hellsforheroes

An egg barbecued by a black hole

So then jump in the hole see where it goes.

Think of a different approach and do it even if it's really different or even just plain sucks.
For example: use a rhyme scheme, short fiction, a true story not involving yourself.

my, but you do so know how to win us women folk with words. don't joke, where can i rent this smirf porn?

I like the new picture. And as you know I am a huge fan of your writing. That is so sexy. Do you have any sugar-free marmalade?

Those words,
those contemptuous whelps.
I'll take no part in their sangria bathtime experience.
I've forgotten how to split cane.
My feet bleed.
and I've run out of medical supply waste.
No more postcards.
No more gooey crimson pillows
floating by the seaside
sifting coffee creamer refinery process.

Well good sir, maybe you should look into interpretive dance instead of word play. just don't run and leap with sharp object near-by. your muse is now a munic. mine came back, but she is now deprived of all contructive process and linear motivation. what kind of psycotropic substances did you give the girl! my bloody muse now has ADD. great.

In a last desperate moment
A man sawed off
Pointed at me
Crippling with city eyes of indemnity

The street became
To a shark in orgasm
Pavement blood
Like hobo liquor

Under the cherry wine
The Moon bathed
In rain water converted
Naked jay-bird theater

Set sunset alveoli asthmatic
To be yonder
Here
And now

With a porcelain tendril
Lingering to shatter
Glass
In me

The Virgin Mary
Thinking
I was
Achilles

And me
Pointed
Loaded and thrust forward
Timely like metaphorical redundancy

Without rhyme
In a loveless season
Waiting, dying
In epiphany

Until the very breathe
Is stolen
In bloody debt
Gangster impetus wild

Reaping
Nature
Opulent in bevy
Ire spent

And grace
Full
Of Stupidity
Upon a dire precipice

To which
Gospel
Is a guiding light
To romanticized masculinity

In my pants
She is dancing
Smitten crest
Befuddled

Cocksure whimsy
Zealous
And symptomatic
Stumped

Thumping beat
Down
Low light crooned
Rumbled ethnicity

Groveling
Holy
Mercy
To be so deep within love

When the orchestra hums
Like the tired ocean
Sand basks
Immortality

As sin and beckon mention time
And time winks
Photonic
And minimally existent

Core
Essential tranquility
Like the nook of an eve
When whisper mentions psalm

And forgiveness
Metamorphosis
Iconoclastic
Butter melted serenity

To which
What witch
What war locked
Away

Dancing
In an alleyway
Broiled
Inner-city stolen

The fading love
Of a woman
To make
A Man

Like a woman
Can make
A man
A man


AND


Incant me
A star
Little birdie
With orange cheeks

Yellow suspender
Charm
Like crickets
To buddy holly

Hiccup serenades
As ideal
To me
As Sunshine

And liquor talk
Lullaby
Naked
Plutonic

As perpetual family
Without sin
Or
Alibi

Cake
All covered
In Cooing
Marzipan

Bird droppings
To fruit
Fly
Maggots

Reproducing
We
Are
Magnanimously

Billion
Spoke
Howling
Wolves

The parrot
Cock
A teal
Female

And me
Like lamprey
Wine
Suckling

Orgy
Watchers
Wishing
Angels

At least she is
An angel
Like a pixie
To a fool

Before antiquity
Knew
Greek
Metaphor

Under the sky
Short
On the earth flat
Running away

Depression
But a used
Popsicle
away


(Not surprising choices coming from me, I'm sure)

thanks for the comment/post, man. i really enjoyed it, which is nice because your work usually goes over my head. you bring out the lazy thinker in me.

what is the one piece for? an anthology/zine?

i seem to remember a while back you complained of a creative disappointment. that seems to have passed, which is good to hear.

happy new year and all that.

