tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14007909560257728992012-02-04T21:50:03.804+10:30Rancid rhymes, ramshackle rhythms and repulsive rhapsodies of the morbidly self-indulgent kind...masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comBlogger931100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-15473162830942395672010-05-12T07:16:00.002+09:302010-05-12T07:17:59.893+09:30

All of the content of this site, and much more, can be found at Cosmic Rapture... Includes dark fiction, weird ideas, unusual speculations, and things you won't see published anywhere else. Mature content. Adults only.Drog, Wharf and Zambooka were sitting in the Sub-Orbital Lounge awaiting transfer to Korendi. Drog was feeling rather dispirited, the prospect of spending three lunes in the company

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-58563737426222663202010-05-09T09:52:00.002+09:302010-05-09T09:52:27.515+09:30

All of the content of this site, and much more, can be found at Cosmic Rapture... Includes dark fiction, weird ideas, unusual speculations, and things you won't see published anywhere else. Mature content. Adults only.or instance on the continuum of awareness, the lump of rock can be found at one extreme of the continuum. And god can be found at the opposite end. But zero can be found at the same

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-36912966890899195342010-05-06T10:13:00.002+09:302010-05-06T10:14:16.146+09:30

All of the content of this site, and much more, can be found at Cosmic Rapture... Includes dark fiction, weird ideas, unusual speculations, and things you won't see published anywhere else. Mature content. Adults only."...and you agree that you have been fully informed of all the dangers. You understand that your signature in the space indicated means you have read and understood all the terms

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-87211937710945711802010-05-06T09:36:00.001+09:302010-05-06T09:36:25.092+09:30

"My story begins with the birth of a child, a special child, me. It is a tale of love and hate, good and evil, night and day, truth and lies. It is the story of a thousand-year quest for something so precious, so unique, that its existence is known only to two people---me, and my therapist, but she doesn't understand anyway. continues at cosmic rapture

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-9710984837955651822007-12-24T06:12:00.009+10:302010-05-05T21:34:54.351+09:30

In the foothills of the badlands, southwest of Broken Hill lived an ugly hairy Ogre, he probably lives there still.And in the early evening, or the middle of the morn You’d find the bloody corpses with their throats all ripped and torn.continues at Cosmic Rapture...

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-88658460389154396892007-12-23T22:45:00.000+10:302007-12-23T21:15:25.442+10:30

Once upon a Frosty FridayIn the merry month of May Seven sisters swore a secret pactTo bind them night and dayThe pact they packed up tight and goodWithin a pactbox made of woodSeven sisters thought that that was thatOr so they thought they understoodEach went about her daily lifeThey had no worries, no trouble, no strifeForgotten was the deadly pactUntil the first became a wifeTheir tragic story

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-32537533797265824322007-12-23T17:51:00.000+10:302008-02-05T17:46:57.179+10:30

Approach the portal slowly but not reluctantly nor abandon hope as you pierce the membranebeyond which spacetime embraces the divine singularitywhere Oroboros coils within the Schwarzschild Radiusand the infinite reflections of Indra's Netreverberate across the cosmic heartstringsin the diamond harmonies of creationeverywhere, everywhen, everyhow. Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-41709987388918244412007-12-21T08:11:00.000+10:302007-12-23T21:11:33.364+10:30

For many men sex now and then is not enough, in contrast though, most women know that "no" means "no" and less is more and fast is slow, and if not now she'll tell him whenthe action can begin again.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-85000167277842341172007-12-08T10:04:00.000+10:302007-12-23T21:18:26.967+10:30

Silver assassins deifiedInsidious fedaheen exemplifiedQua? Mutinous taxicabs glorifiedGlutinous agglomerates gentrifiedQuo?Hellacious orthodontists stupefiedStupendous dazzlement typifiedQuid?Dubious qualia emphasisedGolden marmadukes euthanizedQue?Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-8497637780173940572007-12-02T17:25:00.000+10:302008-02-05T17:44:47.426+10:30

Radical action roots in the loamy soiltruffle-hunting hogs deprived of their prizeprisoners executed in boiling oilspeculative spectators with owlish eyesbawdy bards shuffling off this mortal coilin the excluded middle between truth and lies.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-40784967746420745192007-11-25T07:40:00.000+10:302008-02-05T17:43:05.541+10:30

In a season of badnessa man at the borderof evil and madnessbought a whore and he pawed her fucked without gladnessback-doored her, abhorred herdark days are for sadness affective disorder.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-6651367193014588102007-11-03T16:53:00.000+10:302007-11-18T16:26:26.310+10:30

