ed, a poem

03/07/26 - 00:00

i long to jack off to completion
each stroke against my cylindrical canvas.
the paint released soon to inseminate the egg of perception,
impregnating the mind and body of a reader, a player, a listener.

but my mind and body are infected with a dysfunction so fierce that I feel like I have no choice but to lay my flaccid dreams to rest.
and so I lay dormant.
in heat.
but inactive.

suddenly,
i’m confronted with something so hot,
burning so brightly,
and in a second, the fire inside me reignites.
the phoenix rises from the ashes.

and so I begin to stroke,
excited that i may finally bust my seed of creation into the masses.
anticipating the bouquet,
each individual’s flower born by how uniquely their body receives my seed.

i start gaining a momentum
fully possessed by lust,
sack-to-tip, my strokes grow wider.
toon, no outside words have any staying power in my mind
thoughts are constantly being flushed through;
thoughts about the past. thoughts about the history of the mediums. thoughts about the interweaving of the web of influences influencing influences.
thoughts about the future. thoughts concerning how I’ll clean up my files. thoughts about how an algorithm will pick my partner in creation.

a wall.
sometimes it’s a high speed crash, sometimes it’s a light brushing.
but all the same,
the flame,
gets snuffed.
sometimes the flame burns itself out.
either way, the bird returns to a familiar heat.

laying in the ashes of unfinished projects.

and unfulfilled promises.

with balls,
yet to know completion,
burning a blue flame,
forevermore.

- crow

p.s.

artist rendition

p.p.s.

i've just realised that all the scrolling on my site depends on you having a scrollwheel :/. unrelated fun fact, you can recreate a scrollwheel on a trackpad by scrolling with two fingers. i'll fix it eventually. too busy writing fucking poetry apparantly.