Axiomatically Formlessness Belongs to the Former

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

Axiomatically Formlessness Belongs to the Former

Postby Stuart » Fri Jan 03, 2014 11:18 am

I may return to the former
And it won't be a regression
A regress can happen due to
Damage to one's head
This is forwards
AS the former with form!

"What doesn't kill you makes you stranger."
What doesn't crucify you
Leaves your self-destructive ego pining
Until it's in a pine box.
Or you may be fortunate enough
To have others' ego inflate your
Dead one

Most of us still want to be crucified someday
This should be a common form of satirical derision:
"Nail my hands and feet to a cross and
Forget to stamp my return ticket from Hell."

Just kill me.
Just kill me.
Isn't that the best response you can give
To anyone's derisions
"Just kill me." Sarcastic, but meaning sincerely;
"Marty me, please".

And to one in a more day to day mood
They may let you know that if you don't stop
You may face martyrdom
You want to think they'll later be ashamed!!
The things that haven't provoked shame..

I don't want to be cremated
I like the idea of rotting
It is one of the most harkened existential
Things allowed a person.
Even if they don't awaken in their graves
Nor have it robbed, during a misty night
It will still be there rotting without
Any theatrics

But, nothing compares to crucifixion.
"Leave it until the buzzards break apart the bones!"

Let me continue to
Vomit a pretentious flow of thought
AS if poetry
A plastic cathedral
A flow of death
To get me back to where
I can go forwards

Wait, take back those two lines
I'm getting ahead of myself.

This is about a regression.
To turn back the clock
Until all discernations have died
Turn it back
Turn in back
Almost, until the body too has died
The Ultimate form of regressive death
And if to die hiding under the covers.....!

Don't deny the difference
Don't return to nihilism
Linger back a ways, only

Everyone and everything equates
So long as it doesn't..
Hit me over the head like a hammer
And then that might be fine

Blood pouring from my mouth
I'll discern that hammer
From my soft pillow
And as I, ice strapped to my head,
Try not to fall
Into unconsciousness that night
I'll have begun to make other
Real discernments
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