Long, long ago at the dawn of time even before the primordial slime stretching ahead were all the millennia in which quite a lot if not more even many a tragic mistake or foul evil plot lay in the future but not the year dot. At the start of the writing of history's first page when many an era, an aeon, an age loomed far ahead to the greatest extent took place an extremely dramatic event. Some

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-79020496285642167252007-10-21T17:10:00.000+09:302007-10-25T21:07:40.648+09:30

Once two kids of Satan's spawnan evil boy, the girl a bitch came upon a magic thornwith which they pricked a poor old witchand that was how the curse was swornand so it was that then was bornthe Legend of the Dog-faced Woman.Every year there is a dateon which all parents hold a feastthey eat and drink and celebratea certain hairy, monstrous beastwho growls as bad kids meet their fate so listen up

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-21402508508550849662007-10-14T20:43:00.000+09:302007-12-13T10:58:25.236+10:30

A wizard’s life is not a happy one.It’s blood, sweat, tears and not a lot of fun.You’ve got to do all sorts of trickslike juggling a pile of bricks……or swallowing a swordso the kids don’t get bored……or pulling a rabbit out of a hatto amuse some snotty-nosed brat.…or sawing a lady in halfjust to get a laugh.It all starts getting a little too muchthe birthdays, barmitzahs, and weddings and such.Too

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-215238848476863012007-10-07T14:02:00.000+09:302007-10-08T05:44:54.305+09:30

Only one more page to go, and then I'm almost done.Except for the fact that there are at least two other notebooks to fill that I've already begun. So near and yet so far. So why continue? Why write when it's very late at night, when the heebie jeebies frolic and the mumbo jumboes bight? And for what? For the satisfaction of knowing I'm right, even thoughNo-one else save God will ever know? But

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-82166249003545731612007-10-05T05:08:00.000+09:302007-10-06T11:08:20.514+09:30

The moon trudges wearily through the bloated gut of nightunhappy as a wrong that will never be put right.Within my alien nation I am beside myselfUpside down I'm high and dry upon the lowest shelf.Reality is old and tired, like an unsolved heinous crimeIt's time for tea with entropy, until there's no more time.But wait, is that a joyful insight that in my mind doth float?Is that a loving lump

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-51018353819770245962007-09-24T05:52:00.000+09:302007-09-24T05:55:21.376+09:30

What is the Traitor Word.That is the Traitor Word.Which is the Traitor Word.It is. Cat is. Dog is. Word is.God is the Traitor Word.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-66052961168030651992007-09-21T19:51:00.000+09:302007-12-09T17:43:19.481+10:30

The science of biologyis soundly based on factin contrast anthropologyis often inexactit's difficult to be unbiasedself-love begins at birthare we not the highestform of life on earth?birds that pick off ticks and mitesfrom the backs of lions and leopardsare not these so-called parasitessimilar to shepherds?a dog may help to herd the sheepman and dog togetherat night they eat and then they

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-63594192470089015482007-09-15T16:59:00.002+09:302008-05-04T22:26:12.912+09:30

For centuries some thought there is only matter.Others came reluctantly to remember mind.All hoping to recover the long lost knowledgeof the Bridge of Worlds, a sacred placewhere the Real is made and unmadeas beds are in the hotel rooms of eternity.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-88299491900363831312007-09-08T11:11:00.000+09:302007-09-15T16:59:37.947+09:30

Old wizened trees gazing on forevertheir eye-leaves slowly drifting in a velvet hazeextend their praise to blackness while the grass tips bow with the winda thump is pounding closer and closerthe sound of footsteps cometo cut and hurt the trees until their wizdom-sap oozes like thick black bloodbut the creatures smile with gleetheir pointed features pointing, their laughter steadythey suckle and

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-75321702272845500322007-08-31T07:39:00.001+09:302008-07-19T10:23:24.579+09:30

long lost lonely lotharioslanguish lasciviously in their heathen ranknessworshipping, not Bacchus, not the God of Grapesnor the Ghosts of Ranor any four apocalyptic equinesneigh, no way care theyto prowl the angry vineyards wandering whythey wonder over yonder where they ponder whenon bended knee again to prey untothe Wraiths of Wrath Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-23399142653021919672007-08-28T06:21:00.000+09:302007-08-31T07:29:00.278+09:30

once upon a highland slaughterslew a mother with her daughternot so many moons agoall adored her, magic sawed herlove restored her, whored her, clawed heras above and so belowchaster nymph until we caught hernever learned until we taught heralways seek but never sought herwalking backwards, to and fronever bring but always brought herfighter, fought her, might her, Morte deArthur and the druid's

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-13971512341737600762007-08-28T05:46:00.005+09:302008-05-18T18:17:58.147+09:30

