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The Unpublished Works of Carl Eric von Kleist, IV

Started by Rupert Giles, September 16, 2004, 08:39:45 AM

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Rupert Giles

Yeah, yeah.  More me.  I know you're all thrilled at your resident mad poet's decision to go through his crap and post his unpublished works.  Starting with an away message, and then I'll move on to my many suicide notes in proper von Kleist fashion, and then back through the ages.

Everything's falling apart
Before it could ever start.
My heart I've misplaced.
With all of those fears
I don't dare to face.
The wind whip arounds me
Chilling me to the bone
I'll ever more be alone,
without home.
I feel cold.
So alone.
No more stones to throw.
No more places to go.
The end looms near.
I can shed no more tears.
The blood on the floor
Spilt from my wrists
The last evidence
true and clear
that I was ever,
ever, here.
So with this last act.
Of penitance.
I hope to be forgiven
For my part in this
This thing called life
So filled with strife
And with no more bliss
and a razor's sweet kiss.
I'll end all of this
And once more return
When my body ceases to be warm
When my breathing goes unheard
When my pulse is still.

Goodbye.

Horab Fibslager

bing suicidal is very little to do with mad. i thought abotu suicide only once whiel i was mad, adn decided it was a rather unfitting way for one to go. irregardless, death poetry is so mid 90's it makes me want to kill myself.
Hell is other people.

Donkeyotay

Quote from: Horab Fibslagerbing suicidal is very little to do with mad. i thought abotu suicide only once whiel i was mad, adn decided it was a rather unfitting way for one to go. irregardless, death poetry is so mid 90's it makes me want to kill myself.

:puts Horab out of his misery with a well executed headshot to the back of the skull:

BANG BANG!!

Horab Fibslager

thx. jsut what the doctor ordered.

/me throws on some nine inch nails the downward spiral.
Hell is other people.

Rupert Giles

Now I lay me down to sleep
A pestilance upon my feet
If I should die before I wake
My feet from your face take.

( Written when I had ringworm from using bodyheat to keep sick kittens warm while I worked for the Humane Society. )

archPope Rocket P Llama

Quote from: Revered Son EricNow I lay me down to sleep
A pestilance upon my feet
If I should die before I wake
My feet from your face take.

( Written when I had ringworm from using bodyheat to keep sick kittens warm while I worked for the Humane Society. )

Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, but if you want to put your poetry on the net try getting a deviantART account. I have one and it's super, and thus I don't have to clog the board HERE with my shit.

And since I am such a whore:
http://rocketllama.deviantart.com

Has a very sexiy picture of me on the mainpage incidentally

And for your non-PD forum clogging account, go to www.deviantart.com

Domo arigato Mistuh Roboto
His Empirical Majesty archPope Rocket P. Llama, King of the Jews, GTKoRO, aka RevRev. Tokeval D. Kroenik KHG
-Bastard Children of Andy Warhol Cabal-(BCOAW)
"Buck buck buck BCOAW"

Horab Fibslager

i was signign up until i got to the real name bit, which i considered for amoment, because i largely refrain from using my given name on the net, but theni looked at the bottom and saw the evil pay 3.95 per month subscription costs, and was like, homie don't play that f00. those fuckers'll never get their grubby mits on my badass artwork. never i say!. death to the capitalist whoremongers!

the silent empire reigns.
Hell is other people.

archPope Rocket P Llama

Quote from: Horab Fibslageri was signign up until i got to the real name bit, which i considered for amoment, because i largely refrain from using my given name on the net, but theni looked at the bottom and saw the evil pay 3.95 per month subscription costs, and was like, homie don't play that f00. those fuckers'll never get their grubby mits on my badass artwork. never i say!. death to the capitalist whoremongers!

the silent empire reigns.

Still there are better places he could post it. Him with his bullshit about being "Resident Mad Poet", never taken on a battle against ME! Come on bitch! Let's go! A Poet Off! See whose the READ MAD POET! The poseur whose full of his I AMTHE MAD POET bullshit, or the quieter lo-key who lets live and let live, but HATES THE FUCKING BRAGGARTRY! BRING IT BITCH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! RICK JAMES BYACH!
His Empirical Majesty archPope Rocket P. Llama, King of the Jews, GTKoRO, aka RevRev. Tokeval D. Kroenik KHG
-Bastard Children of Andy Warhol Cabal-(BCOAW)
"Buck buck buck BCOAW"

Rupert Giles

Quote from: archPope Rocket P Llama
Quote from: Horab Fibslageri was signign up until i got to the real name bit, which i considered for amoment, because i largely refrain from using my given name on the net, but theni looked at the bottom and saw the evil pay 3.95 per month subscription costs, and was like, homie don't play that f00. those fuckers'll never get their grubby mits on my badass artwork. never i say!. death to the capitalist whoremongers!

the silent empire reigns.

