Con FusIon
04-29-04, 09:57 PM
My aim is always to make you think about how close you are to the Creator...you know that...I'm glad you're one of the people who feel me...hit me up...Strange OUT
__________________
This is how to be perfect: Be calm, feel, act.
--
He showed me what it felt like to be a Christian. He employed his staggering talent, reached out with his incredible, relentless spirit; he spoke of Love incessantly and showed me what it was in ways that made me feel like a fraud; he pushed me, he prayed, he taught, he listened, he worked hard, he loved, he felt, and he wrote about it all with candor and passion. He showed me what it should feel like to really Love. And I will always Love him for that.
Most of you cats probably don't know me or what I do, but a while ago I started an e-zine called The Silentfusion Collective Presents that, in its early stages, housed some of the works of the Scribala. Because they belong here where he touched so many of us, I am posting them here. Now I know what cats are like over here, so let me preface this stuff by saying that, at the time, these works meant a ton to me because they represented an aesthetic and honesty that I hadn't before been privy to; that's where the awe in them lies. They may not be works of literary genius in your eyes (or in anyone else's for that matter), but, to me, they are masterpieces. If that memorial forum idea becomes a reality, please post these works in there:
--
God Bless
Hands on eyes...candles lit...can't see a bit betwixt...the dark backdrop of the room and all the love in it...voluntary vandalous thoughts...maybe I'll stop and bust a sneeze...freeze the room with my contagious disease...laughter...then after...have trouble with the trick wax sticks in the chocolate cake...take my time and wipe the tears from my eyes...while...I look up at the rafters as the remnants dry...I...can't wait...to sink my teeth into the...tape on the paper...on the presents across the way...it's my day right...?...it's still day light...and the night is mine as well...to dwell in with my fam on my last day before my own private...personal spiritual VI...ET...NAM...the three of me set down in the jungle of deepest thoughts...rocks stuck in boot cracks removed right on the spot...too much sound will get this mission shot...up...with more holes than volcanoes on the erupt...dawn broke...I saw the grey smoke and cover fire...choked as we ran through...bumping myself over the trigger wire...kablaam...troops...splattered all over the DMZ...who could it be...?...Me slippin'...chasin' pipe dreams of BET...interviews...My face...in the entertainment news...crews as live as this don't die right...?...right...?...not in the limelight...cuz' then the time's tight enough...to benefit from all the lack of crime and necks rough...right...?...awoke with sight off again...thought I lost three good men...only find that I am intact within this darkened skin...may my melanin protect me from slippin' into this type of sin...EVER AGAIN...
To Speak of Wells
I reach deep to where my water stays...thought of the days when speech was all I had to keep me warm enough to sneak the cold away...what did I say? I'd...pray out loud yet no conventional crowd would gather...rather the birds would chirp intentionally in unison...the lather around my lips was usually from...some verbal assault I sent to the very heavens in a form of communication unbent...direct link to the cosmos...I suppose the flowered diction grew from the positions I encountered...prose mounted itself in my mind...then arose to find an outlet...my bodily sign language was eastern undated...unweakened by the boldness expressed by limbs so slightly weighted...from food uneaten I could of beaten an entire army of spiritual demons...and still gone un...noticed...Where is the source of this liquid I wondered?...as it thunders even now through my veins...and having plundered my thought process...from OUTdated to INsane...every grain formed to make the Love Strange a human being...is seeing...the course taken a living fluid making the sin erase itself from the center...a repenter can flex the...dialect given by
Christ's Father out of respect...to himself...from inside of me...flowing smoothly enough to uncover itself as whatever truth I am blessed to speak...so now we seek...
To Fall
Time begins to slow down; it actually takes on a new persona and becomes open to the suggestions of spur-of-the-moment thought and physical longing. Patience endures and sustains the writer of the letter as he washes down his last bit of Oreo cookie with his signature glass of ice milk. Another masterpiece written to the sounds of Jeff Buckley's Last Goodbye. This poor young woman will have even less chance to escape sorrow than his last female companion. Alas, remorse was something that didn't happen to run through the young man's veins.
