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Inside out manPoor and lucky man found himself in a strange arrangement Arranging and rearranging thoughts and numbers Tracking holes and black dots and upside down thingsInside out man
And than he found himself a strange frequency, much higher and lower than the ones previously tracked.
And he obsessed in it with dedication, ignoring common fact.
The poor man than tweaked unhappy Suffering from psychological inside out and unexplainable bliss Lucky man, had his inside exposed and his complexes repressed
Thinking in dreams And not thinking at all He filled his gaps with numbers
And
by ~nixeie
Metaphors meanMaster Ji came tenderly, When I was all alone. He beat me for said insolence, but gen is not set in stone For metaphors, that had been built upon metaphors, upon metaphors - misinterpretations, and the like - Where tenderly can mean brutally, or sexuality, or meat.Metaphors mean
Don’t be so misguided! He said. There is only one credible source! So take off your clothes,
Lay down and moan And let me teach you more
by ~nixeie
interpretation of KundaliniThere’s a standard level of consciousness at which most people grasp tightly.interpretation of Kundalini
And this may only be myth, but there is this different level. This level isn’t higher, or lower - it’s sideways and queer. It’s a vastly inhabited level, but it is not lonely. One could be at peace in a place so perfectly shambolic (it’s like an integrated circuit, except roaring with elemental vitality) The poppy’s speak and the walls breathe.
And drifters share secrets with One when the time permits; And like sponges One can feel everything at once, apparently - everything that’s inside and o
by ~nixeie
Man tastes like whoreIl lash out with scissors Stab you with crayons and pink plastic spoons Il rip out your eyes, and blend them up with your soul and fingers Il devour you up like a sundaeMan tastes like whore
Il hang you to my wall and gawk Beside fake nails and paper doves Cutting off every piece I don't care to look at Il start with your hands, your hands And bury them in a box I might even spit out an epitaph
Il strip off your robes Until your left bare And inverted Hanging and perverted And ill shove a fork into you And pull out a pulsating piece of flesh Il eat
by ~nixeie
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Toronto
- Interests: Creative expression, deviant sexuality, spiritual liberation, pure and platonic love.
- Favourite movie: Donnie Darko, Caprica, Renegade (aka Blueberry), Battlestar
- Favourite band or musician: Shpongle, Chopin, Liszt, Amon Tobin, Xploding Plastix, Venetian snares, Ensuder
- Favourite genre of music: Psychadellic ambient, psychadellic trance, classical, IDM, breakcore
- Favourite poet or writer: Atwood, vonnegut, odrach, david foster wallace, burroughs.
- Personal Quote: Red to green or perhaps an altered dimension?
- Tools of the Trade: A computer, a cat collar, some rope and a poorly tuned piano.
- Email: peculiarlucidity@live.co.uk
- MSN: peculiarlucidity@live.co.uk
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