i wrote this i would like feedback, maybe genre?

As my alter egos, smokes the mystified, dust covered trousers of an old, wrinkled up nurse of the 34th century he begins to think sub-consciously, I, me, we, think of what has to be done, now, tomorrow, in the future and more importantly what happens in the descriptions, of the universe in its fragments, never whole! Of what makes us! Staring at his mind, flabbergasted at the fact it’s not their, just small grass with some facts frolicking in the sun of the world in the inner part of the human brain. my mind! My mind! My mind! My milk? Of this forgotten soul of the tea kettle that burns so hot of the seven summers of those seven churches O so forgotten in the times of the apocalyptical hypocrites that tell us the end is coming, when all is true, the end is coming He being the devil of an imaginary substance that hinders all of us with decisions of what matter? what is his purpose in this poorly lighten room of black suns, so sweetly bitter of the begging death of the earth, that is agonizing the angels of the dead, and rejoicing at the matter of planets that obey the laws of the earth while not acting on the one true rule and theory, the wise, the true people obey on the facts of objectivism? Object the norm, don’t live at the standards of these chickens and ants, live as a jackalope ready to pounce on the regular, the different do not follow these ways of men, follow the abstract ways of life, fly all over the place, in all different directions but your destined at YOUR location, this location isn’t optional its set in stone before it happens, yet this is why its all at once in essence, of a statement of real true desire and passion for something of the mind. my mind reality he is nothing of these things only humans, of some race, not my race, I see to much around me to know that this “earth” cant hold things of importance in the ideas of a world inside the mind of ones love, hope, dignity and desire .Words put on to paper, scratched into the surface of the earth, Labeling your thoughts, my thoughts into one, morphing to concepts of reality into one, mixing the thoughts of human beings results in the conflict of death and a desirable sense of dictatorship. put into a mind which only thinks of what is relative, of the matter that flying humans and swimming rocks do exist, but only under the circumstances of a great deal of imagination and concentration of the soul to the mind, in essence if you can truly feel, act, be an object then want it, something magnificent will happen, some people say knowledge, some people say nothing, but the guy in the black suit dressed to the fullest of gold with crimson stained all over it has a mind that does not travel “two roads” there is one road of peoples minds, but I strongly urge you, all of you two tooth wretched old whores, pimps, murders and you even you, I urge you stop thinking this is the way, no one is labeled by what they do at a second only descriptions of what you, YOU capture matter, come back from the mistakes that earth and human ways have caused, relive yourself from thinking there isn’t the way, the way is obvious, the white moon that sings the songs of the beautifully horrid sirens, or the waves that lies so mysteriously and calls to you in the night, darkness is calling, do not answer! My alter ego believes the lies that are all around us swirling in the liquid that burns him so fiercely by the high speed that coolly breezes the hand, people believe these lies because it is easiest. Look at those kinds of people and pity them, for they do not understand what it truly means to be “original”. He does not listen to what the earth and what the spirits tell him, he turns them away to be back into the black void, the abyss of deceit and unholy ways. yet he is fully alive in himself, he lives off what he thinks, it motivates him to think, to live, but to live of the ways you think sub-consciously is very selfish an pointless, yet he does not truly exists in matter but totally there at that, which leaves you with the question, what all is there with out knowing what it truly is in its pure essence/

This alter ego sees truths told, for what is truth but that one moment of inspiration caught like a lightning bug in a jar on a humid summer's eve. Practice what you preach, and when you stand on that corner of the earth possessed by the spirits of capricorn that share knowledge of all things...then shall you look up and see in the moon that you have followed the trail of crumbs left by myself in a former trance. Perhaps you are me, and mine is yours!

-I like it! I hope to see more of you on the forums.

