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/tica

Nov. 25th, 2012 | 07:40 pm

the world is cold and i am.

bewildered, bedazzled, between sleep and wakefulness, i swim through the echoes of half-formed thoughts. schemes and plans, thinking in ice.

oft times i dwell on how a thaw might form: kindled deep and sourced by some deep-rooted inner fire. or perhaps a crack might web upon the surface, iron striking iron. cold upon cold, leaving everything pocked and rotten, ready to crumble upon a ghost's whisper. brittle shards glistening in the blue unlight, the cold itself would simply flake away, leaving the inner green exposed and free to rise.

but no, spring is a long ways off. teeth chatter and frozen dreams shatter and i'm back where i began, cold, cold.

--Shanty

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/vult

Jul. 8th, 2008 | 11:57 pm

glib words and glossy pictures conspire to sell me the latest pocket-sized philosophy, as seen orbiting the mindspace of the mangy masses. and that's fine by me--i have no truck with the open market.

in truth: no truck with any market, black or white. haggling is a chore and mail-in rebate forms require blind faith--i've got blindness down pat but faith is a problem. disdaining the mar, instead i mount a nearby tree and screech at vendors and their customers most of the day, earning scraps and scrapes.

twilight follows and the stalls close. flimsy shutters hide mouth-watering ideas and frothy philosophy. my stomach rumbles.

the market unpeopled, i drop from the branches, chortling in self-satisfaction. aloof and elite, i'm secure in the knowledge that i've gamed the system and naturally inherit the abandoned market as my personal domain.

and that's precisely when i see dozens, hundreds, thousands of me, dropping down from every tree, smugly nodding to themselves.

--Lurker

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/oxyg

Jul. 7th, 2008 | 05:29 pm

staggering away from this latest bout of mumbling hypnosis, i blinked twice in the mellow sunlight and caught my breath. hey: it was time once again to urge my quivering neurons towards something more than half asleep. somniphilia sloughed away and murk gave way to clarity.

the question remained: how did morpheus sneak up unawares? dearest nod, i did not request to be on your mailing list. i'd like to stay awake and alive and active if you don't mind. i raged.

twelve hours into the trek of angrily enunciating these important concerns i abruptly remembered the gilded rule of spam avoidance: any reply at all is ill-advised. now they know i'm alert.

cover your eyes. the sandstorm is coming up quick behind me.

--Lupus

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/goti

Oct. 23rd, 2007 | 05:11 am

still shambling across the dusty gray plains, i have few moments to lift my weary head and contemplate the journey through the gloom. yesterday was one of those times. i cast my gaze along the horizon, back and forth in a mellow stupor until i chanced upon the hint of something golden. golden!

do oases truly glimmer or is it just within our eyes? croaking, grappling for a whisper of truth, i put forth the question and waited patiently.

hours passed and the only response was a zephyr's nibble at my ear. still i remained sentinel, losing senses one by one. taste and touch drifted away and left me a pillar of unfeeling salt. vision faded, that promised auric glow dimming to indigo and then black. hearing was the final thread to snap, and it failed suddenly, the wind one moment simply ceasing to be. time shuddered.

that's when i had the answer: my long-forgotten hands prickled as they were recalled to life, and i quickly realized they clutched something cold and hard, the size of a sparrow's egg, the weight of a planet. the answer.

greedily i scampered off to first warm myself, then acquaint myself with my prize. but it melted!

--Conjecture

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/darf

Feb. 27th, 2006 | 11:31 pm

once again, my usual morning repertoire of groans, bawdy songs, and miscellaneous animal impersonations was interrupted by a group of luddites apparently unappreciative of the spectacle (for it can be called nothing less) of raw musical talent applied in novel contexts.

the context, in this scenario, involved a crowded subway train during the so-called morning commute. ever the logistician, i noted that an obsessively commuting society naturally devolves into a mediocracy, etc., to those standing nearby in the car.

small, polite nods all around, and then the heads quickly turned away to face the rushing blackness outside. appalled that i had hastened rather than halted the problem, i quickly took stock of the situation: it rapidly became clear that the next logical step was to construct a proof by means of demonstration.

i had the framework well in place: every morning when i first rise from the ashes of last night's burn, i sing to remind myself how i got there. the amoeba, deuterostome, and monotreme movements take a bit to get through, but once i start in on the simians-swinging-from-trees interlude, the chorus gains a new complexity and consciousness slowly dawns.

having already completed the morning cycle once today, i began a truncated version on the subway car. after twenty minutes, i was at the simian section again, and was swinging from the overhead handles for effect. only then, when life started to fully bloom, did the nay-sayers say nay, cuffing me sharply on the chin.

jaws swollen shut, i now realize that all artists must starve. and i'm gratified to know that i'm doing my best.