Some people say there's nothing but MatterOthers say everything is Energy.Some people say reality is InformationOthers say it's Awareness.Some people that Love is all there isOthers say that God is all there is.God says, we're alright:Matter is Energy,Energy is Information,Information is Awareness,Awareness is Love.God is all ways right.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved. refresh /

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-25176303669226218842007-08-25T17:50:00.000+09:302007-11-11T20:19:37.445+10:30

The silence lies as thick as alwaysIn the corridors and hallwaysUpon the windowsills and tablesAnd the cornices and gablesThe noiselessness is quite profoundIn the Office of the Lost & FoundEverything is inessentialIn the Records of Reduced PotentialNo tales of brave resistanceIn the Books of Bleak ExistenceIt all just goes around and roundIn the Office of the Lost & FoundNothing happens nothing

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-53284837216726922872007-08-24T06:28:00.000+09:302007-08-24T06:37:25.945+09:30

What dark sprite pursues you down those corridors of ice, that endless, lead to nowhere but the fear within your heart?Dare you name the creature that has stolen your joy, and insatiable in its fury ever thirsts for more?We remember you in the golden time, before the fall, when your soul untrammelled flew among the stars.Please don’t go away; don’t leave us with memories only of your fierce dark

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-63108572983707041592007-08-24T06:09:00.000+09:302008-02-05T17:03:39.845+10:30

Do you believe in mermaids?in werewolves dark and furry? in banshees, beasties, pointy pixies, ghosts that go all blurry? Do you believe in unicorns? in vampires tall and smiling? in witches, wizards, druids’ blizzards, wood-nymphs so beguiling? Are you in fact an alien?a monster green and pimply? a freak, a fright, a barrow-wight, a corpse whose limbs lie limply? If so then go to meet your

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-7663443576298920452007-08-11T11:48:00.000+09:302007-09-08T14:16:27.820+09:30

Around the Courtyard of Dispairethe stony benches stare their stony glares I'm sitting therebelittling where I'm splitting hairs I'm feeling numb, the cold befriendsmy lonely bum, it all dependsit never ends its weary way it wendsaround the Courtyard of Dispaire... From the Chamber of Self-harmful Thoughtswhere sparkling quartzembedded feebly in the wallslike unburnt wartsuncharm, unharm,

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-16070781314982155242007-08-10T06:21:00.000+09:302007-08-10T06:25:42.972+09:30

Whence and whither?The serpents slither. Whither and whence?Towards the fence.Thence and thereforesnakes I don't care for.Therefore and thenceMy fear is immense.Why and wherefore?What are they here for?Wherefore and why? Bitten, I die.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-58022076782324994332007-08-05T14:33:00.000+09:302007-08-05T14:40:12.362+09:30

Discordant multitudes commit affrayhumongous hordes of hostages say"save us from discordance, todaymake the multitudes go away!"Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-31392476824342921352007-08-05T14:15:00.000+09:302007-08-28T05:39:38.032+09:30

Incalculable though the density of thought may beinsufferable though the clarity of court say weinimitable though elasticities unsought pray seeindubitable the monstrosity wound taut round treeunknowable where exactly hath ze brought poetryundesirable the sophistry to bite zer wart dailyCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-6802688995566757692007-08-05T14:03:00.000+09:302007-08-10T07:14:18.455+09:30

hope springs eternal in the human breaststill incomplete the human questfrom least to most from worst to besttoo far to go before we restwe fall we fail the human testwe're cursed reviled we're humans blestfrom north to south from east to westthe Earth's most feared unwelcome guest. Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-23309742179076193302007-08-04T17:05:00.000+09:302008-02-05T17:35:05.156+10:30

In Xanadu did John Travolta weighty treasure-home deplorewhere Alf the profane aridity walkednot through cabins measurable by womenup to a sunny shoreCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-77682791223378509432007-07-22T17:02:00.000+09:302007-07-22T18:31:52.342+09:30

As you feed, the gentle drops of blood caress thy cheeks like crimson tears, my love, sweet morphogenetic memories of all the times we’ve slain together, a line of corpses stretching to forever.Shall I sing to thee of hatred, while the wine-red moon lies fat and plump upon a sullen unforgiven sky, beloved? Or, doth thy inclinations, bereft of meaninglessness, paradigmatically assert their

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-91758998977599982942007-07-14T20:33:00.000+09:302008-02-05T17:32:44.085+10:30

Anger's an acquired taste, like oysters, snails, or beer.At first one doesn't like it muchone learns to love ones fear.Some are addicts to despairits bitter, ashen flavourreminiscent of durian fruitwhich most anosmics savour.Heavy lies the ball of paindeep within my gut.Torpid are my thoughts againso tired and dazed, but...Suddenly, as if by magicno relief within me quickens.T’weren’t so sad t’

