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Total votes : 29

Postby OP ED » Sat Nov 21, 2009 7:06 pm

When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back;
Three from the circle, three from the track;
Wood, bronze, iron; water, fire, stone;
Five will return, and one go alone.

Iron for the birthday, bronze carried long;
Wood from the burning, stone out of song;
Fire in the candle-ring, water from the thaw;
Six Signs the circle, and the grail gone before.

Fire on the mountain shall find the harp of gold
Played to wake the Sleepers, oldest of the old;
Power from the green witch, lost beneath the sea;
All shall find the light at last, silver on the tree.

(Susan Cooper)
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.

:: ::
S.H.C.R.
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Postby Penguin » Sun Nov 22, 2009 2:26 pm

(spinning circles of light
people drawn around
feathers in your hand
hallowed concord
a wordless chant
may every creature small and large
find truth, in this life)


-----------------------------

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(someones graffiti totem in the woods)
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Postby Perelandra » Fri Nov 27, 2009 3:06 am

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from OP ED's journal

Postby OP ED » Fri Nov 27, 2009 3:00 pm

note: the paper man and the feet at the end are mine. neither picture, however, was taken by me...

Image


Stressor dress down.
in-Journal, forced-entry. only affordable after 11”/18’ vulgar era.
none as in incidences of typoes in occurrence.
“actual quotes.” No names: to protect the guilty.

Armies of elevations eaten overboard oust all effort to attach.
Shared to stamp the low lit lowlife littered losser of down slow, stash’d.
(Fuck.)
[“Fated Phosphorous Operations!”]
{“Falling is more fun”}
“Flee!!!”

F.O.T.F. {fubar}
Dedication: 2 (to) Christian: (Re: [H.S.])
:: ::
Bandswoop. [bespeckled]
Showing sparks stage (fine fearsome fires) shiver’d sots of stolen fat.
(Pacing) outgrabe program plotters probe grave pleasures, gave out like gospel tracts…
Urbaned’n Uberwenched! Under evoked uncle al counsels courage and commands attack.
(Backdated) beginner ghostwritten on the ninth morn after all soul’s eve at 23 after midnight & late. [redacted]
Aegis engages artificer, eagerling's enamored edgings easily eliminate abstract.
Dates: (c.e.v.)
[rel/cel/txt/sub] [redacted]
OMMFG…WTF (!?) [or viced]
(all hands: battle stations)
Evened after 33 times…? (***) [see below]
0. “A” is for Alert
[Ashy Wednesday]
Furious fuming fugues’ feuds soften foe-assumed solidity of teh stack.
Sudden Logged sloshes express seek immediate unlatch
pained paw patterns prob’ly predict post-probationary pettin’ patch.
Crouched under garden’s gate, fell feline [finally unfettered] corners outclevered catch.
Devil’s field day.
[Looked more like devils’ field Hockey to me motherfucker.]
(fuck you. This is my fantasy!)
Sun busted. [Ooh] beaming unabashed blush. [banned] bah!
Blooms of broad brushed bruises bared, beckon behind her back…
Drawn shark speeds to bledded sprays, scents driving out flat.
Dread demons deride delusions of distinction. Carve no man no slack.
(Normally I aim to) Ably handle these things w/a certain sense and/or an moderate amount of agile tact.
But I don’t speak English no more. Most motives local having left no neat tracks.
Good god even everything just keeps on coming up g-g-gibbering. No more room to react.
Evidence is everywhere. Easily enough to fill sacks.
Like Santas know best: some gifts cannot be so simply repacked.
[casualty report]
Beaten. Snuggly baddened. Man, maybe bungled the whole blazing batch!
A snowjobby bushwhack. (hell) misplayed. [Game. Set. Match]
Parade arrested, red handed, caught stretching (south solo?) past the seventh season scratch!
1. Fear the Nerds.
Universal [redacted] malfunction. Paused impact like gravity. Not like [redacted] either. No, no perceptible and slowly spiraling slide. Just pure descent. Before you even see it, [redacted] crushes you instantly forever.
[pussyfooted freeloader!]
Is it insane to sear the sacrifice? Scaredy straight shortly swallows shadow's own snatch.
2. The Phantom Projector.

