vowels to accentuate the theme of love. also like awray means away and awry.
in this poem, i initiate a question which has already been put forward by Satre which is GOD is dead and i think god has been split up by a deliberate sabotage. and this poem mainly talks aboout themes like the status in which i would possibly be before i was born or after i die, the halluciation of being alive, the computerization of me in the cyber era, etc. these themes are all interwined with my one day experience on compus involved with smoking, walking by the lake, self-study in a self-study room. i applied two tenses, the past shows what i recollected, the present stresses the composition being undertaken right now. poems are vague, if they are all clear-cut, it would be not interesting. personally i think, there are two types of poems, one is the ones you like, the other is the ones you dislike. as for me, as far as i am relieved after the writing craze, i would praise my work. at least i infuse authentic passions and hopes into the text, lol.

[hillwalker]

The problem with your poem is exemplified by your last post ^^

You're taking yourself more seriously than your writing.
It's the most pretentious, inaccessible work I've seen on here for a long time.
How you expect anyone to navigate through 180 lines of indulgent musings and feel rewarded beats me.
An over-ambitious first step - which is a shame because you seem intelligent.

H

[Haunted]

Even T.S. Eliot can't get away with this rambling. My impression — unreadable, incomprehensible and uninspiring. You have the diction and thinking, I'm sure you can do better than this.

[Delta40]

If I had stuck a needle in my arm and injected myself with an illicit drug, I would be on the same page as you - maybe, but like the other posters say, you can probably do better than this.

[Greenazure]

thx hillwalker, im not writing to achieve the "objectivity" in your genre and im not writing to be seemingly smart. u dont know me as the person i am, so dont call me pretentious. they are just words and i know i still have a longlong way to go to master the language. but anyway your words stimulate me to some extent.

thx for Haunted, im trying hard to use my second language to write some poems, and this is my first try. i will work harder to polish my diction and make my ideas clear. thx!

[hillwalker]

I'm not calling you pretentious - I'm calling your writing pretentious.
The feedback on here is about what you have chosen to share with us - and the 'explanation' you gave for writing such an impenetrable poem suggests I was close to the mark.

H

[MorpheusSandman]

This feels like a prodigal, juvenile bastard poem of John Ashbery... that's not inherently a bad thing, but much too ambitious given your relative unfamiliarity with the language and your newness on this forum. The thing about difficult pieces is that you really have to built up trust and relationships with readers before they'll be willing to really sort through messes like this... unless you have the talent of TS Eliot, and I'm afraid you don't (yet). Nonetheless, there's some promising stuff, and I like the abrupt shifts of diction, tone, and register; but there's also some material that's so juvenile it borders on embarrassing.

[firefangled]

I agree with others here who offered not-to-subtle warnings that it is playing with literary fire to attempt to create an original lexicon. Most authors (Joyce, Pynchon, Frank Herbert) have had to create their own guide through the maze or someone adept in analysis has created it, after publication, for them. Anthony Burgess in "A Skeleton Key To Finnnegans Wake (and I am paraphrasing) said something to the effect that were it not that a reader knew James Joyce to be who he was, they would be too frustrated, exasperated and bored within the first few pages of Finnegans Wake to want to continue to investigate it. Indeed, that was the case of many who did know of Joyce's prowess with language.

Plain good writing is hard. Poetry more so. Esoteric and experimental poetry is not where you want to cut your teeth.

[Buh4Bee]

I read this piece several times. It is rather difficult to hate it, because there are stanzas that flow well. But then it turns into inaccessible chaos. It really needs to be edited. But there were a few places that it was quite interesting.