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-23085797820759107242007-07-07T21:29:00.001+09:302008-03-25T12:31:51.832+10:30

Facing the transformationembracing the transformation.Not shirking or smirkingor shunning or runningNot faking or quakingderiding or hidingNot fearing or jeeringor sulking or skulking.Just hearing it daring itwearing it sharing itseeing it being itgiving it living itloving it.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-7337820239643733502007-06-24T14:43:00.000+09:302007-06-24T15:21:20.050+09:30

you fall in love: you are love.you love life: life loves you.you have love: love has you.you love love: love loves you.love is not a force: love is force.love has no power: love is power.live long life: love long life.live long love: lifelong love.love never dies: love is alive.life is love: long live life.love is life: long live love.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-52421253102965155842007-06-23T16:50:00.000+09:302007-06-23T16:54:26.529+09:30

If humans were to go awaywould nice terrestrials stay and play?Few fish find it paradoxicto eat our waste in oceans toxic.Nor do the birds, the bees, the treesblame people for their dread disease.So having fouled one nest too manywhere can we go to spend a penny?There’s no mailbox on the moonto send the Earth a Get-Well-Soon.In any case, the human racewould bring disgrace to outer space.To

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-47903708445115957092007-06-20T10:14:00.000+09:302007-06-20T10:47:52.574+09:30

Can't even write a decent poem any morethat's how low I've fallennot a sonnet or a balladnot an ode or a tankanor an elegy or an idyllnot even a haiku or a limerick.But I'm not too low to have forgottenmy mother's commanding reprimandthat if you've got nothing nice to saythen say nothing.And I've got nothing nicenor even horribleI'm fresh out of bleakcan't afford despairand as for cruelty and

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-51978817099918242082007-06-11T21:19:00.000+09:302007-06-11T21:26:15.932+09:30

The essence of effulgent miasma effloresces diurnally."What? Nonsense!" you say.Perhaps, but remember that all roads lead to lassitude, notwithstanding.Calisthenics loom redly like bleeding socks through the diasporah of diaphanous diaphantine pulchritudeness.Could it really be said to be the Forest of Fallacious Phantasmagoria?I doubt it somehow.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-59337625222116482462007-06-09T10:47:00.000+09:302007-06-09T11:43:22.913+09:30

Exactly what ze'd hoped to gainambiguously pearl-diving in the raintotally and ineradicably insaneinexorably pressure rising twice againfathoming dubious octuplets, constrainthy pity, do not explainhow life and truth and joy are slainwithin a car or bus or train.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-6194367734151837522007-06-09T10:34:00.000+09:302007-06-09T11:48:03.646+09:30

Always sleepy never sleepingawake aware aloofdebased the drunkard diesgroaning in a gutterand one large fat candlegoat grease I imaginegoes supernovacreation bright, consuming everythingwhile sentient entities' entreatiesforlorn, ignored, wistfulsentries sent centuriesbefore the aeons of dissolutionentropic cataclysms of yorestandard deviations stretchedfurther than six sigmawhile gods and

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-33673836419483020682007-06-03T18:19:00.000+09:302008-02-05T17:27:01.797+10:30

Caliban joined the Talibanheartset on houri he felt a new mancastrated, inflated, tailgated, he ranto the man who had led him so far astray.Bust that man, move that man, far far away"Move me?" "Movie!" "Move you?" "Mooview!" today.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home) | portal to the multiverse

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-30351561606388951912007-06-01T06:05:00.000+09:302007-06-09T11:51:04.177+09:30

Thank you god for helping me seeWhat I am and what I can beAnd thank you god, for making me freeI am always remembering: I am free.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home) | portal to the multiverse

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-34419237859320696272007-05-26T23:39:00.000+09:302007-10-06T07:55:29.906+09:30

active knowing passive knowing transitive knowing intransitive knowing subject knowing object knowing known knowing new knowing no-one knew no one nose the knower knew the knowee knows nowhere noway know how nowise know why know no no no…Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home) | portal to the multiverse

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-25712894750277157342007-05-13T14:11:00.000+09:302007-12-13T11:31:06.090+10:30

The world seems bright and sparkly today filled with light that beckons you to walk furtherdeeper and deeper into the forestthe promise of mystery growing with every step.Could it be that now is the momentyou've been waiting for, working towardsfor so long, here and there, this and thatnow and then, on and offto a greater or lesser extent?Could it be that the time for embracing your power has

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-41749562585076521332007-05-13T13:40:00.000+09:302007-06-09T12:09:35.699+09:30