The last words on the page were filled with feigned sorrow flowing from the mind to the pen to paper: "At last I realize that only through distance will we ever truly be close." She would probably close the door on all emotional contact after a few days, and that would have usually been early enough to start on another emotional theft. Usually. Stealing hearts was not a game to be played for the soft of stomach, and there was no room for mistakes. Gentle words, soft candlelight, poetry, and a heart as cold as the glacier that sank the Titanic were the recipe for the perfect storybook ending. When thoughts actually flow in the spirit of kindness and joy and then turn to sorrow and despair on the part of the damsel.....that entreated the title 'Masterpiece'.
Not as yet had this happened but you have to understand that writing from the third person about the first person takes a little while to get used to. You see, I am Garrick Oldsman and I steal the hearts and spirits of the women who dare to love me. I feel nothing but the emotions of the grandest and purest love for what and who they truly are, a reflection of the constant reminder of Adam's rib missing and making one part into a whole being: WOMAN. The only trouble is, I have become ensnared in a web of my own deceit and mayhem. The truth unravels somewhat as simply this: the young lady in question will never truly know that it is her that is loved above all the others that came before her. She remains the "tear on my soul" as Mr. Buckley said in one of his beautiful rhapsodies. Melodies and tragedy, the two main components comprising this all too true fairy tale.....She smelled of.....Apricots. Garrick smelled apricots on the very air and it seemed to beckon him. The scent touched his cheek and then his lips, followed the chords of music in the tiny office up to his eyes and then paused to speak.
"Excuse me, is there a restroom anywhere around here?" The voice was level and calm. The scent must have followed the door opening and Garrick nearly forgot to answer in his haste to find the bearer of the sweet smell. He purposely overlooked the obvious. She was far too fair skinned to profit from his form of heartache.
"Yeah it's around the corner to the right of the pretzel shop. First door on your left and then just ask the clerk inside; do you smell apricots?" Oh well, the summer crop of beautiful women would have to be harvested early. Garrick was always one to reap what he sowed. It looked like Apricot season.
"Excuse me?"perplexed, the young woman had to dodge the wiry young man as he hopped the counter to make for the doorway where she stood inquiring about a restroom. He pretended to investigate the phantom smell of apricots as he surveyed her frame. 5 feet, butterscotch hair, incredible abs.....Winner.
"Apricots, the fruit, I thought I smelled apricots just now. Funny the smell is gone. Hi my name is Garrick. Think you can find the restroom okay?"
"Past the hotdog stand right?" He was standing directly beside her in the doorway; he was peering up and down the bustling street of tourists in the Paseo Nuevo Mall.
"Must have just missed it. Oh well."
"Thanks for the directions."
"No sweat."
She smiled a brief breathtaking smile and turned to leave. A customer followed with an entrance to her elegant exit and Garrick turned on his heel and released an ounce charm.
"Hello, welcome to Soma, anything I can help you with?"
He stayed in the doorway and pitched the sale as he was trained to do, but his eyes stayed on the frame of the girl who was hurrying to Macy's to use the restroom. Inside his mind the thorns from roses pricked his fingers as he stood in her doorway. [Gut check, all systems go.]
"Feel free to look around, Sayward, could you help these customers, I'm going to the pretzel shop; do you want anything?"
He heard her reply of 'NO' as he was taking stride to follow the strawberry blonde into Macy's. The first few steps of this masquerade would make or break his plan of attack. She had already melted into the afternoon crowd of beautiful Santa Barbara people with their chiseled features and lazy strolling attitudes. A keen eye for an incredible backside, Garrick quickly picked her up in his vision and circled around to the men's bathroom to catch a glimpse of himself before proceeding.
He stood facing the mirror and began the checklist.
[Smile, lips, attitude, voice, control, control, control. Love. Nothing but love for all aspects of this game Garrick. Don't forget that. Go speak to the young angel now.....]
