ㅁ The architect was antisocial. She suggested that the problem lay with everyone else. She was arrogant, too. "The people don't know how genius manifests around us."
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The architect was antisocial. She suggested that the problem lay with everyone else. She was arrogant, too. "The people don't know how genius manifests around us."
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The world constructed an architect, placed her beside other beings, awaited her creations. Fantastic towers rose, and deep labyrinths, were then inscribed in waiting, empty fields.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The scene unfolded along the trail: 8 beer cans, and a broken thing (looked like some kind of motor) along the barbed-wire fence. What had happenned here? A mechanic, in despair... drinking, sad.
– a nonnnet.
ㅁ I knew this trip would prove difficult - meaning, on emotional terms. As a trip, it's relaxing. But Arthur's dementia is now foregrounded by circumstance. Denial becomes hard.
– a nonnnet.
ㅁ What? Untrue. That's not me. I'm not like that. I'm perfectly fine. Other people get it. So stop all this crazy talk, when have I ever forgotten any single thing you've said to me?
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ I prefer well-managed ignorance, all tame and cooperative. The rebel stupidity is really hard to bear. It's harder to care. Revolution: nerve-wracking anger, fear.
– a nonnet.
#Poetry #Nonnet
ㅁ The fa is over - now we face fo. Which is to say, simply: fa, fo. Or, having fa'ed, now we fo. It's like a litte song. One group sings the fa; the chorus, fo. Back and forth. Fa. Fo. Fuh.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ of course it's only my opinion fear-the-other trumps compassion ignorance's bliss tastes best let's all catastrophize freedom weighs too much as a hermit i retreat pile up stones
– a nonnet.
ㅁ nights surpass the dull days... elegiac, oneiric transits across stochastic space, full of windings, ergodic retrogressions into instants that fade like aimless bursts of color
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Fall is the season when mice sneak in. The temperatures drop, outside. Everything gets rained on. Summer's berries are gone. The warm house beckons. What's not to like? Some crumbs left. It seems... Safe?
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Assertions of luminosity: the moon proffers her axioms. To wit: autumnal changes, after the equinox, include stormy gales, driving downpours, lost rainbows, blowing leaves.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ the sneaky snake entered the garden hopped up on his self-deceptions like a chatbot on prozac and gave his wanton pitch elevator-style to the kids there this one girl succumbed crashed
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I made secret, unknowable poems. Crafted with pure banalities, they occupied remote screens, distant from daily life. These were words for fate: disquisitions against time; perfect rants.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I dreamed that Arthur became possessed by some remodeling demon. So while I was gone at work, He began adding things - random additions - to his odd house: stray basements, towers, leaks.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ The mornings are dark again these days. I nurse my coffee at my desk, the window just a black frame. Daylight has retreated. Fragments of rain tap. A truck trundles. Seagulls cry. Moments pass.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Like craters on the moon raindrops appear on the car's windshield like a map of moments a distribution of dreams with patterns instantly erased by the laconic windshield wipers.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ Words pile up, all jumbled, accumulate. Their meanings collect in semiotic berms, to surround the world's events, but without intention, like rain, until at last a text is produced.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ My mind is a parliament of selves. Angry debates rage on the floor, while the nation, rudderless, careens from rock to rock. The prime minister, having outsourced decisions, resigns. Closed.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I awoke to the sound of the rain. Here in my treehouse, it is loud. Sometimes it sounds like voices: murmurations of ghosts, desultory sounds, gravity's words, the gods melt, climb down, cry.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ My numerous eccentricities - this weird self-hosted blog thingy, the cartographic hobbies, sleeping on the hard floor... This pile of habits make me wonder: perhaps I'm just a crank.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ short's better... fewer words... well, maybe more: you got things to say... so just make sentences, or run-on masses of text, sesquipedalian rhythms, even wax poetic if you can.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ The bear decided to head off west. I watched her pass by on the road. I saw a dog following. So they met each other, out along the road. And then the dog, looking scared, ran east, fast.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I'll be happy when the sun is gone. Summer here disagrees with me. It's plagued with obligations. Too many visitors. Chores around the house. Social neighbors. I'm annoyed. Lazy: Guilt.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ feeling desperate disappointment a seething mass of frustration just put on a happy face fake it till you make it delete that bad app ignore the signs go to sleep next day breathe
– a nonnet.
ㅁ the disconnect isn't just deafness... but rather, jumbled perception, all the words get entangled maybe like unlearning the language you knew so that you're lost like tourists adrift lost
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Dreamed: phone call from my mom, and she complains, and complains some more, and then she announces her impending departure to another distant planet; I say goodbye but she ignores me.
– a reverse nonnet.
ㅁ A tiny bird appeared in the house. I'd had the big shop door open, so it easily could have entered, gone exploring. Now it was banging its head against the windows. Let me out!
– a nonnet.
ㅁ the boat presented some frustrations: launching it required winch repairs; then, electrical problems... was there a broken switch? or dead batteries? under the clouds, five AM, I sigh... sit.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ A dull yellow glow touched heavy clouds. Without rain, still the ground was wet. Birds entertained each other. Morning turned time's old gears. A fish broke the sea. Green water rolled. Small waves moved. Trees swung. World.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ I was happily starving myself, when friends and family took charge. I was robbed, I tell you, robbed! My freedom surrendered. My resentment grew. It's just not fair. Leave me be. Assholes. Fools.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ An eagle lurked on the metal arch, that framed the dock by the green sea, waiting for food to appear. "Tweet," I said to the bird. The bird ignored me, but in moments, saw something, leapt up, swooped.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ A robin stood outside my window on the spruce tree's bedraggled branch and tilted its head at me. "Tweet," I said to the bird. The bird was alarmed, and flew away, unwilling to stay there.
– a nonnet.
ㅁ Recreational asemia: letting the meaningless language flow past me like falling rain, pretending that my mind has the right pathways, and can take me to new thoughts, insights. Yes.
– a nonnet.