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Automatic Writing

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(1 (cough) partygoer |quip goes here)

New Online Surrealist Blog-Journal Seeks Submissions [29 Jan 2009|05:01pm]
loveecstasycrim
Oarystis is a new online blog-journal seeking to be an irregularly published hub of surrealist fiction. I realize that much surrealist texting blurs the boundaries between prose narrative and poetry. And I'm not interested in trying to present a firm defintion of what is surreal and what isn't. I'm just trying to create a little corner of cyberia to showcase non-verse formatted work that is of a surreal/irreal/absurd/bizarro/noise-text nature.

If you think your work could be classified as such, and you want to showcase it here, please send all submissions in the body of an email to:

radionihilist@hotmail.com


The author retains all rights to their work.

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i am not a poet [20 Oct 2007|07:07pm]

dacnomaniac
the vicious turns of alligator skin
beckon in rolls lying
rows upon rows of stolen armor
gnosis reduced to shards of dreams

bursting into light the avenger crests the hill
bares his claws
bellows forth the anthem of war
charges down against the swarm
stinging biting swarm
bees
everywhere ... Collapse )

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[19 Oct 2007|05:09pm]

dacnomaniac
impressions strung togetherCollapse )

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[12 Oct 2007|08:41pm]

dacnomaniac
Channelling/brain dump.Collapse )

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[12 Oct 2007|10:22pm]

3ugolovnik
wreckless pajama toy could you boil some egg then beg no please please (censored because of foreign language) and apocalypse will straighten your way of living in deep snow that is my gourmet but i will dedicate this sand of storm that's coming my way with big knife and pork on the porch maybe a as an articulate bodybuilder that sniffs my sock or two socks please teach my language a lesson or i will be punished till noon the next day when there are hundreds of snow many much snow if you know what i mean because there are those and there are others

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[10 Oct 2007|09:56pm]

3ugolovnik
castration could be my wife
if i would be a women
the women marched across the skay
woman are man ir underpants paint me naked while i'm gone
then i will never be ever again
then our souls will perform naked
and i as a salute to the heaven
will be up-brought to be sinful forever

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Ickburion theroun [16 Sep 2007|11:51pm]

engel08
The message was clear in the green jackets
A meat in the sack of joy
The orange and pewter doves of spring were nigh upon us in china white Russia
The panties of adoration were bright and spectacled
In rotund informants
Gradual climbing of a tree a sugar bound cretin in a certain
purple dress
Was a flagrant caretaker of numbers and letters across a chalk board of oven white.
I upon seeing this mirrored reflection of self.
Sat down upon my toadstool to have a puff of purple smoke from my hookah pipe.
And to conjure the thoughts of mystics.



Powered by ScribeFire.

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a groggy day. [23 Jun 2007|04:32pm]
nakatascat
groggy.
i am groggy in my eyeballs, well in thecorners. there is glubby stuff. it is hard and squidgy at the same time and it's gross gross gross! i get satisfaction from pushing it out of my eye and it goes down the sink in a flush. some days, like today, i look out of the window and nothing at all is happening in the world. the street is the same as it always is. the sun isn't here. it's just a street. grey. pavementy. and dull. but then i think it is me who is dull, because i haven't washed and so i feel very grey. ontop of my aura is a layer of dirt now, so no one can really see me for my happy, lovely self. they just see dirt. grey. brown. murky. gross. and i am a grumblecat! there are cobwebs in my brain - "go for a walk, it'll get rid of the cobwebs", i find that such a cute little phrase, used to get said to me all the time when i was a little girl. i like the idea of there being cobwebs in my brain - imagine how easy cobwebs are to destroy! and just going for a walk would always blow them away. ahhhh. i love the smell of air and the scent of cold. i love thunderstorms. rain smells like a heated lake. i wish there were a thunderstorm now, i wish it would rain, i wish i could go for a walk and blow the cobwebs away, i wish any of these things would happen so i didn't feel so groggy! but i am quite a slob today, i feel like a slug only less animated. maybe i should take a shower. but somehow i feel it's wasted because i wont do anything afterwards - only, feel less groggy but still be lazy and slobbish. sloth. ugh. it doesn't matter though really, because my head is filled with beauticious things. the warm sensation of a hug from a lover, or the smell of daisies on a sunny day, or the sound of wine glasses clinking together - "here's to you, my dear, here's to you". i am comforted by fashion, strangely enough. not fashion as in fashion-followers fucking sheep null-brained can't think for yourself idiots, but clothes and how people wear them. beautiful. i like to dress well. i haven't always been able to say that.