“i can hear u thinking what im feeling”
(as long as you’re doing the writing)
Heathen hands folded halfway beneath heaven help hang the cat.

[redacted] says totally look up Paro Tak-Sang. Totally already did.
says: why does it seem that for monastic life to be successful one must cancel plans to cohabitate?
Knotted.
Soporific feints of facade fret far found shoulders shifty shack.
3. there are always at least two choices.
You can only ever make one at any one time.
Adjust accordingly.
(dare) be quiet. Be calm. Be cautious. Be clear.
[“or you’ll be in trouble”]
Create your condition. Continue to breathe. (chop wood. Carry water)
Be courteous, even to courting your very betrayer’s closest confidence.
[performance art for the soul]
Crudely cutup crimes counting clipped coldly from casts.
Dawning draw strung, solidly dilettantric dandies deftly draining dem draughts like Drach.
[4. Not One Step Fucking Backwards]
Goad stored gained ill gotten gildings. Great Grown Golden Calves.
[redacted] Lulz. (lord of the splatch)
*** {see above} (yes I fucking counted) [and the answer is “no”] not even a little bit.
Anxious waistcoat, watch wearier, weeps unashamed, even awaiting wrath.
Damesen dropped downwind (wash of worry) demands de most undomestic dash.
5. Lux Aeterna.
“we’re going to have to practice”
Hours and hours whoring pastoral passes, doubly esteeming dis world thru dese darkly glasses.
(there is no fucking future)
arched angels surily sound the swaddling of sod-all, ensuring each second's arrival is surely intact.
6. Mystery is the problem, not the solution.
Spitting sodden glottal gobs snogged, slippery Saturday spat.
Grooved guidance glosses slobbed sed servant's still smokin’ gat.
Nubile newbie’s nymphobic neuroses knew it’d never come to that.
[“six?” “six.” “six!”]
7. Bigger than a breadbox.
Tongued tensions train tremor to torment, all about bit by bait bettered baths.
Slushes stabled still smolder, sweetened sleepings soon smashed.
Cropped copper coated licks of lamp light loosen last clash, unpaid parody of a prone panthera: positively loving the lash.


Image

(Es gibt nicht ein Wort dafür, was ich zu Ihnen tun will.)
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.

:: ::
S.H.C.R.
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Postby Perelandra » Sun Nov 29, 2009 12:58 am

Edit.
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a finale solution?

Postby OP ED » Fri Dec 04, 2009 3:57 pm

(btw, P, i stole it before you removed it)
...
The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when thine eye is evil, thy body also is full of darkness.
(Luke 11:34)
...
Image
...
wiki wrote:Walter Burkert among others suggests that the archaic groups or societies of lesser gods mirror real cult associations: "it may be surmised that smith guilds lie behind Cabeiri, Idaian Dactyloi, Telchines, and Cyclopes."[5] Given their penchant for blacksmithing, many scholars believe the legend of the Cyclopes' single eye arose from an actual practice of blacksmiths wearing an eyepatch over one eye to prevent flying sparks from blinding them in both eyes.

...

OP ED has had one of those weeks. [months]

it has been a very long time since OP ED has found itself able to cry about something that did not involve actual physical pain. OP ED does not cry at funerals. OP ED did not cry over the last, let's say, forty times, that sensible human females had told it that they no longer wished to see it.

OP ED had not really cried for more than a quarter of its existence.

...

OP ED feels much better now.
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.

:: ::
S.H.C.R.
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Postby Perelandra » Sun Dec 06, 2009 2:39 am

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Last edited by Perelandra on Sun Dec 06, 2009 8:20 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Postby Perelandra » Sun Dec 06, 2009 2:20 pm

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my only friend, the end.

Postby OP ED » Tue Dec 08, 2009 12:36 pm

Leaving.
for some time.


see you all next year.
...

