Author Archives: EPRobles

About EPRobles

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Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love...

THE SORROWFUL UNBAKED COOKIE HEART

AND snow dream)tears!Shout
i’m an over/undone heart
sweet muffin bird-like
feathers tickle me
the streaked glass-water:
flowers between summer
hearts struck my eyes,
lips so tenderly crushing
stones(h-u-r-t) dreams
oooh, sir!
the proper name you sang
when speaking to me!
so — Victorian girl
)oh god — keeping me
sheeps like lamps
covering dark nights
a water colored canvas
m e a n i n g
love is what we
denied twice.
i broke my soul
in a shout
forgetting
un. der (lies)
i’m a self-crumbling
cookie unbaked
will you eat me?
no. i crumble

:: 03-12-2015 ::


TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL

Bells of St Paul’s Cathedral i love you!
in a dreaming –> slipping away!
you take my soul with you
dreaming something unlike
my life which I never owned!
my heart is a large mouth
but your notes too perfect for my plate!

I love you!

you take my soul with you in a dream
like a song; you ever wanted to climb
up a temple that isn’t there
and sing, “You are my goddess:
you make my heart rhyme!”

You’ve never seen a part I won’t show you-
tell me how you feel.
I dare you to say what you need to say
only say the same words
I gave you.

You take my soul with you in a dream like a song
I’m still alive! And even the walls believe
that I am yours-then you stare in the mirror
and everything is gone — and you scream, scream:
you feel me I’ll sing you mine!
And it’s in the color of my eyes-and I cry.

In a dream like a song I’m still alive!
And even the walls believe that I am yours-
and you stare in the mirror and everything is gone
and you scream, scream:
you feel me I’ll sing you mine!
and it’s in the color of my eyes

So sweet angel, tell me how you feel.

:: 10.05.2020 ::


MOTHER’S OF TALENTED CHILDREN

The sun has sunk, now it is calm yellow before the beast of the Moon
gives us silver light!

My cock runs down 15th street looking for the hen — she lays eggs
beneath the moon summoned in a strummed guitar-life sound! The
world swirls for her; it is time-space eating moments. Women’s breasts
swell with the moon’s tide and mensturate.

Men are totally unaware of a female composition.

Upon my tongue: sweet fetid dust of her
breath lingers upon my lips.

I am the PRINCE OF CALM.

Her female beauty cuts my arms.

My Master the root of Love.

I cool my baby — the pure blue footsteps like a waltz. I once thought I was a great painter but now know I am a poet.

Within the Month of October the police begin to cordon my words for they speak of Love.

I sail through space and time.

How funny you are today WORLD.

I eat v-jays and misuse my talents.

 MOTHERS of the WORLD
                allow your children to 

read and learn and never forgive them for
their precious born talents — it will DEVOUR
YOU!

:: 10.03.2020 ::


I AM NEVER BROKEN

IF i could speak to the world
just a single thing
it would be not to worry
i won’t remain useless
i gather around my faith
a broken heart of life
Father in Heaven
a golden chute for me to
fall into but i fight for
this life upon a crazy world
where i have no voice.
My heart, my head and hands
are my own and i make them
shape them into the Life
i Live.

I will get there one day.
I pray.
I will get there one day.
I know.
I will drop down to my knees
and pray.

I know i am small but it’s
all i have here in flesh
and blood and pain Father.

I am NEVER BROKEN.

:: 10.03.2020 ::


SMOKING CIGARETTES AND SPIPPING COFFEE

Many-colored and candle-lights; high beyond the soft trees a fresh country
leans heavily toward the night, far beyond the sea’s shady shore.

Beams, o’er wide fields like a white star, \till from the earth’s crown drops the thunders. With breaths that stay the night, with sounds that never are hushed, with golden night-glories or amber the perfumes that I catch/, and wild nights of laughter: and by the deep sea violets and ladyship’s, with the smelling rose, and perfumes of forest; and rarities that we saw in open Heaven, and the drink of Oia, on the sweet chestnut tree,
with which the feet of Aphrodite might be not shackled, when the lust of Him; as some deem I.

And so we lament over him, with our wreaths Pallid, wan, or but paled by love’s heavy sighs, lovers whose burning lust is over; who shall still desire now thy embraces, or feel the beauty of thy cheek;
who shall fancy even now that the bonds of love are off the tongues of thine; or that all the charms of thy face have lost their force, and are swaying at the wind from thy native garlands?
And what pities the future lover, if even of l’amour’s kiss they have bewailed and of sweet love’s cloying aftertaste they are not ill pleased; if there should still be that sighing longing, that sighing sadness, that sighing passion, that sighing sigh, that sighing waste of life?

And what more pity if I should too that same sorrow too should befall him!

And I see that love weeps, in wailing. till her outstretching fingers take him to her bosom and tie him tight to the heart and mind of the one.
Now then, take thy ease with love’s passion, as a fair angel, whom God makes with an ecstatic gleam and white hair; his love’s upcast bird-chaser,
His love’s lady-mistress, His love’s wife, or maidenhood.
But seek that pleasure not with a partner, of whom one is no more than a plaything. What kind of thing is it, these men with whom we do marry, to whom a common fellow-countryman is no more honorable or good than the butcher or tailor, or shoe-maker. What kind of thing is it,
for whom is it either to worship God, or to lie in death’s burning sands?
If the sweet to taste was here among us, and the earl’s daughter would choose me, and not him, what with the big open eye, with all its blood-shooting sight, the mad gaze of their wild eyes!
And the round forked tongue! and the crazed face!
With the hanging lip! with the snarling teeth!
With the long hair! with the strange uncouth sign of their
Cocks and she-birds!
What would become of my high rank, to be taken, in my home country, as a commoner with one of those low fellows, whose fear stems from the spleen, and whose blood stems from the kidneys.
For I am rather wild and awkward, egotistic and impractical, desirable in their eyes, and hurtful in their lips, but if it were this way, I should be quite happy.
Would he ever require my foot for aught?
For my breast for his belly? My seat for his horse? I think not. Should I have my house, my servants, my arms, and I am well armed, yet I should still groan to see that from some far foreign land was by God taken a young and ambitious kinsman.