--Noah

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/peze

Apr. 8th, 2005 | 08:53 pm

not long ago, i was completely at peace with myself and the world around me. i would smile and nod to everyone i cast my eyes upon. squirrels would gaze lethargically at me instead of dashing for the trees when i passed by. anthills were safe and spider webs stayed intact. in short, my life had gone completely down the tubes, and i was forced into rectifying the situation.

it shouldn't be this easy, i announced to the world on my favorite street corner at the top of my lungs and for a solid six hours. when passersby started throwing rude glances my way, i felt somewhat better. by the time they switched to shouts and kicks, i knew everything was put to rights.

life was hard again, and all was well. i curled back into a ball and slept for fourteen and a half hours straight before being roughly poked awake by a red-faced warmonger. smiling, i joined into the bloody fray.

--Taurus

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/chaf

Apr. 7th, 2005 | 10:50 pm

algebra was hard to swallow and calculus was harder. isaac and gottfried--those scrubby bandits--are surely chortling in their graves today. quite clearly, they loosed that beast upon the world merely to devour our brains centuries later. by the time i had to do deal with n-dimensional partial differential equations, i got lazy and started taking shortcuts. after non-orthogonal vector subspaces, something snapped. assaulted on all fronts, i finally found the quickest shortcut of them all. axiom: all theories are axioms, qed. blind faith conquers all, and if you say different, i believe you're wrong.

armed with this knowledge, things were good for a time. life became so much easier after i decided to believe everything i hear. the wide world collapsed into a linear path for me to follow, a crack in the pavement that never branches. alas, my shallow happiness didn't last long. naturally, i grew dismayed by this turn of events: an easy life is hard to accept. to solve this newfound quandary, i had but one option.

--Torus

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/flam

Apr. 6th, 2005 | 01:40 pm

few things kindle more despair in my belly than seeing a paper airplane caught fire. but i grew up in a pyrotechnic world, so it's only to be expected. i'm sure the alchemists next door would have something to say about this obvious overload in the highest of the four elements. but that's also only to be expected of such armchair mystics.

they have my contempt, these new philosophers. we both know, you and i, that the great visionaries of old burned bright indeed. they left the world a heap of smoldering ashes: still unbearably hot, but without the glorious flame. we're left with just a few annoying coals, prattlers rattling their cages in the ivory tower.

burn, prometheus. why did you do it?

--Icarus

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/sten

Apr. 6th, 2005 | 03:18 am

scabs and scars is all they are, i tell myself in a quiet singsong voice. sometimes i wish i had a cockney accent to help me along, but i suppose i must do without. no worries: it is hard to murder a lullaby. the gruffest voice is silk when it's saying the right things.

so i survived the bone crusher and the spirit breaker, those thin years spent waddling through brightly-lit hallways painted a mute green. the main thing i learned there is this: padded rooms are nice because you can sleep standing up. and truly, it's better to sleep against the wall--standing defiant against gravity even in slumber--than wallowing horizontally, tangled sheets and all.

i decided i was through practicing for my coffin. i'm in no rush to move back into mother nature's basement. so, every night i sleep standing up. it's a matter of personal policy and pride. and it's easy, since we're used to sleeping standing up. most of us do it all day long.

--Cardboard

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/coff

Apr. 19th, 2001 | 11:51 am

i am lost, today. every day i strut across streets and sidewalks, hiding my secrets for all to see, with as much gusto as i can muster.

today i can muster none. instead of tackling passersby both physically and verbally, today i can only gather up a short, croaking growl in the back of my throat. well, i supposed earlier today, it would have to do.

yet when the backlashes began--they always do--i was unable to nimbly sidestep even the simplest trap. my life became one of endless chutes and ladders, one long endless maze. my mind fogged up like winter windows and i wandered aimlessly for some time, berated on all sides. occasionally it came to blows, and i was unable to turn the other cheek.

so i was hit time and again upon the same cheek. my skin is littered with scrapes and abrasions, and a knot on my forehead reminds me of the sensation of an oversized pebble skimming painfully across my scalp.

oh, torment and suffering! would that i could run as i always do, never ceasing my rant. today i merely fell to the ground, silent.

tomorrow i will rise.

--Atticus

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