sentence zero

[Sepia]

We're here, speeding on, beyond. Glimpses turn to fragments turn to memories and san francisco turns into jackson pollock, commemorated in the homes of the upper middle-class. Here are your memories, catalogued and turned into this; gold. Because we're here and life is this, like a frat boy looking at the moon and thinking about death. This is life and we're speeding through it, we experience it the same way others do, the sheer volume of it but we see it from another angle. A different perspective. We're here though, we arrived. We came where we wanted to.

We don't. We never, we never thought that this was it. What everyone was raving about, screaming about and proclaiming poems about. Fuck you guys because from the get go you're higher than I ever were and you're prophets in an age where a prophet wouldn't last one day. Critical belief? Shine on us for we are dreaming of a different age, a different time and a different memory. We repeat ourselves and our words till the fullest. We are repetition because we were born repetition.

Smell the nostalgia of the womb as you lay in the grass on your lovers tits. This is where we are, escaping into it. Reality being the last bastion of chaos, where any war should be fought.

[Jasper]

I have decided you are probably the most talented writer here.

[Cramulus]

seconded. You make the dreamtime so lucid. I love the image of the san fransisco / pollock.. reminds me of an ezra pound poem.. he's describing the faces of people he sees in a train zooming by. Here's the entire poem ---


IN A STATION OF THE METRO


The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet black bough.



(assuming you're talking about us ---) we're not all that, sepia, prophets and all. we just post like we are.