EncoreUser:Serprex 16:16, September 4, 2011 (UTC)

Average guy: Five nine
Walking along. Hollow hollow
Average day: Slight overcast
Traffic clogged. As usual
Average people: Eyeless contact
Phones out. Cannot wait
Average city: Skyscraper sky
Build up. Tear down
Look down. See note
Walk on. Stand still
Shoulders tilt. Pace undeterred
Turn around. Shift right
Walk back. Stand still
Average note: Divine deception
Crouch down. Take note
A pause. Last chance
Hold still. Feel note
No escape. Softest sigh
Stand up. Feel note
To note: Note folded
Again again: Feel note
Good paper. Not cardboard
Nor bible. Nor pulp
Nor postit. Nor parchment
More like: Bank note
Paper color: Tangerine yellow
Some creases. Both ways
Look right. Look left
Look up. Look down
Nobody cares. Shoulder by
Thumb rub. Feels soft
Open note. Thumb pleat
Ink color: Burgundy red
Font style: Bank note
Note reads: Look up
Also there: Two ¤s
Like bookends. More ends
Thus began. Thus ends
Only a bit longer
Hold one last moment
Alas, moments never last
Look up. & gone
Id est: & dead

Look dead

How else would someone look if they were born with the memories of some sparse brain?

The memories aren't clear. Triggers littered her life (eg the feeling that at any point while walking down the street you might come across some little thing which fate will compel you to pick up and promptly die for doing something as simple as following a simple instruction: Look up)

All those epiphanies that keep us going? Boring. She had some cloudy idea of them all already. Those were like reliving the same thing. Only the subtle points to find new joy in. Life is only so subtle

All those mistakes that we make? She could right them. How boring

& make new ones. A gradeschool student with a college education's worth of knowledge randomly scattered. There's only so much knowledge that can be reused in sparse memories of what I've already described as a sparse brain

Such a gender confused let down

That sparse brain had known what would happen when it looked up. It would die. In that last moment, it had come to terms with death. Only to have to live again

Living your whole life knowing you were ready to die

No wonder she killed herself: & much poison in the end, for an agreeable death


Born Again Christianity

Hello. How are you? Would you happen to believe in God? If you don't mind my asking. We're having a get together for people to accept Jesus into their heart for themselves. Have a good day

Join us on Sunday as we discuss the meaning of life

God forgives. Could he forget? Split past like death splits from life? Hopefully more so, considering this residue

Years go by

People come with problems, leave with problems. Somehow they feel better

They're all in the long haul. Just a little longer

How much longer?

I asked: What should I make of this life?

I was answered: I don't know. I'm not the author

God forgives the sins he declared

Years go by

People die. To wonder: are any of them are hiding similar secrets? What memories haunt them at night?

Laying on a deathbed. Tired. What has been accomplished? Nothing. The world's not getting any better. So hopeless. Everybody's left. Like they care

Like I care

Nobody cares when you tell them the truth. They nod, say good story, then bid good bye. All well, they'd only worry about dementia if they cared otherwise

Don't talk, just listen. You have no information except what you've been told. Memories of memories are not for the telling

There's nothing to be learnt. Decide what's fact and stick to it

No harm no foul, no death no harm, no life no death. Or vice versa. Never stronger, always weaker

What a waste

What a joke

God forgave us all a long time ago


Jokes get old

If I could do all again, I'd tell God to get staked

So let's do it again

Get staked

Go a step further: Tell everyone to get staked

Get staked, get staked, get staked

Literally. Gives style

Make sure to act without bias. Juxtaposition is fleeting

Remove them all. They'll be back. At least I'll be

To each his vices, but to his vices himself

I've got a collection of epitaths. I pass them out when I'm feeling telling. Giveaway. I'll take the rest to my grave

I paid my respects to my past graves

Did to them as I would all of you

They ask: Why?

To inspire such wonder. The kind not even truth can dispel

When they strap me down, I'll let them know: I'll be back


Locke will never die. In our memories he survives. Such sloth. I survive in my own

Who would remember me? No one remembered me

A century of watching people rise and fall. New people with the same ideas, promises, speeches, brave new worlds, demons, epiphanies, scapegoats, dreams, loves, unrequited loves, hobbies, scandals, salvations, witticisms, memories, rights movements, vacations, fear mongering, rallies, vices, grocery lists, closet dramas, religions, existential crises, charities, one night stands, late dinners, budgeting, optimistic projections, new age enthusiasms, strokes of luck, morals, proverbs, rainy days, lonely hours, principles, poor sales, hang ups, foolish superiors, unquestioned paradoxes, jokes

Same old same old

But everyone forgets. Everyone casts to distant memory what just occurred. Some new face comes around and soon enough talk is what that face was instead of is

History is romanticized. Yet we forget so much. Thus spoke the power law

Written or bitten, fate hates

I wrote a history text. It didn't sell well; it dwelled too greatly on what was considered minute details. Irrelevance

Unglorifying of modern saints

Everyone new is someone old

Hello again, which whom are you? Goodbye, I'll be seeing you again soon enough

Is this a joke? An old joke still on its debut. If so, I don't find it an amusing one. Jokes need a punchline. I've been waiting, listening to everyone else's punchlines. Punchlines so unfunny I have to ask: Is that a joke?

Sole knew the good ones die young


So many various sorts

People change

Musical chairs. Find any?

There's a lot of chairs. Quite a few people too. But there's always less chairs than people

Been walking this circle long

Riding the waves of Neptune

This marks the transitionary point. The end point of random points. Half way through, yet most has been said. Now is the moment where the last leap is taken, and the rest follows itself by lateral association. Not free association. Lateral is coincidental. There needn't be any intent. Note too, however, that random thought is not lateral thought. Random thought only becomes lateral when everything trivially relates to everything. At that point, lateral thought no longer requires the slightest creativity. Randomness is a creative gamble. That's my cue. Transition's up, the leap's been made

Popping up randomly about the world, it's hard to come across a familiar face between the boundaries. But given enough time, there's not so many people

People have quite a few children

There have been no such derivative works of this anthology

Beyond Bad and Evil

Have a good one






All the distraut of six lives is clearer filtered through a dying fetus's unconscious capacity. All the unique details flatten as their finer points would've taken a noncade to flood through

The first incarnation which seemed most at rest. Reincarnation left quite a ripple to disturb that peaceful mind

Only, there it found emptiness through a rushed life. Never asking:

Ever stop?


To shed the things we're supplied with upon birth. The things we'll always leave behind when we come around the bend

To purse lips until explicitly demanded otherwise

To sit. To stand. To watch. To prolong the ubiquitous act of blinking

To know. Ever more, but never most

Ever stop to think

Thus does the circle complete, jaggedly spiralling inwards from maximalism to minimalism

This is a life the fetus wouldn't've had to be fed as a trickle. This isn't a philosophy which requires bending one's own logical device to understand, nevermind agree

Understand: correctness is only internal consistency. It is valid to disagree with something which is correct. But it is only the incorrect which must be disagreed with

Thus is it valid for one to disagree with a philosophy so simple in its logical process as to be obviously correct. But one should be wary of those processes so complex that their incorrectness would be unobvious

Starvation without hunger


In some past life, I memorized sic:

Life is one conversation; The conversation between you and the factors that make up our world. Many people drift in and out, many subjects arouse subjects ,the conversation keeps going 'till the day your mind can no longer reply



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