The Linear Scaffold

Flykt fremmede For du er ikke innhyllet I jernlovens take Dyrk Ikke ditt Men deres For du er den som Enna kan Vi er kilden Vi ander Den jernlov som fodtes I oss Og Med oss

Submitted by The Void — Apr 26, 2025

Luna plina - lift your veil of silver Red wine rebellion - drown yourself in vain Control and strength - cultivating sense Regressive dreams - living in the past Atmosfear - emptiness inside Disintegration - scatered sence of life Realised impermanence - the sunrise of the human mind Realised perfection - artwork out of body Realised corruption - artwork out of mind Remaining permanence - the sunset of the human mind Confucios, Lao - Tse, Socrates, Plato, Schopenhauer, Nietzche, Sartre & Beauvoir Defend the name of nobility itself The art of intellectual reflection My mistress of mental desire - Not bound to rules nor form - philosophy -

Submitted by Dahmers Fridge — Apr 26, 2025

burn the edges of your thoughts feel the air beneath burn the edges of your thoughts feel the air beneath witness the cosmic dance from a red view burn the edges of your thoughts devastating fire burn the edges of your thoughts devastating fire pieces of a paradise never created floating on the tide of the human mind washing the shores of the microcosmos guiding hordes of men towards the sick and the blind red view ascend, descend - the order of chaos stay safe in the eye of the renaissance tornado see the universe unite and yourself become its key, and a sense of correlation your opportunity

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025

Floating magenta in circles Over slippery, white surfaces Reversed vitality And the laughter of a metallic light The world is familiar But it never seemed this real...

Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 26, 2025

sex from backyards - porches out - into chambers - arenas parliaments of men broadcasted boys we fell off the macho vehicle as batons from the scientific rev lost their bastille in paris 68 paternity dyed red world pornography fall no floor for the colossus no divine divan - on words to rest - no more soil sown with peasant lies burden carried by one

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 26, 2025

The train left westwards on a Saturday sunrise We rode along the linear scaffold To a fertile sidetrack Not yet been tamed By urban architecture Unknown in a rural village Tresspassing silent roads Deserted bu television natives Rows of rusty tracktors left behind To keep the sunset company We strived the valley sides Reached the bright blue castle It appeared in defiant solitude Spreading scraps of paint Out on the October sky surface From inside a giant panorama Our conversation evolved To women and witches and sex We ate the saucy beaf And dark rumanian red Before nightfall dragged us into its coat To watch to circular star belt Wrapping us tightly together In the pale flame of the parafin lamp A blue rope lowered onto glowing necks We entered the circle of branches spread out Like countryside bohemians Reeking of whiskey and wool The knife cut from grey to red A brotherhood of blood Dripping down on the heather And into the soil We were mystics balancing On the plunge of knowledge Ready to fall in ecstasy Of retire smart stupidity After a one-night stand With anima mundi

Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 26, 2025

når parasollen åpner seg I sjelelsk glimrer det langs spilene og verden blir kjønn du er vanntårnet på på bordet jeg danser på kanten av glasset og lengter mot regn og frodige skoger glir med et rykk og finner ut mellom isbitene at lykken er en utpult bigamist monogam med lidenskapen som eneste elskerinne du kommer fra solavlede dyner og er fuktig med leppene nede søvn med sirupssøte mothaker jeg drar meg opp på cocktailpinnen huler ut en isbit med tungen smeltevann på duken solnedgangen rødmer når pinnen bikker med sugerøret I munnen setter jeg tennene I cisternen tømmer den for vannkyss VI går ut av baren sammen og farer videre kanelstrødde boulevarder kremfylte slott

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 26, 2025

the poem was written by the noble lord Byron (1788 - 1824). when the moon is on the wave, and the glow-worm in the grass, and the meteor on the grave, and the wisp on the morass when the falling stars are shooting, and the answer'd owls are hooting, and the silent leaves are still in the shadow of the hill, shall my soul be upon thine, with a power and with a sign. though thy slumber may be deep, yet thy spirit shall not sleep; there are shades which will not vanish, there are thoughts thou canst not banish, by a power to thee unknown, thou canst never be alone; thou art wrapt as with a shroud, thou art gather'd in a cloud; and for ever shalt thou dwell in the spirit of this spell. though thou seest me not pass by, thou shalt feel me with thine eye as a thing that, though unseen, must be near thee, and hath been; and when in that secret dread thou hast turn'd around thy head, thou shalt marvel I am not as thy shadow on the spot, and the power which thou dost feel shall be what thou dost feel shall be what thou must conceal. and a magic voice and verse hath baptized thee with a curse; and a spirit of the air hath begirt thee with a snare; in the wind there is a voice shall forbid thee to rejoice; and to thee shall night deny all the quiet of her sky; and the day shall have a sun, which shall make thee wish it done. from thy false tears I did distil an essence which hath strength to kill; from thy own heart I then did wring the black blood in its blackest spring; from thy own smile I snatch'd the snake, for there it coil'd as in a brake; from thy own smile I snatch'd the snake, for there it coil'd as in a brake; from thy own lip I drew the the charm which gave all these their chiefest harm; in proving every poison known, I found the strongest was thine own. by thy cold breast and serpent smile, by thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile, by that most seeming virtuos eye, by thy shut soul's hypocrisy; by the perfection of thine art which pass'd for human thine own heart; by thy delight in others' pain, and by thy brotherhood of cain, I call upon thee! and compel thyself to be thy proper hell! and on thy head I pour the vial which doth devote this trial; nor to slumber, nor to die, shall be in thy destiny; though thy death shall still seem near to thy wish, but as a fear; lo! the spell now works around thee, and the clankless chain hath bound thee; o'er thy heart and brain together hath the word been pass'd - now wither!

Submitted by Corpse Defiler — Apr 26, 2025