Dude, most corrupted poem in the world...
Purity
by Billy Collins
My favorite time to writeis in the late afternoon,
weekdays, particularly Wednesdays.
This is how I go about it:
I take a fresh pot of tea into my study and close the door.
Then I remove my clothes and leave them in a pile
as if I had melted to death and my legacy consisted of only
a white shirt, a pair of pants, and a pot of cold tea.
Then I remove my flesh and hang it over my chair.
I slide it off my bones like a silken garment.
I do this so that what I write will be pure,
completely rinsed of carnal,
uncontaminated by the preoccupations of the body.
Finally I remove each of my organs and arrange them
on a small table near the window,
I do not want to hear their ancient rhythms
when I am trying to tap out my own drumbeat.
Now I sit down at the desk, ready to begin.
I am entirely pure: nothing but a skeleton at a typewriter.
I should mention that sometimes I leave my penis on.
I find it difficult to ignore the temptation.
Then I am a skeleton with a pens at a typewriter.
In this condition I write extraordinary love poems,
most of them exploiting the connection between sex
and death.
I am concentration itself: I exist in a universe
where there is nothing but sex, death, and typewriting....
It goes on...
I have one question, and another request.
What is he smoking?
Can I have some?
Originally posted by Alpha Centauri
I'm gonna take a camera to my upcoming NIN gigs incase the Closer incident replicates itself. Then I'll put the pics here and make you all jealous hahaha.-AC
What in the name of **** and all that is holy happened during Closer that was so exciting? I feel so left out. 🙁