Niches and Nooks. Corners and Crannies

[hmmnmm]

Need.
That's a dandy. Go all day and tomorrow.
Pure needs can fit on one finger. Need to eat, but not as often or as much as we think or feel we need. Hunger. Strong hunger. Need? Maybe sometimes. Beyond the basics for survival subordinate needs vary from person to person. Maybe a need for stupid senseless fun. So come up with a wacky scene or micro story, give it just enough rhythm or a few rhymes, and call it a poem. Well, that's just playing in pudding. Is there a need to show it to someone else? Probably not. If it is shown to someone else, will they see what the writer saw? Who knows. Then you have what appears as need, say I think I need to get laid. Then I get laid. Well, now I don't need to get laid. So what seemed like a great need, or a great hunger is no longer. Fun something to think about for sure.
Need.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

If I post something and then get told a better way of looking at it I sort of lose interest in it as if I have given it away it's not mine anymore ... it's been sent out into the world let someone else feed it now!

 

[hmmnmm]

If I post something and then get told a better way of looking at it I sort of lose interest in it as if I have given it away it's not mine anymore ... it's been sent out into the world let someone else feed it now!

you too.

What if it wanders in that search, finding no one to feed it? What if it goes to hundreds of doors only to be turned away? What if it ends up in the abandoned poem shelter and must be adopted within a certain period or they have to put it to sleep? But what if there was one someone somewhere out there that one little poem was meant for, but they don't meet? Had the poem known of that one and had that one known of the poem they could have gone straight to each other and lived happily ever after.

But we don't really know do we?

I was thinking of the image from last night (we were on a drive out of town and there was the moon hanging up there in the dark clouds above the mountains, and the moon edges were all smudged). It was one of those images I meant earlier. Thinking if I could somehow make that image become a poem or even poetic prose, and it could stand alone. If I could present it how I saw it and the indescribable effect it had on me... If I could do that, I could be happy to never write another poem.

Which led me to: maybe we're all searching for That One that says everything. If we ever do get it we'll not need to... ah! need! A need! We need to find that one and make it so it says it all, and in the meantime, until that need is met, That One is found, we're killing time, sketching and doodling and erasing and cutting and rubbing and shaping and tossing and simmering. Maybe we get so caught up in these we forget we're on that quest for That One.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Oh God I feel dreadful now all those little poems I have left wandering homeless sob no one to call momma sob no one to call daddy sob tired drenched cold and unfed maybe locked away in TWATS (the wayward army torture school) struggling to be released and losing hope

 

[hmmnmm]

twats too

 

[hmmnmm]

music's tears
trail cursives
electrocute
an interior diver
swaddled in a sweater

 

[hmmnmm]

lime rinds
treated like apples
squeak
bittersweet ballads
driven to meet
bluesy chopped sirloin
smoked on a mountain
back porch shack

 

[hmmnmm]

underhanded cusses
lowered orbital
defense salient
exposed underbelly

permitted free reign
to offend, to smite,
to set ablaze
guarded treasures

structures shudder; teeter
perilous winds drum shutters
and mass produce wreckage

 

[hmmnmm]

Artistic renditions of heaven have historically tended to depict its joyous residents
garbed in loosely worn and freely flowing robes and gowns.
Why then is heaven entered into via tight pussy?

 

[UnderYourSpell]

It's a test

 

[champagne1982]

Artistic renditions of heaven have historically tended to depict its joyous residents
garbed in loosely worn and freely flowing robes and gowns.
Why then is heaven entered into via tight pussy?

Depends which way you're going, too, I'd imagine. For me, I only got to go out.

Heaven? Maybe. I was hoping it'd be warmer here, though.

 

[hmmnmm]

all valid points that tempted consideration, but I didn't want to go too far on too many tangents, yet... and it isn't worded best, yet. Like to sometimes pick a word or concept, and play with them; usually the choice is random, and this time it came up 'tight/tightness v loose/looseness... that was the first thing that came to mind. Juvenile, yes, but darn it, juvenile is closer to... to something. You know.

