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"Ganymede" by M.A.A.
They die in the morning, they are born in the evening, like foam on the water. woke up in the middle of the swarm flowing in and out and then in reverse countless of tiny living shapes they form in the tired eye of the storm back faces gravity as the body sinks into the deep core along their verse from the ceiling to the floor and back to the ceiling in an ever-moving form whether to carefully disintegrate or enforce unity in solace is the question these hyperventilating travels take on different trails but offer no solution fortunately some of our wasted boys inscribed it all down on the stones set around the storming torch they read symbols with expired advice I dare you to try to go around and find any greater wisdom in them just countless of living shapes pointing towards unclear guides for malaise the swarm left some in peace and some in pieces but it's still fine as well the room is bordered with an infinite jungle although vertically barred falls end in jumps while escapes end in charades of nature widely scarred so I had to build a camp at borders of the jungle with the inscribed totems at the rim of this dusky place where kids used to write imprisoning poems now what are these drifty rules supposed to be and for who goddamnit there is no one to listen nor read here in our fast expanding summit why would you abide by the laws of the tongue-gnawers and mute-makers as far as I know it's the swarm and its children that are the only fair judges for they do not lie or deceive but morph into funny things in broken Sanskrit here's an honest story for all the youthful beings rotting before our worn eyes there is no game nor matches made but a little play with a modest script so therefore you see how a man trapped in vertical inertia can get wise paint hieroglyphs over the makers' letters and sell them all for poachers who give them a quick life to hunt them again for well-meaning bandits here's some more rules for those zuihitsu penning pundits - eat or be eaten or you may as well drink yourself for the fellow drinkers and wake up in the middle of the swarm flowing in the centre of our banished Ganymede
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"A Fragment on Love and Lust" by S.J. Saighead
A thoughtless evening of rolling around must with it then bring a mindless lust. Lust of the kind you can't control the kind that's a need, a must. But alone I can size up what we're worth, while alone I can't disown hurt. Hurt, that despite everything there's notes missing in our concert. We tried to give this a helpful shove. Together once more we cried, Love. Love, However cannot abide. Despite love, we must say our goodbyes.
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"Abstract Language" by Vian Borchert
The language of abstraction has always pleased my senses a spoonful of color with a splash of tone here a hue there a brushstroke here and there coming together within a line that has been pushed in the background but slightly merges to the foreground a breeze of wind a ray of light chemistry mixed with gravity of the push and the pull the artist’s eye as clear as the sun the artist’s soul as old as the moon an old soul a blue moon a lonely road on a abandoned highway a slide-way into a parallel world the SciFi zone a glimpse of the subconscious mingling within the conscious frozen into time through the hand of the artist abandoned landscapes in the dusk of the dawn the sunrise that left to reappear in a sunset the dreams that left and returned revisited, re-scripted, redrawn, repainted the eyes peering the soul beaming the artist must go on!
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Next exhibition theme: PATHS
Deadline: Midnight, September 27th
Submit at: email@example.com
More information under ‘Submissions’ tab