Sitting on the train smelling the rainseeing the painon the faces in the trainburning my brainHearing the soundof wheels going roundlost I am foundfree I am boundin that monotonous soundclickety clackthere and backon a rusty iron trackfeeling sleepy and slackclickety clackOn the vinyl seatin someone else's heatthe warmth of living meatleft behind to greetthe next bum on the seatSitting on the

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-87536589710392300382007-04-30T23:05:00.000+09:302007-10-06T10:29:38.001+09:30

What is it that asks this question? Why it's me. Tat Tvam Asi.Which me? The Good Me or the Bad Me? The Light Me or the Dark Me? The Young Me or the Old Me?The Small Me or the Big Me?Or the Me writing these words?Or all of us? All of the time?Is it consensual? Do we vote?Is it majority rules?Deep stuff. Profound.As profoundly deep as the soundless depths of the profoundly deaf.The kind of

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-91554771846101023612007-04-19T20:59:00.000+09:302007-06-09T12:21:33.194+09:30

The faint tinkling of fairy musicevaporating on the sparkly misty meadowFleeing the Blade of Intentionfearing nakedness...The magic stillbornsometimes rebirthed: Harmonies of Baked Liverwurst.Encircling that which won't, orthat which will, shornof etymological linguiniits verisimilitude quiver-cursedarrowshot, debarked and deboned,so very like the river, burstits bank, the peoples' bank,sea-stark

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-34074929678652257412007-04-09T12:47:00.000+09:302008-02-05T17:19:10.491+10:30

OK, here's a poem written in haste, without rhyme or rhythm or reason,not scanning very well or even signifying anything in particularexcept perhaps a manic desperation to create, at all cost,and frustration at the inability so to do.OK, here's another stanza, also written in haste, signifying nothing, except perhaps an irritating allusion to the Stratford bard and a mad king.Copyright © S R

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-4139078667165334122007-04-03T05:41:00.001+09:302008-03-25T17:01:12.651+10:30

Along a certain road at certain times in certain moodswhen the sun is at a certain pointat a certain stage in a certain way by certain meansa certain boy doth smoke a joint.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-65235069957997334222007-04-03T05:36:00.000+09:302007-06-09T12:27:56.066+09:30

By a process of osmosiscreeps a thing called halitosiswhich arises from the bellyand the reason it's so smellyis less about our teeth and gumsand more about our guts and bumsCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-14537534783765652762007-04-02T06:13:00.001+09:302008-03-24T10:20:23.030+10:30

A high and mournful crycomes floating on the skyand though you know not whyuntil the day you diethe memory of that cryis written on the sky.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-88458357840462909472007-03-20T20:16:00.001+10:302008-03-22T11:58:31.096+10:30

when you're about to find outwhat life is about and how to get outof interior space when the arrow of timepoints to a place where the numbers are primeand there's egg on your facethen you will know and then you will grumblebut you're a Dumb Schmoe and you need to be humblewhen you're about to equateall meaning and fate one could relateevery debate about telos and eros engaged but impregnable

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-85872991244811294342007-03-12T20:11:00.000+10:302007-06-09T12:33:31.467+09:30

Eating ones own sun as Goya depictedbelies not the antimony of an excluded middlebut rather, and more tastefully,an occluded saddle-shaped universe,in which the mesmeric of the top slice of Piis equal to one, on that penultimate dayof Satan.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-75361089275241549672007-03-03T10:07:00.000+10:302007-06-09T12:36:02.961+09:30

Would it or could it or should it or notThe smallest of little and tiny or whatAll these are questions perplexing the mindWhenever the sighted become as the blind.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-64676159786502810812007-03-03T09:34:00.000+10:302007-06-09T14:41:58.529+09:30

Casuisty is as casuistry doesone cold and misty mornupon those mournful moorsthe day was sure to dawn.Felicity were a coconutTwo hot but trippy evesalong the lengthy shlongbut whose but only Steve'sCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-53490613753373685142007-02-27T21:48:00.000+10:302007-06-17T22:29:09.406+09:30

No answers without questionsNo certainty, only stochasticityNo generalissimo only specificityWhatever, whilever, whereverHowever, whoever, whomsoeverBut most of all…Whenever Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-7262434250553580822007-02-27T21:45:00.001+10:302008-03-12T21:15:03.902+10:30

Basil baulked at bulk-bashingpreferring to inflict higher quality beatings on fewer victimsBernadette broke a sweat placing betsHorace hopefully harangued officials of various stripesDavid Hasselhoff was tortured to death, slowlyEsmeralda Glutz wondered what the fuss was all about a bit of butter but the bit of butter bought at Betty's Butter Barn last Sunday Morn didn't wonder what the fuck was

