A small space dedicated to the unsatisfactory imitation and substitute. A shield, a cover, camouflage, streetlights, bent knees and bloody fingers, billboards and pills. The degradation of eyesight and fallible understanding of concrete. Water on the wings of a moth near the flame and, you, only, come closer.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
dostoyevsky, dumb, drunk.
you are unintelligent. or at least you should be more intelligent. you are unhappy with everything around you but it is you who put yourself in this place. this place you hate. you are a stupid man. a grown up naive boy. do you not think ahead? even spontaneous action requires anticipation of what is to come. a process of creating. creation. you were left behind because you sat down.
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1 comment:
I like this. I like you addressing rolskinokov or the underground man. i think there needs to be more. But like your drunken, fuck this, poem you need to make more careful observations of the character. More so than he's just an angry person. but i dig.
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