Wallace Stevens- Men made out of words

Men made out of words

What should we be without the sexual myth,

the human reverie or poem of death?

Castratos of moon-mash--Life consists

of propositions about life.

The human.

Reverie is a solitude in which we compose these propositions, torn by dreams,

By the terrible incantations of defeats

and by the fear that defeats and dreams are one.

The whole race is a poet that writes down

the eccentric propositions of its fate.

Wallace Stevens

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallace_Stevens

Comments

Edie Brickell & New Bohemians - What I Am

I'm not aware of too many things I know what I know, if you know what I mean Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box Religion is the smile on a dog I'm not aware of too many things I know what I know, if you know what I mean, d-doo yeah Shove me in the shallow waters Before I get too deep What I am is what I am Are you what you are or what? What I am is what I am Are you what you are, or? Oh, I'm not aware of too many things I know what I know, if you know what I mean Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks Religion is a light in the fog I'm not aware of too many things I know what I know, if you know what I mean, d-doo yeah

The Skyliners- Since I Don't Have You

I don't have plans and schemes And I don't have hopes and dreams I don't have anything Since I don't have you I don't have fond desires And I don't have happy hours I don't have anything Since I don't have you I don't have happiness, and I guess I never will again When you walked out on me In walked old misery And he's been here since then I don't have love to share And I don't have one who cares I don't have anything Since I don't have You, you, you, you You, you, you, you You, you, you, you (You) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Skyliner

Used By Him

I was blanketed in lust. Devoured from the inside with rhythmic perspiration. Plunging deep, like a knife, on a cold winter night. I lifted myself towards it like a glutton, head spinning all of a sudden. He was striving towards some intoxicated hard earned moment, which I found Herculean and unnerving. I've been thinking of how he looked in ecstasy, calling my name as if the two were the same. Then he was gone, the blanket of lust stripped away without shame. Cold and empty without shelter, it's just my body he's after. Lick my lips, flip my hair Where the hell is my underwear? J.M.

Joy M.

Search This Blog