my mind stays in a duplex
down is cream walls and pastel shades
down is cream walls and pastel shades
.
upstairs is a bit more complex
Kafka's roach and Machiavelli's prince
rehearsing the script i wrote
before being eaten by 3 men in a boat
.
the world's stage is down
the minds plays' staged up
oh its tough, but its fun
and no one knows wassup :)
upstairs is a bit more complex
Kafka's roach and Machiavelli's prince
rehearsing the script i wrote
before being eaten by 3 men in a boat
.
the world's stage is down
the minds plays' staged up
oh its tough, but its fun
and no one knows wassup :)
.
6 comments:
should play this song to the guitar. kind of gruffy, achy voice with a rap-like rhythm would suit the mood....
;-)
mmmm... totaly cool!! though i didnt understand the 'being eaten up by men in a boat' part...its so amazing about how you made somethin as complex as the human mind into something so light.
totaly cool father! though i didnt understand the part about "being eaten by 3 men'...it was amazing how you made something as complex as the human into someything so light... ( and weird)
Muy mind stays in a universe¡¡¡¡
Besos.
thank you so much for ur kind comment. i was quite moved by rosh's post thats why i posted it again on my blog..
by the way, i loved ur comment on ooopsmommy's blog. a comment thats a poem.. it was beautiful.
I now know that doing a play is like drinking wine. The first glass hits you, osmoses through the body. The next few are mechanical, rehearsals over and over again - saying the same things, but not getting it right. The last glass is when it all comes together. The sepia feeling, it being right; just so; ready to speak to the world.
Is writing poetry like that too?
I can sense the edge of your poems, the broken-glass-bottle top stuck into the boundary wall. stay on top longer; it will then be better defined. We will feel the smoothness in the texture too.
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