oblique

recorded thoughts from a queerky mind original poems, unlimited inspiration +65 ♂ 19

[ecneuqole]

ak.

you want to know you sneak To find the things you want To learn. you do not Hear you do not See you do not Speak To find the things you want to learn you want to know you sneak. you do not fail to ignore the signs you can- -Not not notice you are not a spy. you know no reason you know no rhyme To know the things you want to find you want to learn, you know you sn

[ecneuqole]

General Cooking

Take out the pots and pans, your heart and mind, the knives and board.

Start the fire, be careful — the gas may be leaking.

Pour your doubts and sorrows and love and hurt and joy and thoughts and words you want to say and truths and regret and care and concern and love into the pot.

Mix thoroughly, roughly, passionately, until a homogeneous solution is obtained. (Everything's the same.)

Leave to boil; toss and turn around in bed, sleepless nights — thoughts fill your head.

Layout the table; clean, white plates, unknowing. A guest of whom you do not know will drop by for dinner.

Will (s)he feast or dismiss? Will you pack up and will dessert be served? Or will you progress

Refer to 1.

[ecneuqole]

Of hearts and smiles

I need to laugh I need to laugh I need to laugh

I need to laugh I need to laugh (love) I need to laugh (love)

I need to love (laugh) I need to love (laugh) I need to love

I need to love I need to love I need to love

[ecneuqole]

Holly

Phase One:

She could be anyone. Smoothing out the layer of red on her lips, Holly lowered the lipstick. Her lips were soft red, an alluring red. Almost Pastel peach, comfortable peach.

Phase Two:

It hit her. Bitterness stole her last breath. Soft curled eyelashes touched as Holly braced for the kick. Swallowed, her throat burnt, her mouth was cool. Her mind, fogged.

Phase Three:

Holly was whole. The music was her firewood, these friends (strangers) were the flame. Feeding off Holly's pleasant disillusion.

Phase Four:

Dilution and clarity. The crowd thinned, and so did Holly's saturated self esteem. The warm, comfortable flame that once was now cackled. No longer pastel, Holly was muted.

Phase Five:

The night was young; Holly, younger.

Phase Six:

If Holly would, She could have been someone/anyone.

[ecneuqole]

Eyes

the first meeting was the last meeting, it was a moment of eternity, a passing moment — fleeting.

[ecneuqole]

To an Angel whom I have never met

Venus, or Aphrodite, or Cupid or chance veered my path towards yours. Mine. Towards yours. Your eyes hold the depth of the galaxies, gentle pastel blue, genteel green, ashen grey, a beautiful brown. I would stare into them and lose myself amidst the stars, starry eyes. Your hair, long and flowing and soft and radiant, or a short bob. I'll run my fingers through, halted by a knot, you flinch, then smile. You smile, your lips part, soft kissable red, you bite your lower lip. To an Angel whom I have never met, one day our paths will converge but until then, I will continue down spiralling roads, twisting paths, beaten tracks, wandering into new lands. And continue wishing you the best Valentines Day you can have.

[ecneuqole]

Blurred

I enjoy boarding the train and observing people observe me, maybe its the way I dress or carry myself, it draws looks. I enjoy Aestheticism. Art for art's sake, transcending beyond the pragmatic and the tangible. The world is not given justice through the order we bring to it. I enjoy doing things that others would perceive as doing nothing. Sitting on a park bench listening to music, poetry, design, looking at the stars, spending hours thinking about the future and the past. I enjoy speaking, in a pseudo-American accent that is not quite it, but yet is also a British one. Talking to myself, thinking out loud with an accent that I wouldn't otherwise adopt. I enjoy running my fingers through a bucket of rice grain. Molesting fabric whilst in a clothes store. Tactile experiences are so almost orgasmic but so oft ignored. I enjoy being almost drunk but not quite drunk. Almost. You speak your mind, fuck restrictions pre-imposed and pre-ingrained by the order society sees suitable. Your values resonate. I enjoy falling asleep to music. The beat of the bass drum synchronizes and adds on to that of my heart. Every note holds so much depth. I enjoy learning about people. Who they are, I find it easy to grasp. What they want to hear and need to hear, I know. I enjoy pronouncing words like "suave", "rendezvous" and "crisps". They ignite the auditory and vocal senses, give my tongue and lips great pleasure. I enjoy a good romantic relationship. Intertwining fingers, emotional ecstasy, mutual dependence. I will not leave. I enjoy taking things as they come. Others label it as lack of care, disregard. I regard it as adaptive and opportunistic. I enjoy  idiosyncrasies and little quirks. I appreciate them, they define everyone and everything around me. Everyone overlooks them. I enjoy the thrill of staring into eyes, my heart skips a beat, my muscles tense. But the sheer ecstasy from peering into you dismisses my need to blink. And I truly enjoy writing. Subtle nuances so accurately brought across. Drunk writing. It guarantees beauty. I am intoxicated.

[ecneuqole]

Idiosyncracies

They read and enjoy but gawk behind backs like theyve' seen an        awkward apostrophe, as if they spy a period that came. too early. Virgin minds — breeding ignorance, shudder at these words and shun the uncomfortable. They feel alienated. Yet they are intrigued by this mysticism; Who wouldn't be? They want to uncover more, but yet abhor the very thing so cherished, so loved. 'less every quirk, dash, period is consumed, They will know nothing.

[ecneuqole]

Time

The adolescent night beckons to the young at heart, not the young. The light resembles dusk, at dawn, provides a start, melted orange and warmth.