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-30072646337876525272007-02-27T21:43:00.000+10:302007-06-09T14:50:37.554+09:30

Nine guardians of the Gates of Gatesthose putrefying portals erected by Bill,who, incandescent and transmogrified though tough troughs thoughtfully taught through throats that three squared compelled to produce a la Habeus Corpus…Nine.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.home (refresh screen)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-2942022360791890262007-02-21T21:22:00.001+10:302008-03-09T22:53:33.093+10:30

A sinister philosopher Meets a dextrous lyric poetWhen everything the former thinksThe latter's sure to know itHow can the biggest out and outBelieve the in-betweenWhen here is there and both are whereThe sight is heard unseenWho follows both to school one dayThe duality of oneZe learns about forgetfulnessFrom the father's father's sonIf one plus one is two, you seeAnd two into three won't goFour

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-942845703769334832007-02-21T21:20:00.001+10:302008-03-09T01:07:49.369+10:30

The waning moon she mopes and having moped moves on.The ebbing tide drags at my anklewith the anger of an angry one.Inside my alien nation I am outside myself.I'm upside down, I'm inside out,I'm high and dry, I'm on the shelf.But wait, are those some joyful insightsthat through my windows float?Is that a loving lump arising on my throat?Maybe mayhap perchance to dreamof the end of a long and

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-38860092640880457592007-02-21T21:18:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:03:43.879+09:30

There is a home beneath your breast where the wriggling worm doth rest having laid her shiny eggs she joins the kingdom of the blessed And when the little grubs awake your blood their holy thirst shall slake and when their bellies yearn for more your flesh for them a meal shall make Their hatching must be free of sin or death will follow from within no word no sound must pass your lips until they

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-22696608880070110842007-02-21T21:15:00.000+10:302008-02-05T17:12:01.937+10:30

She sees a seizure seize her,saws a hawzer, gnaws a Xhosafreezes Caesar at her leisure.She sees amnesia tease her,drives a porsche, Cesare Borgiaplease, a breeze, a sneeze, a visa.She says a pleasure, pours her measure,pause her nausea, paws her, thaws her, flaws her, squeeze decrees to please adores her.She knows her husband sees her, sleaze her,he's her pimp he whores her, bores her,stores her

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-87653622696066528562007-02-21T21:12:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:05:03.299+09:30

Cannabis sativa plantsdo not appeal to maiden auntsSubstance abuse is too obtusethey don't know the Cans and Cant’sthe Do’s and Don’tsthe Shalls and Shant’s“her shells” she chantsshe sells her plantsRight on! The seething shore.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-48968676054646877832007-02-20T21:47:00.001+10:302007-06-09T17:05:49.080+09:30

When transvestites divest themselvesof miscellaneous sundry fabricsand the brutal bovverboys roam the loathsome streets,as Great God Zerself enquickened that which Ze enquickened on thatday of Hammers, of Thunder, of Rage…Consequences follow as tenebrousaspects follow luminal acquiescencesadumbrating exogenous herbivoresNo, not Piscean, not at all, maybe later, like twenty four hours later……on a

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-30708025070448913782007-02-20T20:18:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:06:27.960+09:30

On Tuesday there is only amplitudewhereas earlier in the week, extension matters morewhile later comprises the domain of possibility disguisedas the first of seven falsely some would say wearingthe primary label as do all good unitariansin stark raving contrast to duopolists whodating Cleo as they do form a lusty triofour times more substantial than the mere day of theso called week rhyming with

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-61476516793887938252007-02-20T20:07:00.000+10:302007-12-13T11:36:47.485+10:30

Must find out why I'm here.Must discover where 'here' is.Must clarify what I am.Must understand what 'what' is, and why.Must identify when 'now' is, and when.Must do all of the above, before I die.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-62581529865387604922007-02-18T20:30:00.000+10:302007-10-06T12:47:16.953+09:30

When the lasp gasp's taken, Lord,and the final hour approacheth,When all that's left alive my Lord,is a plague of black cockroachethwill you right all wrongs, dear Lord,and heal the sick and sorryor will you shrug your shoulders, Lord,as evil death encroacheth?When this life is over, Lord,and I lay me down to die,Will you come a-knockin' Lord,a-knockin' by 'n by?When the last trump sounds, my

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-35495871088557631392007-02-17T13:04:00.000+10:302007-08-01T22:33:37.834+09:30

Encountering a troupe of wandering slayers, he slew, and they wondered no more.The weaver wove, the slayer slewthe breaker broke, the knower knewThe comer came, the seer sawthe runner ran, the wearer woreThe shitter shat, the pitter patthe patter pit, the sitter satThe bitter bat, the putter putThe biter bit, the bitter butThe eater ate, the meeter met, the hider hid, the feeler felt, the smeller

