ModernPromethean
Virgin
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2011
- Posts
- 17
As evening spreads out against a rosehued atomic sky, shadows sweep a tungsten-balanced day for night, the mental dance of solitude reflect perfect contrasts off the transfigured securities for those of us in the grip of illusion,
Sanjaya recites in Mise en abyme, ascending nodes become objects of indifference, what he used to take for granted bears a name, and that name goes proxy for its bearer. His personal experience becomes perplexed and ineffable, and parallels the Allegory of the Cave. He becomes obsessed with interstellar medium in the steady state of cosmology, his sense of reality shifts lenticular, his metaphors gain in metophorocity.
" I ruminate a sick sparrowed-heart, what was lost to less than a nest above drops soiled tears berried thick with portentous dreams, Atman will never die, he satiates our porcelain bowl with the sweet seminal milk of hope, and holds it out to the future, he ties the satin bow around our impermanent mouths, the bitter air of sour smells courses our glossy grief "
Sanjaya recites in Mise en abyme, ascending nodes become objects of indifference, what he used to take for granted bears a name, and that name goes proxy for its bearer. His personal experience becomes perplexed and ineffable, and parallels the Allegory of the Cave. He becomes obsessed with interstellar medium in the steady state of cosmology, his sense of reality shifts lenticular, his metaphors gain in metophorocity.
" I ruminate a sick sparrowed-heart, what was lost to less than a nest above drops soiled tears berried thick with portentous dreams, Atman will never die, he satiates our porcelain bowl with the sweet seminal milk of hope, and holds it out to the future, he ties the satin bow around our impermanent mouths, the bitter air of sour smells courses our glossy grief "
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