An Ever Expanding Idea on Insomnia as Intellectual Omnipresence

these Damned Unsleeps

receive no envelope from heaven:

they are rejected for Solace

(Yet shall Never cease to Dream)

 

the smooth Gray Glass of my everwake sits like a filter over

all unknowns            i feign the cesspool of lukewarm unthoughts

that drools out with vitals taken, day-up, day-die,

(Doktor Doktor panzer prizing holds back my lids with lightning,

what do you Witness, Mengele? my laughter is the Anomie!

Comedy is black&you’ll never guess the shade

Raven-purple affliction, I am omnipresent as night)

 

Further viewing would Exploit that

noise pollution would be accredited by The Observer

(Obtrusive Chemical head, Inquisitor)

as another approach to my Insomnia, the seeing of my unbeing

(But the blunder beneath the bed

is the racket of the shuffling Cosmos,

in&out of the Sky stream

in which the Stars topple like skipping stones

& are funneled into a Hydrogen balloon;

Distilled Brain Coral)

 

The Observer would further note the lack of possession,

But it would go unseen that the misc machinations of a personal space

animate to pose a Question

(which always relates to the even in death equidistant Hourglass

that remains the same perfect Figure, same Bottled Time�"

whose breath gleamed like a Bare Bone in morning’s Pale kingdom gown,

&had Six little fingers that rattled out, like a golden fiddle against Death’s black blouse.)

 

But the question in Itself is Derived

by Omitted Means

from the head of Ideas which flares its jaws

with metallic black gums&gargles moon beams

to cleanse the Prey from ethereal teeth       (the selfish Godhead)

so that the Blind locomotive Derails

(just as the Dog of Worlds assumed)

 

--Thus thought becomes sparrow’s song

(whereas the expression “musical” is used exempt definition                   pattern-less

& the white Noise screams so loud no other sound is shatter proof,

They say “somebody’s gonna save you”, but…)

I’ve been dialing “72” like a heartbeat, (for You, for You)

& the touch screen is worn through

Decomposed air that is truth

& the telephone becomes an electric lantern on my pseudo-lotus fingertips,

(which reminds of that red dress which fell out of a window Impassioned

then pressed vapid, gray clay, into ebon operation game

where darkness&sound Waves Unveil

Everything Invisible is Apparent

Girl Becomes A Jellyfish Inside Her Own Mind)

 

The Observer is looking in with a profile&ashen pen

smearing in where It thought i was

(the Omnipresent bed dweller; I am, I am)

suddenly a Star bleeds Through

& The Observer is caught between the lark&suicide,

(stared into the Abyss, stared Back into

Wonderland becomes you)

 

It becomes the Minority

because It hears the patting cosmic shovels of the gravediggers (who are Burying God)

& realizes that the Hourglass doesn’t sliver into the heavens

to continue forwarding the no return policy back to Insomniac P.O. boxes

(--america cannot undo what she has Scorched into her Inmates

the Girl still topples out of the window

because nothing changes about a red dress, impassioned,

& so the body-bagged lunulae hang eternal beneath the Wrenched, rustic window panes,

that now become the Lighthouse

on a once prison island which transcends the ocean,

 

Follow us, we do not sleep,

(Yet we shall Never cease to Dream)

 

 

Author's Note

Under construction. Please give honest, hard critiques.

Reviews

[R J Askew]

I often go in for this style myself. My son referred to my stuff as 'melancholic ramblings' once. I dunno if I was more hurt at his slight or cheered at the accuracy of his two word summary. Anyway, I can lose myself in this sort of writing. It is almost a comfortable place to be as it removes us from the norms of the regular world where most people cluster for comfort. We of course know that the refular world is not as solid as those who cling to it might believe. But it is a comfort to millions who choose to watch the adverts, buy the stuff and not think too much.

[Hayley]

This is very interesting. You have such an originality, it's incredible.
I enjoyed this piece; you really explored the depths of insomnia and how everything seems clearer and harsher in the night.
I have no criticism. Keep writing the way you do!

[Mockingbird]

this was an epic endeavour. i like themes on insominia. this sounds like something a manic-depressive( who, when manic, do not sleep) would ramble on this way, without pause or breath, and they speak in riddles, rhymes, metaphors, meanings under meanings under meanings that only they can perceive. they are the omnipresent intellectuals because they see things the way we cannot understand and their lack of sleep give them a distorted perception on things however speak truths. this is an excellent piece.

[Trusting]

Well,first of all, your writing is just amazing. Different than I've ever read. You should go far if you continue to write just like this.

[R J Askew]

Here are the dabs that I esp like
-- the cesspools of lukewarm unthoughts
-- Raven-purple affliction
-- the seeing of my unbeing
-- like the notion of the stars skipping
-- Death's black blouse
-- this dab it great >> with metalic black gums&gargles moonbeams
-- and >> gums&gargles is worth a separate mention as I like the sound of it, reminds of underground water minding its own business in the subconscious of the earth's crust
-- I have been dialing 72 ... I have a thing about that number
-- the touch screen is worn through
-- Decomposed air that is truth
-- In fact that whole 6th verse seems like the apex of the poem's flow. The last couple of verses feel like a warm down. I'm normally happy if I find a couple of things I like in a poem. Often there are none. But in your piece hear I found lots of goodies to savour.

[eatmills]

The font you have chosen is harsh to read through and give your piece a sloppy look to it. A great surrealistic piece such as this should read cleanly for your metaphors and imagery are enough.

[Lawrence Parlier]

First off, I like the surrealistic flow, the torrent of thoughts and images pour out and display an opaque lucidity. I would lose the parentheses' though. They don't really portray a true aside and might be served better as a seperate stanza in places (or perhaps the use of a shattered stanza format). I would lose some of the phrases in italics, as well. In some places they work. "The Observer" & "whose breath gleamed like bare bone" (maybe losing the capitals).
Upon a second reading I marvel at the mix of surrealism and symbolism. Artaud and Rimbaud (and more even-handed than Morrison).
The only other thing I would consider is the rhythm, but not at the cost of the image but maybe a few spare tweaks in language.
But it's all in there. Nice job!