What does Schopenhauer's pain/pleasure pendulum have on Buddhism? I actually don't know that Schopenhauer would claim it has anything on Buddhism- in fact, in what I was just reading, Schopenhauer states that "If I were to take the results of my philosophy as the standard of truth, I would have to consider Buddhism the finest of all religion." I can't say that I know very much on Schopenhauer, beyond that one small element of his philosophy; I wanted to read more on it to better respond to your comment, but I haven't had time. It would be my guess that he considers pain/pleasure a self-dissatisfying process that's a strong innate tendency for human nature, the pitfalls of which can be circumvented only with realization of the futility of the process. And resignation. So in that philosophical sense (though not in the religious, divine, other-worldly sense) I would agree that his conclusions would be very much aligned with the ideals of Buddhism.

I go back and forth on the way I see past philosophers. In one sense, I do see them as relics of the past, old scientists whose falsely limited conclusions can be recognized with the progression of history. But in another sense, philosophers seem more timeless to me. Unlike science, philosophy by nature does not lend itself to a direct trajectory of "progress." Many of the most important questions are necessarily unprovable - and that is precisely the realm of philosophy. So in that sense, I don't think philosophers should be considered overcome and discarded the way past scientists whose theories have been disproven can be. To me, philosophers bring different angles of insight, the truth or falsity of which can be valuable just in their exploration.

Yeah, what is up with that Jessica Lange they're always singing about how old she is... and "may all acquaintances be forgot" are we supposed to forget everyone we meet or something? They have to explain that song.

Happy New Year!

That's my kind of christmas song... completely filthy and obscene. hehe
I wouldn't mind christmas songs if they were all like that.
Merry day after christmas.

Love it! hahahah. I hate xxmas songs, but that one would redeem all. Who wouldn't want ten tantalizing tits?? Yummy. teehee.

xoxo


PS Sorry about scaring u with my strap-on photos earlier... hahaha... my friend wanted me to post them so she could see what it looked like... I don't even own one, that belongs to the guy. I work as an escort, so I see a lot of crazy shit, let me tell you.

wow.

ps. this was so funny : "I am continually pushing outward the parameters of how tacky and pun indulgent I can be....my style has no direction, I feel like I am.....I am, skull fucking the worlds smallest infinite abyss...."
i had to read it outloud to my roomate.

merry X-mass, may you get better crap then you gave.

"Her majesty's a pretty nice girl
But she doesn't have a lot to say
Her majesty's a pretty nice girl
But she changes from day to day

I wanna tell her that I love her alot
But I gotta get a belly full of wine

Her majesty's a pretty nice girl
Some day I'm gonna make her mine
Ooo, yeah

Someday I'm gonna make her mine..."

Having trouble with my stupid slut of a muse myself. the bitch doesnt put out lately...i think she's going through the change. fucking botox, you can't anyone's age anymore.

...anything e.e. cummings....

ps. if you just give her better 4 play, she'll come back. write still it doesnt seem like shit anymore. (says the hypocrite)

How about "Lola"?

your style of writing just doesn't speak to me, admittedly because i struggle to understand your scenarios, and indeed your opinion thereof, and crucially i reach a point where i'm no longer inclined to try to understand. i can appreciate only your vocabulary.

a crude analogy - it is kinda like trying to admire a man's skill with a spade when he is digging away at the bottom of a mile-deep pit; you can't make anything out.

anyway, i hope my candour at least counts for something.

thanks for your reply.

yes, Bouville (or rather my writing) has some way to go, and i'm enjoying the process of growth n exploration. i bet in a coupla years i'll have some tenderfoot tell me "i don't get it", just as i've told you. anyway, it's nice hearing some strength does show.

cheers
over n out

It's the layers. Bubbles, swelling orbs that don't *pop* but just beget more and more. It's insubstantial...only the muscle's bones and skin know...but they "get it" only partially.

It does become dense, cloying. The Creative feel the density smothering and no choice but to pinpoint-laser, focus to diffuse, direct like conducting...re-mind the emotions and refit.
(The hearts and head's junkyard orchestra. Old tires quickly. Fires in a paintbucket. Flesh-hose flowers...etc. unknown)

It's really to make anew. Something never seen, but man, it feels, doesn't it.

Familial. Familiar.

Yeah...I agree, or I should.

I don't know.

I just have to do.

(Nice piece above. Bliss-anger. How old is it from when?)