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“A Dream Within A Dream”

This poem is not mine-although the voice is as desperate and melancholy as I am-but the words of beloved Poe. I bow to him, and suggest the beautiful shavings of his soul to any who likewise feel ground by Life. Enjoy!

“Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?”

ANGST

noun.
1. A teenager’s realization that this world is fucked up and full of lies, brainwashing, bullying, and straight up bull shit, and the reaction either to fight against or withdraw from it. [reason for the existence of punk and metalcore music]

2. Anger and rebellion to oppression and misunderstanding due to lack of communication resulting from the lack of love and attention given by parents or guardians.

How To Write With Style by Kurt Vonnegut

Why have not I read anything of Vonnegut’s before?! This shall be rectified. Please indulge yourself in this little truffle as much as I did, it is rich and worth slowly chewing to extract all the mouthwatering wisdom stirred into it….bòn appetìt!

Tayiab Ramzan

From: How to Use the Power of the Printed Word, Doubleday

Kurt Vonnegut, 1922-2007

Newspaper reporters and technical writers are trained to reveal almost nothing about themselves in their writings.This makes them freaks in the world of writers,since almost all of the other ink-stained wretches in that world reveal a lot about themselves to readers. We call these revelations, accidental and intentional, elements of style.
These revelations tell us as readers what sort of person it is with whom we are spending time. Does the writer sound ignorant or informed, stupid or bright, crooked or honest, humorless or playful?  And on and on.
Why should you examine your writing style with the idea of improving it? Do so as a mark of respect for your readers, whatever you’re writing. If you scribble your thoughts any which way, your readers will surely feel that you care nothing about them. They will…

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“GERONIMO!!!!”

Life is meant to be lived,
not plotted and charted
for economists eyes only,
but to be felt, tripped over,
giffed, rewound, fast forwarded,
recorded with mixed tapes,
remastered, fought over,
surrendered to; to love,
to have, to hold, to “snog,”
to dance in the rain amidst
the pain, to exult in the triumphs
and be humbled by the losses,
only to rocket forward into
the nether reaches of the Orion Nebula,
the constellation Castorbouros,
the planet Gallifrey-
yes, life, is for living, so
LIVE.
FUCK THE SYSTEM.

Graveyard Roses

I stole some graveyard roses for you,
Some red, red, roses for you.
They were in full bloom,
Arranged perfectly in a crystal vase over
Bartleby’s tomb.
I knew they’d be perfect for you.
You know it’s over-
You knew it was over-
So I brought a parting gift.
But I kept one of the roses.
There were thirteen of them,
But I didn’t want you to have any bad luck-honestly,
No hard feelings, only empty ones-so
I held onto one of them and it sits
A dried, dead shade of its former, passionate beauty.