Once Sariputra was attending a sort of book event: a dozen of young writers, men and women, met up on Wednesday of every week and read each other texts upon an actual literature. Sitting across a very open, a very red dress which sounded like reading something out of a story in a fantasy world, Sariputra was thinking about the void.
"This kind of openness does not mean emptiness, - he thought, - particularly, if to take into account "the plunging V-neckline and Empire-line midriff inset in satin with pressed pleats that cleverly accentuates a lovely bustline*". The narrative, in an obvious way, buys its acceptability by its substantive emptiness. If here a form is a simply emptiness and an emptiness is a simply form, should it assume that they both could, say, provide assistance on morally sound bestseller technologies where I have left a void, or waste of a dream, or explain why naught is naughty and why a perfect look matches a perfect emptiness".
The next reader was a girl in grey. Alas, her glasses, zits and her baggy turtleneck was eloquent testimony to her talent. Sariputra sighed and started to leave.
* Unknown glossy magazine.
Categories:
bustline, beauty, humor, literature, writing,
Form: Narrative
" I am so always hungry."
Which is true.
If I am not hungry for food,
Then I am hungry for something bigger.
Answers to the secrets of the universe,
True Love,
A more substantial bustline.
I hunger for contentment
Just to be able to sit and be,
Exist... without wondering.
Thinking.
Drifting off into the empty, full to the brim chaos of my mind.
I wound be able to sit in complete silence.
But no, I am always hungry for knowledge and love...
Above all, love and answers to life.
And happiness.
Contentment, normalcy
I am constantly waking up in the middle of the night, starving.
Starving for attention,
Love
A father, family, foundation.
Categories:
bustline, family, father, hope, introspection,
Form: Free verse