Still there are better places he could post it. Him with his bullshit about being "Resident Mad Poet", never taken on a battle against ME! Come on bitch! Let's go! A Poet Off! See whose the READ MAD POET! The poseur whose full of his I AMTHE MAD POET bullshit, or the quieter lo-key who lets live and let live, but HATES THE FUCKING BRAGGARTRY! BRING IT BITCH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! RICK JAMES BYACH!

Sure thing.  Next time the muse is upon me, I'll be sure to direct something at you.

archPope Rocket P Llama

Aleister crouched to pick up the glistening seal of the mighty Kublah
Kahn of Kahn!
The less is spoken the superior the argument
Decreed the dome above alight
The time drips poring from slow
The stone drips smoothly from pole
As you quick to rush beside me
Never again will I touch you
Never again is there loss to speak
Nor a time to tune the dim
The dim praetor understandings
Of white forgotten spies
I,Äôve come home
Missing all but one wing
I can,Äôt see one to three
I don,Äôt know
Where I want to go
I don,Äôt know
I don,Äôt realize
Where I am
I don,Äôt participate
I don,Äôt analyze
I cannot cry into your mouth any longer
I cannot see where the light leads me
You glisten
I reach out for you

When you go
You don,Äôt hear
When you hear
You don,Äôt see
When you see
You don,Äôt do anything
That is when you are perfect
That is when you are alone

Crack is not
Purple slot
Machines
His Empirical Majesty archPope Rocket P. Llama, King of the Jews, GTKoRO, aka RevRev. Tokeval D. Kroenik KHG
-Bastard Children of Andy Warhol Cabal-(BCOAW)
"Buck buck buck BCOAW"

Rupert Giles

My eyes are so blurry
I just woke up from my sleep
A dream of a thousand years ending
Into mists of my mind descending
Never to rise again.

The last straggling strands
Of night's sweet bliss I hold in my hands
Trying to make sense of it all
But I can't quite seem to recall
The vision I had in my mind.

But I know that it's there.
Amid the jelly and blood
Inside my skull that ticks
All around the clock
Making me not quite you.

My Fantasy is so out of reach
Even though it's all around me.
Life is my empty canvas upon which to write.
But no one seems to recall that fact
My innermost thoughts make them turn white.

And so without much farewell
I think it's time to leave you now
And retreat back into Dreams
Never to waken again
Fantasy is my only friend.

archPope Rocket P Llama

Through the dust and the smoke of a man-made mystery
Flies the grief of a nation, reliving history
Sliding through the gloom of an inner-space clock
Reviving the living from the heart of a lock
Coexisting in the corners of nonbeing
Together

Like a randy old goat
With a taste for young girls
Like an old smelly boot
And colours not of this world
Like death with a dream
And unspeakable names
A murk that be-ith among the shades
The end of the world and convention awash in the flames
And the sleeping terrors
Of ancient days!

FOR THAT IS NOT DEAD WHICH CAN ETERNAL LIE, AND WITH STRANGE AEONS EVEN DEATH MAY DIE!

Thank you for your cooperation.
His Empirical Majesty archPope Rocket P. Llama, King of the Jews, GTKoRO, aka RevRev. Tokeval D. Kroenik KHG
-Bastard Children of Andy Warhol Cabal-(BCOAW)
"Buck buck buck BCOAW"

Rupert Giles

What's the point?
We go on and on
Day after day
We try so hard
To not slip away
Never moving forward
Most moving back
How the Fates must laugh.
A foolish race
of misbegotten apes
Too smart to die
Too stupid to live.
Technology cannot shut away
The world with which we must deal
The pain and suffering and fear
The hurt and famine and war
Which most of us are unaware
Treathing those who know with cold stares
"It's not our problem," some would say.
", it's not our problem, go away."
And so the downward plunge continues
Human kind losing the battle
To retain that for which after us is named.
Humanity.

archPope Rocket P Llama

Behold
Unto thee is presented
The fullness of thy Glorious
Instrumentality
Breathe and become
Entwined down to singularity
For the colour of your eyes
Bespeaks that comming
You are inevitable, my love
You are a blackened angel of gravity
A symbol to terrify
A sense to the feeling speaker
Become
We become
Manifest
Five sided internal vision
And radiate
Do not away cast
Fulfill your prayer
And radiate inward all things
Coming to one
Coming to unity
And a great frightening beauty

You passed over the earth
Predestinating your return
My soul cries out to you
I love you!
But I am unaware
His Empirical Majesty archPope Rocket P. Llama, King of the Jews, GTKoRO, aka RevRev. Tokeval D. Kroenik KHG
-Bastard Children of Andy Warhol Cabal-(BCOAW)
"Buck buck buck BCOAW"

Rupert Giles

There's a problem with my keyboard.
I can't quite figure it out.
Every time I type on it.
There words seem to trickle out.
The keys are stuck, here and there.
The Capslock light is broke.
The numpad is missing a spring.
This keyboard is a joke.
But the problem with my input device
Which for some reason has marks from a vise
Which for a long time was far from me to know
I the fact that it's my keyboard, you know.