 

[miss_trust]

ok, this makes little to no sense so be forgiving? or judge as you will - whatever floats your boat.

I was thinking about searching for heaven, reaching heaven, Need, niches, nooks, corners and crannies and this is what i got.

i do this thing -
Insinuate myself, offer pieces (kinda small - significant but meaningless), listen, confer, process, search for familiarity, recognition of minds, souls. Find a comfy spot, settle in with a cup of whatever-sounds-good.
Then i get this shiver, this black spot - something at the base of my skull and in my throat so i can't swallow and the space between my ears & jaw tenses - it shoots down my spine like the first spray of a cold shower you weren't expecting and do Not want, then settles in my toes & my nose. i try to sink into it and accept that it's there, figure out where to go with it. i'll realize soon enough that it's just someone trying to get to know me and, while i Was doing the same, i don't think that's such a good idea anymore.
Where's that line i drew? How'd i get so far beyond it? i didn't even know i was moving and why did i draw a line in the first place? what's up with that?
So there's this retreat, the Retreat is the thing i do, i yank back at the same time i push off so both sides are forced to distance. i'll keep retreating and give a glance over my shoulder to see the pillars of salt i made and think i never deserved them anyway so it's a pretty good thing they're blowing away in this wind that just kicked up... a pretty good thing indeed because the next time i glance back they won't be there, i won't have to worry about what i might have left behind but that's a trick and i don't play it well. i can't help but think about what i might have left behind.
i'll try not to pay attention to what's in my periphery because it's moving faster than i am. look dead ahead but i kinda can't - don't know what to zoom in on as my point of reference so in retreating i close my eyes and just move to what i think will be Away... that place, the one that's far and pretty easy to get to but hard to leave? you know...
does anyone else do this thing or am i the freak in the bunch?

 

[hmmnmm]

Oh it makes some sense. Funny you take it in the direction you do because I was thinking along a peripheral field. Seems there's a feel (terribly weak word) that when present, or when you're in it, or when you hold it, rub it, stretch it, sniff it, it somehow transfers or copies or... or? Yeah. And when in it, whatever you pull from it makes perfect sense, and you can mix it up, shuffle, reshuffle, crumple, open, whatever you want, because you know it says the same thing, ultimately.

All's well. Until you get away or it gets away or you lose it, maybe some simple stressor intrusion brings you back to the tangible world of the known or the mainstream... then you look at what once made perfect sense, but it makes no sense at all and you can't believe it ever did, and you can understand now why others said it made little if any sense to them then.

So how do you know which is the one? Which is or was the more true? Which the deception? Both? neither? All valid?

That's a bitch. Trying to figure that stuff out.

Because I more prefer feeling it though it may make little if any sense to anyone else, than not feeling it, burdened with the unsettled question that I'm only conforming for a loaf of bread.

Because the feeling is on a belligerent hiatus right now, and has been for several days. Trying to entice its return but I think it's gotten tired of being too often doubted. Stressed.

So I suppose that's where the heaven and the pussy piece came from, but it just isn't there. Sucks.

 

[hmmnmm]

Then,
as if The Feel had not drifted far enough into the heavens, as if hope for its eventual retrieval had not become an evaporated desert floor, in a psychotic fit of extended avoidance, I allowed my mind in its vulnerable state to skim the topic of Isms, since I wondered which Ism we were in, and discovered we were in the Postmodern Ism, because I got it into my head that whatever Ism it is we are in, I did not want to be mistakenly perceived as one who conforms to a current Ism simply because it is current because there must always be an opposing force no matter how popular or pervasive any trend in anything (of course the most important is being oneself and neverminding whether it fits with any Ism, but since The Feel has been away I took the way of a fool); but then The Great Lion of All Isms landed its paw over my head, its terrible claws imprisoning me, because it seems that postmodernism is such a vague concept that there may be no escaping, and there may be no way of doing anything that opposes it.
Now this is scary. Is there really no new direction to take anything that can somehow exit the territory that postmodernism supposedly is? I mean, why bother if that is the case?
this sucks.