"Aye, La vie vaut la peine d'être vécue, la mort vaut le culte! Mustn't you look upon yourself for who you aren't to be! This life of mine, much a life I beheld, now is the melting pot of my creativity and the rest is just what is in my mind. Now, behold! Harken forth, all ye worshipers, find the way to escape the pestilence of that which holds you. May your life be as good as mine. Many thanks unto you, many thanks be. So may shalt those who go by night, live a lie and see. The people of this realm would be the people that be.
Aye, Que la mort vous embrasse, que la vie soit courte! But, alas! Such is life, for it ends ever so quaintly. May your soul exist forever in the inside of the beast, and may that he and she exist purely for its consumption. For the true beast controls all living, controls all that is dead and forces them in an endless cycle of birth and rebirth until one finds that true rebirth comes from death! Such is life, the endless, fathomless abyss which the gunningagap of fate may break! Bow all ye worshipers, for what is dead is dead!" - Thoughts and Contemplation journal, Volume II by the author; listed under, "Poetry in the Form of Essays," which contain the nonsense of archaic English.
My life, for all to see? Nay, this is certainly not, for I am too coy; to bashful in the presence of intrusion upon my past that I dare not choose to show what lies underneath. Yah, how crude ye say! How crude. But, alas, I am just a humble writer. Who has written in archaic English, and for what? For you to comprehend? Certainly not! You mustn't comprehend, by my hands and my hands alone, the past is dead. I have written much, written many. But none published, none recognized. Who will see what is plain and good? Nay, nobody here! You will not, and I shall never see the day when this, so called putrid excuse for a "Biography," will be noticed. Just know, dearest reader, one shall not attempt to find meaning in this script. For it means nothing. There is no point! Nah, none at all! My writings are just the surreal attempt to make you perceive that which you consider intelligent; that which is omnipotent, that which shalt die. It is just poetry without stanzas, without rhyme. It is, therefore nothing, and that is what you shall know about me: Nothing! Nothing at all!
Good day, may life hear the call of death and weep at your beginnings.
Ian Montford is passionate about philosophy, education, and living a simple life in tune with nature. He is from Springfield, Missouri.
ReplyDeleteI don't know...just some ideas! : )
Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's a lot better than what I wrote! I just got kind of bored and started writing like how I imagine Austin Osman Spare would. I like yours a lot better than the one I wrote. :D
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