It was a sickness.
--
Copyright Eric Ervin, so on and so on.
__________________
This is how to be perfect: Be calm, feel, act.
--
He showed me what it felt like to be a Christian. He employed his staggering talent, reached out with his incredible, relentless spirit; he spoke of Love incessantly and showed me what it was in ways that made me feel like a fraud; he pushed me, he prayed, he taught, he listened, he worked hard, he loved, he felt, and he wrote about it all with candor and passion. He showed me what it should feel like to really Love. And I will always Love him for that.
Most of you cats probably don't know me or what I do, but a while ago I started an e-zine called The Silentfusion Collective Presents that, in its early stages, housed some of the works of the Scribala. Because they belong here where he touched so many of us, I am posting them here. Now I know what cats are like over here, so let me preface this stuff by saying that, at the time, these works meant a ton to me because they represented an aesthetic and honesty that I hadn't before been privy to; that's where the awe in them lies. They may not be works of literary genius in your eyes (or in anyone else's for that matter), but, to me, they are masterpieces. If that memorial forum idea becomes a reality, please post these works in there:
--
God Bless
Hands on eyes...candles lit...can't see a bit betwixt...the dark backdrop of the room and all the love in it...voluntary vandalous thoughts...maybe I'll stop and bust a sneeze...freeze the room with my contagious disease...laughter...then after...have trouble with the trick wax sticks in the chocolate cake...take my time and wipe the tears from my eyes...while...I look up at the rafters as the remnants dry...I...can't wait...to sink my teeth into the...tape on the paper...on the presents across the way...it's my day right...?...it's still day light...and the night is mine as well...to dwell in with my fam on my last day before my own private...personal spiritual VI...ET...NAM...the three of me set down in the jungle of deepest thoughts...rocks stuck in boot cracks removed right on the spot...too much sound will get this mission shot...up...with more holes than volcanoes on the erupt...dawn broke...I saw the grey smoke and cover fire...choked as we ran through...bumping myself over the trigger wire...kablaam...troops...splattered all over the DMZ...who could it be...?...Me slippin'...chasin' pipe dreams of BET...interviews...My face...in the entertainment news...crews as live as this don't die right...?...right...?...not in the limelight...cuz' then the time's tight enough...to benefit from all the lack of crime and necks rough...right...?...awoke with sight off again...thought I lost three good men...only find that I am intact within this darkened skin...may my melanin protect me from slippin' into this type of sin...EVER AGAIN...
To Speak of Wells
I reach deep to where my water stays...thought of the days when speech was all I had to keep me warm enough to sneak the cold away...what did I say? I'd...pray out loud yet no conventional crowd would gather...rather the birds would chirp intentionally in unison...the lather around my lips was usually from...some verbal assault I sent to the very heavens in a form of communication unbent...direct link to the cosmos...I suppose the flowered diction grew from the positions I encountered...prose mounted itself in my mind...then arose to find an outlet...my bodily sign language was eastern undated...unweakened by the boldness expressed by limbs so slightly weighted...from food uneaten I could of beaten an entire army of spiritual demons...and still gone un...noticed...Where is the source of this liquid I wondered?...as it thunders even now through my veins...and having plundered my thought process...from OUTdated to INsane...every grain formed to make the Love Strange a human being...is seeing...the course taken a living fluid making the sin erase itself from the center...a repenter can flex the...dialect given by
Christ's Father out of respect...to himself...from inside of me...flowing smoothly enough to uncover itself as whatever truth I am blessed to speak...so now we seek...
To Fall
Time begins to slow down; it actually takes on a new persona and becomes open to the suggestions of spur-of-the-moment thought and physical longing. Patience endures and sustains the writer of the letter as he washes down his last bit of Oreo cookie with his signature glass of ice milk. Another masterpiece written to the sounds of Jeff Buckley's Last Goodbye. This poor young woman will have even less chance to escape sorrow than his last female companion. Alas, remorse was something that didn't happen to run through the young man's veins.