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-87445746563954151362007-02-15T10:31:00.000+10:302008-02-05T17:08:27.015+10:30

truly rural was his outlookwhence it came, whence it cameunique New York in his scrapbookla dolce vita, la dolce vita“hullabaloo,” I sway magisterially“can I come too?” you weigh manumaticallynumismatically, manometrically, enigmatically, epitome, apodechtome, synecdoche, appendectomy.Get thee away from me!Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-91402937285367070422007-02-10T21:17:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:14:02.767+09:30

What is the Traitor Word.That is the Traitor Word.Which is the Traitor Word.It is. Cat is. Dog is. Word is.God is the Traitor Word.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-90005335781217132182007-02-10T21:09:00.000+10:302007-09-08T12:47:10.510+09:30

What dark sprite pursues you down those corridors of ice, that endless, lead to nowhere but the fear within your heart?Dare you name the creature that has stolen your joy, and insatiable in its fury ever thirsts for more?We remember you in the golden time, before the fall, when your soul untrammelled flew among the stars.Please don’t go away; don’t leave us with memories only of your fierce dark

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-9463161909174245612007-02-04T10:56:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:15:46.662+09:30

x doesn’t know who/what/why/where or how x is.In the process of attempting to find outx learns and teaches that none of us knowswho/what/why/where or how any of us is.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-12370388343798182942007-02-04T10:52:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:17:05.540+09:30

Before you read much further thinkabout the colour of this inkFrom my head these words were bledand being dead my words are redPosthumous gore is such a boreso deadly dull these tales of yoreOn my tomb and in my brainthese bloody words: “He wrote in vein!”I wonder how those writers thrivewho are still cursed to be aliveCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-65552122084956960542007-02-04T10:12:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:19:22.395+09:30

Mahe Island, Seychelles, 31st of December, 1978The clouds roll down the mountain lumpsthe birds flit through the palmsin a state of angst I wipe my eyebeseech the sky for almsOh I oh me oh me oh myexistence is in doubtLife is a rotting mango coreOh Fuck how I want outIf I knew what it was that torments me soI’d operate right nowI’d tear myself from limb to limbto find the ‘why’ and ‘how’The birds

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-306169776614005142007-02-04T10:10:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:20:42.610+09:30

There was a beautiful childwhose thoughts were scattered and wildshe wanted to diebut did not know whyso she cried and then sighed and then smiled.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-50388669206518307782007-02-04T10:03:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:21:35.065+09:30

If my thighs were a tithe of the thize of her thighsmy eyes as wise as the lies in her eyesmy nose as close as the rose in her toesme, I’d be free as a bee in the sea.If my lungs were both flung in the dung or were hungmy heart as tart as the art of her fartmy chin as thin as the length of a pinme, I’d be he who’d be thee you’d be we.If you could have written such drivel in Britainwhy prance why

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-58688912631690472532007-02-04T09:52:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:22:38.139+09:30

“You shit” swore heright at the beastenthusiast and through the easthe threw the rest impracticallywho knew the testincredible indeliblyinedible and inwardly.In bed, thirdly,he failed to seethe pale new methrow up into the pale,could he refrain, (he did!) from apathyconstrained quite psycopathically.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-14415592044173932902007-02-04T09:45:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:23:24.701+09:30

He would, eventually segment crueltyintuitively in two it would beuntil that he contentedlyannointed the tarantula torrentiallyaugmenting the ointment you see.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-29427685115310721512007-02-01T16:10:00.000+10:302007-10-06T12:52:30.307+09:30

I looked at the world and I criedthen I curled up and died.In heaven with nowhere to hideGod saw me and said "well I tried"."Not hard enough" I replied"moreover you've cheated and liednow time's run out with the tideI'm off to the other side."Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-21268163859950330832007-02-01T16:05:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:52:22.090+09:30

This is the story of one whose fluid savage beautylured many who were guiltless of her crimesto reap with her the evil she had sownthe moment when her pleasure turned to painthe moment when she hated after lovingone who truly needed to have knownit would become too cold and dark for himto lie where once they both had lainthe moment just before a tired and ailing sunis caged in clouds with bars of

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-36301895631372334982007-02-01T16:02:00.000+10:302007-10-06T12:54:41.591+09:30

It's not easy being meIt hasn’t been, nor will it ever beBut shall I shiver, shall I shakewith dread and misbegotten fear?Or shall I smile, and laugh awhileremembering I am free?Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-80651012121173732332007-02-01T14:57:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:28:52.729+09:30

