Exergue (esprit_blanc) wrote in poetic___slap,

The Scent of Fresh Paper

Name: Sarah
Age: 17
Location: United Arab Emirates

Author: Oscar Wilde, John Steinbeck, Aldous Huxley + more
Poet: Blake, Shelley, Coleridge, Aleister Crowley + more
Journalist: -
Book: East of Eden by Steinbeck; To A God Unknown by Steinbeck; The Picture of Dorian Gray by Wilde; The Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell by Huxley + much more
Poem: Ozymandias by Shelley; The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Wilde; Composed Upon Westminster Bridge by Wordsworth; The Blossom by Blake; the whole of the Songs of Innocence & Experience anthology. + more
Topic of conversation: More or less anything, on a profound and sincere level of exchange. Theoretical knowledge, Romanticism vs. Rationalism...

Opinions on...
War: Inevitable. Unpleasant, naturally, but inevitable. It is the natural cycle of this world, that strong seek to dominate weak. It's called a fight for survival, and I accept that.
Sex: The one thing that differentiates us from those that walk on all fours, is the remarkable emotion that is in our natural response to sexual excitement. There is something spiritual about the sex urge so much that the act of fucking is a ritual in itself. In case you haven't quite grasped it yet: I am pro-sex and advocate experimentation with individual fetishes and so on.
Drugs: I am pro- hallucinogens and the like. Drugs that induce particular imagery or offer any sort of third eye for the individual are key to any great artist.
Music: Only my favorite drug. Music is the voice of the mute.


After time plants her deathly kiss
And thoughts go numb with care
After blackness feels like bliss
And words are nothing but air
After sense has murdered the heart
And hands destroy what may come
After the tears are only a part
Of a lie not yet undone...

Numb and paralyzed by the persuasion
Yearning to hear the tremors in her
Fading. Lacking her gasp to seize me
Hanging, hating. Perverting the pride
Crucify the verve
Out of the portraits
Lust for the touch
Conform to desire
Death of me, eradication
Birth of none. Silence to all.

I bear auguries ancient;
Lingering, hopeful with age,
And with age, sometimes
So suddenly smothering.
I bury auguries deep, within
A massive multitude of mutilated
Fragments of self and silenced senses.
Auguries, veiled; vanished. Banished.
Save hearts and shadows,
In green minds deep,
The love imagined
Dare not seep.
And the love imagined
Will not sleep.
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