The last words on the page were filled with feigned sorrow flowing from the mind to the pen to paper: "At last I realize that only through distance will we ever truly be close." She would probably close the door on all emotional contact after a few days, and that would have usually been early enough to start on another emotional theft. Usually. Stealing hearts was not a game to be played for the soft of stomach, and there was no room for mistakes. Gentle words, soft candlelight, poetry, and a heart as cold as the glacier that sank the Titanic were the recipe for the perfect storybook ending. When thoughts actually flow in the spirit of kindness and joy and then turn to sorrow and despair on the part of the damsel.....that entreated the title 'Masterpiece'.
Not as yet had this happened but you have to understand that writing from the third person about the first person takes a little while to get used to. You see, I am Garrick Oldsman and I steal the hearts and spirits of the women who dare to love me. I feel nothing but the emotions of the grandest and purest love for what and who they truly are, a reflection of the constant reminder of Adam's rib missing and making one part into a whole being: WOMAN. The only trouble is, I have become ensnared in a web of my own deceit and mayhem. The truth unravels somewhat as simply this: the young lady in question will never truly know that it is her that is loved above all the others that came before her. She remains the "tear on my soul" as Mr. Buckley said in one of his beautiful rhapsodies. Melodies and tragedy, the two main components comprising this all too true fairy tale.....She smelled of.....Apricots. Garrick smelled apricots on the very air and it seemed to beckon him. The scent touched his cheek and then his lips, followed the chords of music in the tiny office up to his eyes and then paused to speak.
"Excuse me, is there a restroom anywhere around here?" The voice was level and calm. The scent must have followed the door opening and Garrick nearly forgot to answer in his haste to find the bearer of the sweet smell. He purposely overlooked the obvious. She was far too fair skinned to profit from his form of heartache.
"Yeah it's around the corner to the right of the pretzel shop. First door on your left and then just ask the clerk inside; do you smell apricots?" Oh well, the summer crop of beautiful women would have to be harvested early. Garrick was always one to reap what he sowed. It looked like Apricot season.
"Excuse me?"perplexed, the young woman had to dodge the wiry young man as he hopped the counter to make for the doorway where she stood inquiring about a restroom. He pretended to investigate the phantom smell of apricots as he surveyed her frame. 5 feet, butterscotch hair, incredible abs.....Winner.
"Apricots, the fruit, I thought I smelled apricots just now. Funny the smell is gone. Hi my name is Garrick. Think you can find the restroom okay?"
"Past the hotdog stand right?" He was standing directly beside her in the doorway; he was peering up and down the bustling street of tourists in the Paseo Nuevo Mall.
"Must have just missed it. Oh well."
"Thanks for the directions."
"No sweat."
She smiled a brief breathtaking smile and turned to leave. A customer followed with an entrance to her elegant exit and Garrick turned on his heel and released an ounce charm.
"Hello, welcome to Soma, anything I can help you with?"
He stayed in the doorway and pitched the sale as he was trained to do, but his eyes stayed on the frame of the girl who was hurrying to Macy's to use the restroom. Inside his mind the thorns from roses pricked his fingers as he stood in her doorway. [Gut check, all systems go.]
"Feel free to look around, Sayward, could you help these customers, I'm going to the pretzel shop; do you want anything?"
He heard her reply of 'NO' as he was taking stride to follow the strawberry blonde into Macy's. The first few steps of this masquerade would make or break his plan of attack. She had already melted into the afternoon crowd of beautiful Santa Barbara people with their chiseled features and lazy strolling attitudes. A keen eye for an incredible backside, Garrick quickly picked her up in his vision and circled around to the men's bathroom to catch a glimpse of himself before proceeding.
He stood facing the mirror and began the checklist.
[Smile, lips, attitude, voice, control, control, control. Love. Nothing but love for all aspects of this game Garrick. Don't forget that. Go speak to the young angel now.....]
It was a sickness.
--
Copyright Eric Ervin, so on and so on.