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My Half of the Picture

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“As the embodied soul continuously passes, in this body, from boyhood to youth to old age, the soul similarly passes into another body at death. A sober person is not bewildered by such a change," Bhavagad Gita.

Every day I listen to the beating of my lonely heart. Ululate. Conceal my revelations and my pains. Every day a sparrow mellows. Immerse inside my soul; take me back a thousand years. Seasons flow from tiny hands to growing palm-hairs. Fall hues taint the melatonin shells. Brush my hairs with white streaks. Resolve my problems and my fears. Tear-oils leak from my kaleidoscopes. I open to my tender and allow my mind to daydream. The color of cherry blossom winds stroke my cheeks in the Eve of Christ. Evoke the memories of my past and future. Vanish flames the natal gust. Sky ribbons descend from the stratus clouds. Seconds blossom as my hands wind right. Swimming in moonlight showers the divine harmonies of the cherubim. Fractal memories of lightwaves in four dimensions; I travel. Open the book of lotus petals. Merry Christmas, the windwaker calls. I taste the purification of heavenly tears. Release sake’s foxfires. Cocoon myself in the furs of Ninetails. Witness the Vermillion Bird flapping its wings against the Azure Dragon. Painting my day dandelion’s marigold. Blow the petals toward the rushing river. Emptiness closes my eyes once more. Feel the icy warmth of my rushing crimson. Discordant arpeggios variegate. The weeping willow extends his arms towards me. Sunspots burst tones of divine tsunamis. Matrix cords of multivariable calculus. Peace is the trunk of the Oakwood. Return to human presence. Music moves the sundial’s lethargic fouettes. Emancipate the doves from the traps of conscience. Euphony to my ears…mouth…larynx…lungs…diaphragm…arteries…brain…veins…naval: unveil the yin-yang’s chi from the shrine within. The chairman lives in you, undulating his violin strings. Embrace a snowflake melting into the chocolates creamed. Reverse my forever, love’s hollow fluting drums. Bloom my hands and feet from a winter’s rest. In, out, in, out, the moon pulls the blankets of the sea onto the grained beach. May you rest in peace. The smiles heal the intersection on the boulevard of broken dreams. Point my boat to my final destination, compass of thorned beauty. I’m falling slowly in the strumming of my guitar. Unrivaled fairness is the black hole between parallel verses. I cry wisdom drops. Arigato, my dearly Beloved. This will be my last “I love you.” Consume Timaeus’s perfections: fire, water, air, earth, quintessence. Typhoon, drizzle your damp hair onto the ground. I am at my end: so happy. Blissful are the palm trees sweeping the sands of the shore. Thunder, feel the lightning of my gentle finger. Pass the incarnate of my avatars; learn to be life’s absurdity. Rub that eucalyptus oil; it will numb the sadness of truth: passion lies in the knowledge that death will come. An amaranth sprouts from my sour nipples. Oh beautiful Chaos, sink my lips into the abyss…





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raverydartmouth2011 said...
Jun. 30, 2009 at 8:57 pm
I don't understand why you value florid writing to highly. Some of your metaphors are well created, but most of them are simply overdone. You tend to use a lot of words that have no place in writing, and it seems as though you are using a dictionary/thesaurus. I would recommend less grandiloquence, and more adherence to Orwell's rules from "Politics and the English Language." On the plus side, as I said, some of your metaphors are very good, but just seem out of place and forced. Try ... (more »)
 
Joanna said...
Jun. 30, 2009 at 6:40 pm
Oh my goodness. That is... well, it is beautiful. I like the way you move between nature and music. If I could hazzard a guess, I'd say that the plot is about an elderly person nearing the end of their life, happy to be reunited with a love lost long ago? I don't really know what else to say. It is so beautifully written, but it is difficult to read. I almost think that, with a really good illiustrator, this would make a marvelous picture book for adults or something. Those exist, eh? Look... (more »)
 
amyxu said...
Jun. 30, 2009 at 6:18 pm
Hey, the language in your story is beautiful and, at some times, hard to make out. But that adds to the beauty of it. As far as plot goes, I didn't really know what was going on--the tone was very spiritual, so I assumed it was somebody in meditation. Or it could be somebody on a mind trip, I don't know. It's almost like an extra-long vignette, because it's so descriptive of everything. Nice work!
 
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