As my alter egos, smokes the mystified, dust covered trousers of an old, wrinkled up nurse of the 34th century he begins to think sub-consciously, I, me, we, think of what has to be done, now, tomorrow, in the future and more importantly what happens in the descriptions, of the universe in its fragments, never whole! Of what makes us! Staring at his mind, flabbergasted at the fact it’s not their, just small grass with some facts frolicking in the sun of the world in the inner part of the human brain. my mind! My mind! My mind! My milk? Of this forgotten soul of the tea kettle that burns so hot of the seven summers of those seven churches O so forgotten in the times of the apocalyptical hypocrites that tell us the end is coming, when all is true, the end is coming He being the devil of an imaginary substance that hinders all of us with decisions of what matter? what is his purpose in this poorly lighten room of black suns, so sweetly bitter of the begging death of the earth, that is agonizing the angels of the dead, and rejoicing at the matter of planets that obey the laws of the earth while not acting on the one true rule and theory, the wise, the true people obey on the facts of objectivism? Object the norm, don’t live at the standards of these chickens and ants, live as a jackalope ready to pounce on the regular, the different do not follow these ways of men, follow the abstract ways of life, fly all over the place, in all different directions but your destined at YOUR location, this location isn’t optional its set in stone before it happens, yet this is why its all at once in essence, of a statement of real true desire and passion for something of the mind. my mind reality he is nothing of these things only humans, of some race, not my race, I see to much around me to know that this “earth” cant hold things of importance in the ideas of a world inside the mind of ones love, hope, dignity and desire .Words put on to paper, scratched into the surface of the earth, Labeling your thoughts, my thoughts into one, morphing to concepts of reality into one, mixing the thoughts of human beings results in the conflict of death and a desirable sense of dictatorship. put into a mind which only thinks of what is relative, of the matter that flying humans and swimming rocks do exist, but only under the circumstances of a great deal of imagination and concentration of the soul to the mind, in essence if you can truly feel, act, be an object then want it, something magnificent will happen, some people say knowledge, some people say nothing, but the guy in the black suit dressed to the fullest of gold with crimson stained all over it has a mind that does not travel “two roads” there is one road of peoples minds, but I strongly urge you, all of you two tooth wretched old whores, pimps, murders and you even you, I urge you stop thinking this is the way, no one is labeled by what they do at a second only descriptions of what you, YOU capture matter, come back from the mistakes that earth and human ways have caused, relive yourself from thinking there isn’t the way, the way is obvious, the white moon that sings the songs of the beautifully horrid sirens, or the waves that lies so mysteriously and calls to you in the night, darkness is calling, do not answer! My alter ego believes the lies that are all around us swirling in the liquid that burns him so fiercely by the high speed that coolly breezes the hand, people believe these lies because it is easiest. Look at those kinds of people and pity them, for they do not understand what it truly means to be “original”. He does not listen to what the earth and what the spirits tell him, he turns them away to be back into the black void, the abyss of deceit and unholy ways. yet he is fully alive in himself, he lives off what he thinks, it motivates him to think, to live, but to live of the ways you think sub-consciously is very selfish an pointless, yet he does not truly exists in matter but totally there at that, which leaves you with the question, what all is there with out knowing what it truly is in its pure essence/

okay, as you wish, maestro.

i like the spontaneous flow with no line breaks. the issue for me is it ventures into the unintelligible too often.

Object the norm, don’t live at the standards of these chickens and ants, live as a jackalope ready to pounce on the regular, the different do not follow these ways of men, follow the abstract ways of life...

what are you talking about Willis?


you might have been inspired by the Beats. i mean, you are LucienMidnight; what am i to think? but some of your ideas border on offensive. the beats wrote 'about' people and the world. sure, ginsberg had his moments of poetic ranting. ah, but they did it with grace and an eye to and ear on humanity.

the seven summers of those seven churches O so forgotten in the times of the apocalyptical hypocrites that tell us the end is coming, when all is true, the end is coming He being the devil of an imaginary substance that hinders all of us with decisions of what matter? what is his purpose in this poorly lighten room of black suns, so sweetly bitter of the begging death of the earth, that is agonizing the angels of the dead

i read this cynical criticism and it makes me sad, and i'm going to crawl back under my blankets and think about things, figure out your poem, maybe, i'm not sure. keep writing, my brother.

hey great imagination , great words that describes , and good qaulity
keep it up :) , personaly i felt i want to read more to know what you mean
and what you imagine!! great!

I loved this part : Of this forgotten soul of the tea kettle that burns so hot of the seven summers .

I think imagination is the most important thing , you can be a good author!
:) wish you the best.

It's quite a nice read. I like it