Epoch Awareness –firstname.lastname@example.org
A Consideration Of Things, some that have been, some that cannot be, and true dreams ersatz of Truth.
Its A Collaboration.
Communicate with one another and consider:
Publish Progressive Principles In Electro-Polar Ink
Make a digital mental electric harem (of concepts) for the lost:
I love my records. They
Spin and they
Sing. Analog living is essential to
Life as we know it.
Post Comment Poems,
Post comment Essays,
Post comment flash fiction,
Post rhythmic convergence of sight-sound-thought-today/ tonight
And of course enjoy your stay,
Its an new age each day today,
Awareness comes with every new breath,
crosshatched pixel; gathered and shot into your thin-glass-liquid-screen display; or inserted peripherally or directly into your your eye sockets ( rods, cones, or retinas);
Its Literary, Literal, Lingering; its an EPOCH OF
PS: I Like good Art, Good Art Is Generally Made By Poor Men, For No Food.
If your a Publisher, I'd Appreciate your time.
If your a Writer, Human, or other form of Artist,
Id appreciate hearing your voice,
But SPEAK SOFTLY;
Art deserves reverence
Inert Components Of Actual Thought
Monthly Archives: April 2011
Waiting On All Dreams, The Asylum Of The Dawn Treader, And Atop Bald Mountain, Or The Glowing Midnight Seas
A lonely longing barge In the deadest colds Of night, and thickest mist; The place you forget God, time, love, The place you keep, though darker seas… For there you know: You are dead, you are God, In the wailing … Continue reading
The Heart Of Awareness Within me soars; The more I learn The less I know, The more I feel, The less I am; More ultimate than the Ether, As subtle as the Frost, With all the fires bite, And every … Continue reading
Where Man looking only in the mirror, Without Faith, Without God, Without Soul…. Reigns over the Highest Peaks, or even the lowest Pits; How can He ever truly know another, If he cannot truly know, or See Himself. A Cause … Continue reading
Alas; Where Harmony waits, Alas; Where Harmony waits, Alas; No place I make a Home.
I sit and watch The quiet Sun. The flying insects, Mating in their one-day Lives; The grasses cut by Weary gardeners, The picket fences raw; A car passes the curve I Squat upon; Two beautiful eyes Two more as Passenger; … Continue reading
All stones Yellow brick Road. Im a dog, or a God and I Howl. Rain down, Rain down, From a great height, All us Androids, who dream like paranoid, electric Sheep. In beds made of battle Ramparts, And green gasoline … Continue reading
Start again, One breath, Sudden dead; New skin, Fresh flesh; Old mind, Dear hearts; Meditations. To think, And therefore Am. Renes was… Am I?