50 More Poems for you to Spit On is a worthwhile collocation of esoteric poetry from the joycean pen of the orphic macned. written, would you believe it, over a period of nine startled daze during which the author immersed himself in the waters of the Pieria for the first time since 1989. begob, that was a sweet phase. i fully expected to win the Nobel Prize for Literature until someone put forward the notion of criticism. shortly thereafter, i did a Raskolnikov and realized that nothing mattered...
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all we do will wither our bones will crumble into dust the letters on our stone will fade the memory of our face decay the grave retains all secrets our fate is that we die and enter there to exit not to rest and rise no more the wood on which our bodies rot like us is turned to soil from substance to gas to nothing from body feeble to spirit sublime one change precedes another despair gives way to hope the moon falls, the sun rises and from the gloom the shadow begets a husk. |
...but on a lighter note, life ain't that bad. i was being mephistophelic and thinking dullish gray. in reference to Onan and the murmur of, i can't recall when it started but i know when it will stop. hopefully, this prefatorial exegesis will serve to attract attention and indeed, induce the cautious reader to proceed with undue haste to my expectorative offering. i stand absolved of any subsequent disenchantment convinced that proper warning has been given of the obnubilatic nature of my work...ab uno disce omnes.