Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Oh So Repetitous....

5702182939346897856, originally uploaded by gogoloopie.

Eternal recurrence - a finite number of events infinitely recurring again and again in infinite time, like games of chess, that, played one after another forever, eventually will repeat any game ever played.
The world is an eternal process of coming to be and passing away, where origin and end of the process seem to become fleeting vanishing points.
When there is no final point, no destination, eventually every combination of matter and energy will be realized and repeated and infinite number of times....

Friday, January 27, 2012

Thursday, January 26, 2012

*.My.Lovely.Muse.*: The rain was ceaseless and the days were dreary, yet I missed it when it had gone

Weeping for keeps

Words are laid to rest here. 
Do not call forth your dissension.

our secrets are not for sale.

     . . . The eternal return is the vertigo that causes 
the subject
the event
the now (to go)

 . . . for (in)numerable times in series of 
   vibrations of being: all these vibrations reverberating, until the consonance of this same instant, in which these dissonances are reabsorbed anew, 
is re-established.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Before the Rain Came.

Before the Rain Came., originally uploaded by gogoloopie.

"Poetry, in fact, bears the same kind of relation to Prose, using prose simply in the sense of all those uses of words that are not poetry, that algebra bears to arithmetic. The poet writes of personal or fictitious experiences, but these are not important in themselves until the reader has realized them in his own consciousness."
         - W. H. Auden, “Poetry as Memorable Speech”

Dallas, TX

Dallas, TX, originally uploaded by gogoloopie.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

The Cyclical March Through a Linear Time:

~ Well I wrote your name and burned it into my mind

o see the color of the flame 

And it burned out the whole spectrum as if you were everything  

Mine just burned gold, a normal flame

I am not anything

And all that I remember is the feeling of waking up

You see the sun to which my eyes would not adjust

We were kids

I was a fountain

You could never drink enough

And then came all the boys who swept you up

Playing careless with your heart

Every night there was a new girl sitting beside me in my car  

Something dies when you grow older but you do the best you can

I am glad, I am glad, that you found a good man ~ 



Burnt out pockets of sin
have left us weak and in
a state of delerium that
would envy the ignorant masses.
We cling to each other
like storms on a horizon
full of longing and despair
a horizon built out of
plasticine and merry go rounds
and razor sharp kerosine
with a silent dream machine
gone quiet the day before last
the seconds tick into the past
as we watch our life play
backwards into the infinite
backwards into the time before
innocence was lost and found
and the answer we had sought,
lies painted in the lines we drew
between us as the battle enfolded
“prevention is the best medication”
his whispering lips against my ear
As he lit the match and the fire 
of our future engulfed my fear.


I like too many things.

I get all confused, hung up, running from one falling star,

To another

To another....

This is the night.

What it can do to you if you do not hold on tight, to something tangible.

I have nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.



Monday, January 16, 2012

Sunday, January 15, 2012

fuck to prove how fucked you are
well, i had every intention
of not drinking tonight
but beers found themselves
inside my clenched fists
and now i am livid
because all i am able
to think about
is the driving necessity
of sleep
compelling me to
gather my keys,
my phone, and my cigarettes
to begin my paranoid
journey toward something
in pill-form that will
make the noise cease
and the quietness
drop-kick me to sleep
—Brittany Wallace

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Meaningless Death

Even the words that are laid to rest-

they no longer weep for me.

They vanish without purpose.

A meaningless death.


Monday, January 9, 2012

It Was a Scam.

It Was a Scam., originally uploaded by gogoloopie.

Via Flickr:
"I have come to believe that there are infinite ways out of the shadows. Infinite vehicles to transport us into the light."
- Martha Beck Fly Away Home

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Hope for the Hopeless

Before the spark
In my father's eye
Upon first sight of my mother,
I was here.

After the tear
In my daughter's eye
Upon first sight of my grave,
I will be here.

Between spark and tear,
This life with its walls and roof
And floor and shadows,
Of my own creation.

Soon enough
It will be time
To climb out from
Within these bounds