There he was, just a-walkin' into court...singin' “did he do it, did he done did he do?”Looks good, feels fine“Twenty years to life you swine”There he was, just a bargaining-up a pleasingin' “Will he plead it, won’t he plead his bloody plea?”Looks pissed, smells of wine"walkin' crooked, down the line"Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-33703031308474801602007-02-01T14:51:00.000+10:302007-10-06T13:01:10.197+09:30

With every night and every dayit seems the world is here to stayI lie here waiting to be bornin the dark before the dawnThe rain falls slowly through the nightall is wrong and nothing's rightmy heart is sick my heart is tornin the dark before the dawnWhen you left and went awayI thought in time I'd be okayI heard your voice I could have swornin the dark before the dawnSleep is not a friend to meI

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-8635635067345673422007-02-01T14:36:00.000+10:302007-10-06T13:10:58.409+09:30

by Klaus D. SchwarzOnce upon a day so dreary, that I pondered weak and weary,Wondering whether I should. log, into the Blogmother’s Blog.My computer didst I entreat, for help that I this task complete.“Help me to complete this task, Help me, Help me,” I did ask,It replied and told me, “D’oh! No problemo, click and goTo where your friends you’ll meet and greet.While I nodded, nearly napping,

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-60612915191836705892007-02-01T14:06:00.000+10:302007-10-06T13:13:25.015+09:30

Should be "drunken-minded man" but who caresthe main thing is no-one can even think about selling their warescovered in vomit, sprawled pubes-up in a gutter(and I don’t mind what you mind about what I should or shouldn’t utter). We all have our escapes, the question is from what?Of course a drunken-hearted man cares not a jotHe's just some poor silly sod who's ripe for a fleecingeven in this age

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-86502249992576486382007-02-01T09:24:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:36:53.057+09:30

Actually, I’m an alien, formerly of Siriuslatterly of Betelgeuse, now come to visit youseActually, I’m an android, made in Bangaloreassembled in Singapore, delivered to your doorCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-90526796446121031772007-02-01T09:21:00.000+10:302007-06-09T17:37:41.130+09:30

The air is golden bright and sweetOn a mountain road where two souls meetThe lovelight shining as they greetWith each the other is completeCopyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/home)

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-35653620279402713012007-02-01T09:18:00.001+10:302008-05-20T14:01:05.917+09:30

As cold as a frostbitten brain androids murmur unfelt painA dead dwarf roaming empty spacea dark star vanishes without a traceand falls, undigested...down the wormhole colon of its own gravityLife's a tattered flag, a bruised and pimply sorrow, an acquired taste like eating snails, or drinking beer, or venting pent-up rage upon the mean and ugly streets in Nightmare City.Ever-burdened with

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-51977726753190109092007-02-01T09:17:00.000+10:302008-01-15T06:03:22.681+10:30

I lost my way in a maze of twisted corridorsand walked seemingly forever through that gloomy placewithout a thread to guide me nor any means to map my pathAt first I thought to find an exit, somewherebelieved escape was just around the cornerthat some magic moment I would step into a bright clearingand be free of endless grey despairLater, I grew doubtfulabandoned hope and turned to hatred as a

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-49543063128474159712007-01-16T22:27:00.000+10:302007-12-16T22:29:17.611+10:30

Satans hellgrown pathetic poetry: Rancid rhymes, ramshackle rhythms and repulsive rhapsodies of the morbidly self-indulgent kind. Poems your mother warned you about. Read them and weep. payday loan ron paul memek marcia cross rapidshare authority none du bist deutschland britney spears pusat youtube ubuntu bali iphone mario lopez apple barack obama baseball blogging britney spears christmas

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-6936190901365378212007-01-01T17:30:00.000+10:302008-01-12T23:06:47.796+10:30

As a boy, my pants were short my underpants my mother bought.As a man, my pants are longand in my pants there lurks a shlongbeneath which there doth hang two ballsbristling with spiky hair like scrawlsupon a railroad carriage doorjust like the pants I never woreor the runes I never readthe tunes I hum now that I'm dead.Copyright © S R Schwarz 2007. All rights reserved.pathetic poetry (refresh/

masterymisterynoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1400790956025772899.post-9143357879185488142004-02-01T14:46:00.000+10:302007-09-01T06:39:19.005+09:30

Poemas De Amor, Frase De Amor, Poemas De AmistadEncontrarás en esta web poemas de amor, románticos, amistad, y más. Poemas de los mejores.Wicca Store - Magick And Witchcraft ToolsWicca store and magick portal covering wicca witchcraft, the occult, magick, runes, tarot, alchemy and ceremonial magick. Information on agrippa, aliester crowley, john dee, the rosicrucians. Get a free natal

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