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March 24, 2008
Pop-Up Books
When I was little, I was never very fond of pop-up books. In reference to books with inserts, games, and other fun extras, however, I was floored. I owned a book on the way the mail worked, set in a fairy-tale world with animals as the characters. Every other page was a faux-letter, and the reader could physically pull out the contents of the letter and enjoy what was inside. I loved that book terribly until the contents became lost and age influenced me to look elsewhere for enjoyment.
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Prompt: There is something that happens in imagination that can defy the parameters we set in our 3D realities. The imagination is difficult to document, to control; hallucinogenic drugs can alter landscapes, perceptions, reality. In the hospital, in my cell, I'm in my own imagination and in my own reality. I'm safer there, yet more dangerous at the same time. I'm... in... control.
The Imagined World is as valid as any other reality, and imagined realities have the ability to be subversive because they counteract anything that can happen and all the laws that govern 3D realities. I live in my dreams - SS. The reality of dreams. Imagination is real. My mind imagined my health. Music was my guide. I let music guide my dreams, guide my mind. I made all of this.
I
made
my
own
cure.
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The face - what does it mean to see a face. They were faceless, those in Bengal fighting weaponless, verbal for what they saw was a bad idea creating more bad ideas. They wanted out, but before they could even fully articulate that thought, their bodies lined the banks of their rivers, the streets of their hometowns, the beds of their homes. AN UPRISING CAN'T AND NEVER WILL EXIST barked Pakistanis in power - their goal has almost been fully realized to this day. Yet, the fighting goes back and forth - so fuck em, right? They're all crazy and none of them like us, like... us, like the us that is us, like THE U.S., that place that sends (the I that is writing this) right back into a painful state. The chastising Some that KNOW no extra m exists in that previous word, when not all are referenced. And how many viewpoints exist in this stream of thought?
I guess it just popped up.
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Thoughtless Break - Go to p. 31 of Supervision. Apparently The Strokes like smashing subatomic particles.
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And now (more Supervision, p. 78), the Dancing Hell-Devils in the Eyes of All... perhaps the reason why I'm being sent so far away from those that I fear to lose, or maybe just a cool picture that gives my mind reasons to wander deeper into my PAIN [IN PROGRESS]:
Argument ended at another embarrassing flounder.
Abrupt disagreements breed long-winded encounters
Which ultimately end just as quick as they start.
It's happened here and at outcome, apart.
I slide into - while my 'peers' glide over - derision.
No moment mended,
I cannot sigh out this stubborn pride.
Smiles exchange while I swallow
My emotions,
Emptied to a hostile inside.
Then -
In the depths of my eyes, they lie in wait.
They're ocular, borne of fire and hate.
They spite what I write, since they're vilified.
Because they fester and thrive in what I hide.
I hunch; they want out now.
My guard caught down,
A few flitter from one ear;
Curious to touch,
Decrepit to hear.
Their hair all yellow and queer as they dance.
Rapid in motion, a vindictive trance.
The Dancing Hell-Devils aligned just so.
Ambition for eyes, my lies in their throes.
For when I chastise, they realize they can't go
To places uncouth to the truth of my foes.
And their fury is quelled.
But still inside burns these despised.
They push my pride to tatters and mess.
I subside; all what's right that I hide
Starts bleeding forth, in order to rest.
Posted by pantaleo at March 24, 2008 06:24 PM
Comments
Yes; of course --these pockets with removable content offer other means of access to other dimensional modes;
that idea of the extension of surface area through folding, twisting --that increase of possibility
and places to house possibilities that emerge
those letters going even further in being able to detach from the the 2D page and then reenter it
--or not, retaining evidence of having been folded into the pocket even if the letter does not find its way back into the pocket.
Yes, yes: making poams (ofr me) also the making of fromaing systems of healings and cures
--even if (just) palliative
(because that is such a beautiful word, transcends through its sonic power, a need for its meaning)
the words "paroxsymal kinesigenic choreoathetosis"
so exquisite, so rare --more rare than any orchid, (easy to pronounce) so associated with beauty
and something I would not know about to tell you about had pkc not blossomed, for a duration of time, for me.
Posted by: thyliasm at April 26, 2008 10:41 PM
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