#Alt Lit

[lebuc]

 hugs & kisses

* a wonderful thing about hugs: when you give one, you get one back…

& we may need one or two in our erstwhile battle against the evil forces, the stated fogs of invasion, infestation in immorality’s masquerade by obsequious cogs manifest in dreadful demagogues, unto distraction, demonization, deference that is indefensible…

kinda like the BSOD* ( …i fought for the past 5 days).

we, resistors, protagonists in this era’s ourstory, who's glory is yet written…

should we find in kind bidding & battles unto dying in any wee way - demons smitten. i’ll be there with ye in profuse, diffused glee need we take a knee;

satisfied to go down trying to keep on the light

against all that’s amiss -   this race run, this track - our rage against the night.

…funny thing too - about a kiss: you give one, you’ll get one back, if your timing’s right. * 8/19 - 12/24 - lebuc - hugs & kisses

[matthew-pasquarello]

if there was a place to watch old videos, burn this down and roast the hero with marshmallows for nostalgia's sake, stick within the walls for the planet we can suffer but keep pushing like the ignorant soul crashing its beak into mirrors

[meanwhilepoetry]

I'm just trying to become someone who the child inside me will not hate. I'm trying to be everything she needed and did not receive. She is so lonely still. It's not fair that she is so lonely still.

Nikita Gill

[vomitingwords]

and then I learned

how to cry

without tears

falling from my eyes

behind clouds // ma.c.a

[longreads]

In this new Longreads essay, Megan Marz asks: why does the literary world still hold online writing at arm’s length? 

While it’s become banal to observe that online life is fully enmeshed with the rest of the world, an imaginary curtain separates online writing from the rest of U.S. literature. It’s time to take that curtain down.

People like to say the internet speeds reading up, but a personal blog, read in real time, can slow a story’s pace down to the timescale of life; the thickest book in existence can be read in less calendar time. Not even the author knew when a blog would end, which is what made it feel so alive.

Read Megan Marz’s “Poets in the Machine” on Longreads.

[tellherium]

It was Never about You //

3 of 3: Poems From the First Evening I've Spent Alone in Over a Month

[fantodsdhrit]

fell asleep your cigarette insomnia charred pillows stannic room flames

to rākshasas shiva granted then deprived

your psychedelic hatred for everything vivid woke up and met itself

an official visualizer song natraja dashboard 

i realised i needed you more than hungry ghost realm

i needed you more than needs' need

the third eye was treacherously unappetizing don't stare at cement dust

they voyage on positive cruelty vibes

you said whatever was to come would now be i waited for you to lie still

so i could be intimately hallway alone

my head as antithesis of shiva's matted hair

my head without strength you assay

if you refuse to perish as a human become a rākshasa

there's a futility to life that only life assumes

like gulmohars spewing leaves icterine

or a kite carrying away furryball squirrel

after that silver fire your room spoke to you but you were half in wyoming

[env0writes]

In every heart there lies a cemetery Buried deep within Full of forlorn loves Left beneath the loam and silt Stilted and jilted and staggering The mind is full of landmines Yet the heart is pockmarked with graves Many dug by the tender More filled by the mender In each heart, lies Whisper through aorta like avenues Tread carefully upon this hallowed ground For every heart is full of pitfalls Mind your visit – lest you stay Longer; longed for Yearned; unearned Urned in ashes Burned away in memory Love cuts us open To deposit names upon veins Dates mark the dates Caution your entry Guard tend tend to your garden Your graves

Deciding Embers Vol. 5, 12.7.24 “-Tender”

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists

[lipikkawrites]

-@lipikkawrites

[lebuc]

breathing

* i think poetry is alive; music, art too; anything is - if it breathes. i said  ‘i think’ - so i let *that* sentence breathe, in case i’m wrong & someone steps in to say otherwise; then we can dialog - have a living, breathing debate about it. check for yourself any piece of work, old or new it may have a crust on it, or dust - but it’s living if it breathes,  breathes when you feel it give you a breadth & depth. play that song…bam! that shit’s alive, mam - tell me it’s not, wakes you up even more… read that, right there…bam again! it’s living lit, sir - really lit. van gogh, shee - literally leaps off the canvas, know what i mean?    breathe it in, all the way down to the shin, fam. poems can slam, ofttimes amidst all their existential crimes & they don’t necessarily have to rhyme to be considered sublime, heh. i think, therefore i am... believing that our poetry is living if we let it & if we get it - then, it's breathing. * 11/18 - 12/24 (reblog) - lebuc - breathing 

[matthew-pasquarello]

i've been taught, politely, that where there's smoke, there's usually someone that started it grab-ass fortune works until you're in the spotlight of asshole-future, spewing the makings of an eagle's nest and letting that family fend for themselves over the dead branches; drip silver, drip silver my lovely sons of bitches

[meanwhilepoetry]

Sometimes I think about how beautiful it is that humans sing despite it all. That through suffering, we still sing. How even on the worst of days in the world, there were still people singing. The way a mother sings a lullaby to her crying baby to soothe her. Or the way sailors sang sea shanties out even on choppy oceans to build a sense of familiarity and camaraderie as they worked. Or how even in the depths of the earth, coal miners sing. Isn’t that the most beautiful thing about the human spirit? That we found a way to reach each other in the darkness. To let each other know through song, that do not worry, I am here. Let us sing together and ease each others fears.

- Nikita Gill

[remnant-thoughts]

Maybe, time does not heal all wounds. I have been stuck in this cycle too long. Hoping that the years might change  the memory of what reality remains. Acceptance comes in waves, and I have always been short of the shoreline.

“S.O.S” remnant-thoughts

[novinablog]

Entering winter

My heart is getting colder and frozen

It will melt if i meet you

Hug me, kiss me, and see you smile

Warm my soul and my heart

Like the sun shining in snowfall

[dementia7]

thirst.txt

[definegodliness]

Blindfold

"I lust you", I don't say the words, but suddenly I find it incredibly boring How I crave The heat of her mouth, And the softness of her skin; Her taste, And to feel her nipples stiffen By my kiss. I am bored, By how I long To make her all Shudder under my tongue, Just for fun; I get my kicks When she cums. Don't get me wrong, It isn't dull, or disappointing When she has Her way, nor in every way She grants me Physical ecstasy, But sometimes when she gawks With her mouth full, And her head Empty, Something in her gaze changes

And I realize I haven't felt love in ages.

Then, I don't care How good my body feels When my heart isn't in it; When I want it to be real And can't even get myself to change That one word of the three:

"I lust you."

It is then, suddenly, Profound truths wash over me, And it all seems so incredibly boring To be only this flesh That is So weak, When I used to be a god Shaping golden suns Past the last expansion of space, Chasing the constellations in forever-eyes Wherein resided love's timeless sanctuary; Suddenly, 'want' seems so pale In comparison to 'Need'. I look in her eyes; I look at her eyes; I close my eyes, and just Release.

--- 21-11-2023, M.A. Tempels ©