implodedvoice

"Well dude i know a guy who knows a guy where you can get some deep fried bitches over in cook county just get up n' get inem' s'all i say to ride it like it just don't matter to you no more, and when that lonliness is there just buck up and do it agin till ya cant ride no more like it just don' matta cause that's when it gon' ta get' ta' matter boy... well i here ma cooked up some nice apple pie i think it's restin' by the winda' sill there and i'd just like to get a nice slice a that while it's still warm, yeah, heh, that is yours there boy, you don't tell your momma or you're just gonna have to buck the fuck up on outta here boy

Resting endlessly stressly Is some thing I dig. Resting stressing and ending Is something I do not. If you're driving alone on a dark Windy road &, facing the slope you Are ascending, when two red lights Come out of the low, this is Not another traveler on the road; this Is merely the first stop on the Road.

If you have never taken a step backward, my youngest son and I—mostly he—but now only I—recommend confidently never to take a step backwards. I suppose it wouldn't have taken more than a simple prayer in the right direction. Supposing to do this, though, is trying painfully to land right, but still landing awkwardly. I mean my son stepped on a nail. Now, to pray backwards means to have neglected God and daily prayer, and then trying to pray when you are only in urgent need; certainly this won't land you any grief. Just a lick of pain: rusty nail, oak wooden board, back lot at the Christian Center where I park my car at night; our problems sta

Snow never thought it would melt: the collective flakes, fallen, never thought they would fall; the gently sloping mass would not have thought to flow had the sun not come out:  the fish that live under the tumbling waters would never expect to fall from the sky.

It bothers me to feel like I only have 8 years left to live, And then, at 27, where will I be; Will I write this poem then, later, that I would arrive Dead; or undead: the coincidence of error And of ever having thought it and wrought It?  Will that bother me too?  Maybe?  And you? No well who would but would they. This thought is life!  Unbearable, all distraught And unchangeable, excitable tornadoes! Would I make a plea to this? Would I apply, I, dare make a plea to god? There he is! Or is he? There is a thing called bullshit, Its most of what our parents tell us. When I was 13 years old, I met A lot of bad luck; there is

Damaskus Mine are the dead oaks and exhausted vineyards, Black of suffocation, left to tired soils; dry as Newborns suckled from their mother's powder breasts; For arms to cling, where fortunate arms would have, now Unfortunately rest as vulnerable as Flowers wept of the elements, droughted, Wailing helpless agony under black sunlight.  The Black oak roots, such grown are they in my heart, Akin to artery and vein like engraved steel, A crest in shield and sword, erect for security: Cover for the forbearance of time, Whimper like dandelions, soon wither to the last. Coal roots, here, of the investment be allotted dead dirt, Res

The clocks turn apathetic to consider Indifference to Lower the spirits of a floods funeral hymn. Postpone composition opinion or belief or trivial matter. Rupture the prepossession of the wood pulp rhythm. Lonesome through the endless holy sky surrounded on mountaintops Into the ghostly velvet amnesia of Dreams, rain, oblivion, Time, Eternity, The darkness the harpsichords & the sunset As heavy as the moon on the pavement.

In Alfred Hitchcock's thriller Vertigo ( 1958 ), vertical composition and an analysis thereof, pertaining to mise-en-scene and including an interpretation of the ideas of Sigmund Freud plays a foremost part in ascertaining male dominance in the film.  Phallic shapes and vertical composition throughout Vertigo are a representation of what Freud called the "id," "a reservoir of unconscious psychic energy that constantly strives to satisfy basic drives to survive [vertigo], reproduce [love], and aggress [dominance]. "  Alfred Hitchcock's id is suggested through the protagonist in his attempt for dominance: vertigo satisfies the need for survival