From OP ED's journal: Dec 06, 2009
under the influence of a powerful psychotropic dissociative, more than twice enough to kill you average horse. literally.

Artificer's Log: final entry:

bound around the world.
People get sent hell blown out for oil.
And we sit and trade secrets
half a billion a finger
how long must we wait?

(try me)

who cares how you arrange the words?

Nothing you can do will make it feel like it did that time.

No one can give you what you need

All alone in the universe is us

There is no time limit.

I stopped poetry.
Its the only thing that can fight wars.
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Postby lightningBugout » Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:43 pm

Image

Image

Image

Image

Image
"What's robbing a bank compared with founding a bank?" Bertolt Brecht
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Re: my only friend, the end.

Postby barracuda » Fri Dec 11, 2009 2:11 am

OP ED wrote:see you all next year.


Hope to see you back in the saddle soon, Mr. Ed. Have a great, err... holiday.

LBO, those pictures... I am swooning.
The most dangerous traps are the ones you set for yourself. - Phillip Marlowe
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Re: my only friend, the end.

Postby lightningBugout » Fri Dec 11, 2009 2:19 am

barracuda wrote:LBO, those pictures... I am swooning.


Don't you wish you had made them?
"What's robbing a bank compared with founding a bank?" Bertolt Brecht
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Postby barracuda » Fri Dec 11, 2009 3:11 am

Maybe before some creative individual painted all over them.
The most dangerous traps are the ones you set for yourself. - Phillip Marlowe
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Postby Penguin » Sat Dec 12, 2009 5:41 pm

Take care, dear OP ED.
Try not to become one of em horses of lesser stature...


Ending all religions
Changes yet to come
Whole new situation
Fear became too strong
Send a spark of hatred
To where I cannot rest
My fate's depending on me
Pushed to the test
Depression unrest
As I watch the sky
The sparks will keep on falling
And I despise you now
Praying for forgiveness
Waiting for a sign
It cannot be forgotten
A symbol used to shine
Feel the spark of hatred
Spreading like some pest
Emotional mutation
Curse of the west
Depression unrest
As cultures die
The sparks will keep on falling
And I hate you now

-Kreator
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Postby Perelandra » Sun Dec 20, 2009 5:24 pm

Image
You all know the Yule Cat
And that Cat was huge indeed.
People didn't know where he came from
Or where he went.

He opened his glaring eyes wide,
The two of them glowing bright.
It took a really brave man
To look straight into them.

His whiskers, sharp as bristles,
His back arched up high.
And the claws of his hairy paws
Were a terrible sight.

He gave a wave of his strong tail,
He jumped and he clawed and he hissed.
Sometimes up in the valley,
Sometimes down by the shore.

He roamed at large, hungry and evil
In the freezing Yule snow.
In every home
People shuddered at his name.

If one heard a pitiful "meow"
Something evil would happen soon.
Everybody knew he hunted men
But didn't care for mice.

He picked on the very poor
That no new garments got
For Yule - who toiled
And lived in dire need.

From them he took in one fell swoop
Their whole Yule dinner
Always eating it himself
If he possibly could.

Hence it was that the women
At their spinning wheels sat
Spinning a colorful thread
For a frock or a little sock.

Because you mustn't let the Cat
Get hold of the little children.
They had to get something new to wear
From the grownups each year.

And when the lights came on, on Yule Eve
And the Cat peered in,
The little children stood rosy and proud
All dressed up in their new clothes.

Some had gotten an apron
And some had gotten shoes
Or something that was needed
- That was all it took.

For all who got something new to wear
Stayed out of that pussy-cat's grasp
He then gave an awful hiss
But went on his way.

Whether he still exists I do not know.
But his visit would be in vain
If next time everybody
Got something new to wear.

Now you might be thinking of helping
Where help is needed most.
Perhaps you'll find some children
That have nothing at all.

Perhaps searching for those
That live in a lightless world
Will give you a happy day
And a Merry, Merry Yule.
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