endlessforms

dreamworld photographer

  • it, she, they

and the mirror
not her waking,
aching body showed,
but endless forms,
from feathered fractal
edges spilling out
a snowstorm
swirling silent
in her eyes


lookatthesky
@lookatthesky

I tend to keep my distance from dolls. They tend to be vapid, straightforward, and when their witches aren't around, much too talkative; but this one, i spotted afar in my favorite park, all alone, staring distantly, humming something soft and pleasant; a quiet, reserved one, and... unusually, seeming to be partaking in leisure without a witch.

At that place, where the carefully-grown glistleberries sat along each footpath, where I walked each day; there, alongside the greenery, sitting, or shaking its hands a little, or walking alongside me. its gentle humming- and, here or there, a thoughtless, mumbled word escaping out of its mouth. Once or twice, I thought I caught it staring at me-

Going home one day, I thought I heard some impossibly light footsteps following me; turned around, and no one was there. The next morning, I was awoken by the sound of humming. Clearer than ever, but the words still eluded me. Caught a glimpse in the mirror, and noticed my own lips tracing those familiar little nothings.



some rationalists try to hold up hallucinations or psychosis or delusions as a checkmate against people's religious experiences

but like, yeah, no shit, sherlock, that's why we take entheogens. if you don't have your own divine madness, plant-based is fine



i honestly actively avoid exposure to ezra pound's poetry, despite him being such a influential poet,

because any poem i read gets involuntarily and automatically incorporated into my internal model of poetry, like a neural network, or like a musician hearing a song. inspiration and counterinspiration are not things one can control. i can't unread the beautiful poem written by a literal nazi collaborator.

and i'd rather try to minimize the quantity of poetry written by fascists which touches that part of my spirit, my selves.


 
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