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underground. [09 May 2007|12:38am]
nakatascat
when i went up the escalator i did not see a pigeon but a toad it sat there staring at me with its huge bulging eyes and made me want to cry. because i knew the tunnels and dramas we would go through would never be as free as the way you looked on that day. the toad jumped into a miner's coat and i went outside to get some fresh air. how does it feel to be suffocating in the tunnels, how does it feel to be grey and metallic and dying of fright. i know how it feels to be secluded in a wasteland of mush and come and shit and dustmites. i love a lot of things but the acres that hold the blossom tress will never be beaten. the pink flowers grow in my hand and i watch you pluck them, it makes me wilt and i melt from top to bottom. those were the days when we'd see the beauty in everything at the same time. now i see it alone and you see it alone and we sew a quilt that stretches across land and sea and miles and aircraft landings are nowhere near as good as the arrival of our two lips meeting again.

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[20 Apr 2007|09:21pm]

potncello
hidden and central,
best is farthest distance
circled by nothing.

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$#%*()#$%*%*@$!&!#!__$#@%$__________ [30 Mar 2007|05:35am]

ieatmoths
Read more...Collapse )

(2 (cough) partygoers |quip goes here)

d auf r 53 a Predestiny ft [08 Mar 2007|11:03pm]

valenceflame
Read more...Collapse )

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[20 Aug 2006|01:21pm]

blurrain
Sometimes when imaginations carry one too far, it hurts oneself.
Sometimes when cupid hits the wrong one, it hurts nonsensically.
Sometimes imaginations is sillier than reasons.
And one starts wondering why does one even bother to think so much.

Spare the tiny murky brain. have enough of his memories. be done away. all forever. disappear.

(1 (cough) partygoer |quip goes here)

[29 May 2006|10:42pm]

klackon_warlord
The second or third of four is the one to choose. Its never easy to say what you mean especially if its critical. But after the rain has subsided, its always nice to walk on the grass.

(1 (cough) partygoer |quip goes here)

[25 Feb 2006|07:54am]

mojo_iv
sedentary car backed reaches
sanded sanctuary entrenched exaltations
indecent ignoramous peaches
needles lack
cracker jack
immodium emulsion preaches

--m4

(1 (cough) partygoer |quip goes here)

[18 Nov 2005|03:20am]
met_him_pike
A three...Collapse )

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[16 Nov 2005|04:24pm]

kop
fog and dew is all i knew when i looked out the windows today. and when i walked out i turned into a water droplet too. is fog all you do? can you clear something up too?

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Excellent Writer's Resource - Urbis dot com! [10 Nov 2005|07:31pm]

charisma
[ mood | excited ]



Urbis.com, is a free, carefully structured workshop community with a mission to expose writers from around the world to literary agents and publishers in New York City. It's a great website for getting feedback on your work, with a quality review system that really works! It even offers a variety of privacy options for those who don't want their work viewable by just anyone on the 'net.

There's a a live journal community for Urbis users here - urbis_writers , so join Urbis and join the community.

If you want to take a closer look at how the site works, check out my Urbis portfolio.

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[09 Nov 2005|04:44pm]

kop
Why I am so tired I know, and it's because the internet is so slow and so I slow down and an hour goes by and I miss the birds and clouds and I don't even get to seee the time fly.
A stripe a dash a polka dot all singular on my sash. Representing as one, a dot, representing what it could be as a cluster, a stripe thinking about how it could be on a business shirt under the name pin. And a single houndstooth can think about biting when he is joined with 50 and what a sharp ensemble it will be on her. And the zig zag alone does not make the african queen stand out but sit down with one lonely zigzag in her hand so stressed out that she rolls it up and smokes it and forgets because once she starts to see the patterns and all these unified patterns she looks and sees that to her they are real, and the singular world does not exist but it is made up of many fists, fives of eye and nines of toes, in no particular multiple and no pariticular order.

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exquisite corpse n(p23,p32)/5 [15 Oct 2005|07:21am]

potncello
[ mood | holy fools ]

finally, in france, at the court of louis xiv, a vogue commenced for the delicate refashioning of make-believe personal images: issuant from the lake of night and celebrated by girly voices, arises the form of st. kevin--flames went out from him, and these ran along the steep mountain forests, roaring, so hot that much of the earth dissolved, like iron in the flaming, bellowing, roaring, baying hissing heads. mathmaster, the mowing annihilator, recognised a kind of truth by demonstration of will, the planets of the sky, the wholesome winds of the seas, and the lamentable silences of hell are disposed. after the thorough fright he got that bloody st. swithin's day, though every doorpost was smeared with the blood of our low waster never had the pluck to stir out and about the compound. before i commenced to shamanize, i lay sick for a whole year: i became a shaman at the age of fifteen. and therewith a new world age dawned, i spied the plant, and was introduced from without by moses and remains without as a presumed fact.

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