To perish so cruelly, so without hope would I ever be glad of any harm coming to him.

:: 10.03.2020 ::


GOGH’S FIELDS OF GOLD

IT is dark down here & this awful reality
satisfies the ego and frightens the soul
but makes a state of distraction
; an abomination –an abhorrence
for all that it implies -a living organism
as a leaf or a particle.

There is no non-life only emptiness & this filth
whose existence is temporary– a first-trimester pregnancy
in an animal –a rejected spiritual soul, it is real-
life in simple terms– the personal growth we are
so ignorant of the brave face of existence –a thing
we will ‘never’ ever come to terms
with –the vagaries of Time which call to us
‘cross the bridge’ & walk the Yellow Streets
of Van Gogh.

Hav you never ever walked the edge of fields of
so yellow they smell of gold — the wheat fields
of Vincent Van Gogh: he was a bastard
to most but greatly to ‘self’ –> killed the personality
but never the Art
nor the Soul

:: 04.29.2020 ::
rev: 0-10.3.2020 ::


A HUNDRED MILLION ANGELS SINGING

“And there went out another voice from the four beasts and it was shouting with a great voice, saying, ‘Come now, and let us kill him, a horse, a horse, a horse!’

The four beasts, the four devils, were unanimous, “Who can withstand him?”

Come now, and let us kill him, while the virgins are all trimming their wings.

“I was shaken, and I fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me,
‘Do not be afraid, my son, and go to your father and say to him,

‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and against you, and am no more worthy to be called your son.’

“I said to him, ‘Here I am,’ and I threw myself at his feet, and I worshiped him and said, ‘My father, save me!’

“And he said to me, ‘My son, keep your voice, and do not make me angry, for you have rebelled against the word of God. I will deliver you with scourges and with horses.'”

There are people out there who will always blame someone else for their own sin. They will always place blame on someone else.

It will always be someone else’s fault for their own failures and for their own problems.

The funny thing is, they won’t ever admit that it’s their own actions that have caused their own pain and that it’s their own sinful nature that they will always find a way to blame someone else for their problems.

I don’t care who you are,

It’s your problem.

It’s your fault.

And there will be a golden ladder reaching down when the hairs stand up in all terror.

:: 10.03.2020 ::


DYING IN BED

08/24/2013

The bed, a crime scene of sorts a passion spilled in sweat
he comes to me in the night. Willingly i go – to my death:
he comes to me in the night. A sword sharpened by lust and
thrusts it into my soul. mother, I’m ready to come home but
the line between pain & pleasure is small compared to the
pleasant death (ORGASAMS); the coroner will say an untimely
passing but my murderous lover knew the timing each plunge
of his knife ever deeper (the hounds of winter).
The best way to slice off entrails — I’m at home like home
on the floor covered with wine and gizzards then I’ll slit
my wrists (the hounds of winters!) it was an accident
I just wanted to see my bruises replaced with this new thing
the slit wasn’t to deep

A season for Joy a Season for Sorrow! So brighten my day
within the winter of Hounds today.

A lonesome sound a lonesome sound this day.

:: maj rev – 10.03. 2020 ::



IF YOU

I F y o u go back to school give me your love — teach me
touch/ how electricity or god was invented by your hands (
subdued by the hand of an angel and buried eye)
LOVE: phenomena is such
being, conducted by a worthy Love
You’ve been cooling — fooling and mis-
using philosophy strictly within
the deep inside and slender/fragile
loooooooovvvvvvvve —————-
i imitate your beauty so shake
for me girl/ ooooooh expressing
oh oh oh oh (come on) i borrow a deep
mask learning and so fragile i borrow
way deep inside // sensations\
imiatating fatally exquisite < pulling
my skin carefully around it)
streamin down your face my dreams
love” — prettified. I give every inch
of my love – an awful big light squoits
down my spine way down inside: i am
dead er sumpn: next i
ah ah ah – ah ah ah —
shake for me girl/ down oh up sideways
oooooooooooooooh — some female within
the green field each fore crows drop into
sunset.

:: 09.28.2020 ::


Sex, Math And Fortnite

I went on a date last night. Before I tell you about that date, I want to tell you a story.

When I was a student at Northwestern University in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, I attended a fraternity party. One of the girls at the party was a freshman who had joined a sorority that week. She introduced herself and, over the course of the night, I learned that she was writing her thesis on evolutionary theory. When I asked her what she wanted to study, she said she was not sure. A while later, she said she was studying the evolution of sexual attractiveness. We got to talking about why some people look more attractive than others. To quote The Bachelor’s Bekah M., she said: “If it’s so easy to be attractive, then why is it that I’m not hot like all the other girls?”

I looked her dead in the eyes and, for the first time in my life, I said: “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

I have been seeing lots of college freshmen recently. Most of them have never seen themselves with a critical eye and they have never had a discussion about why some people look better than others. They think they have it all figured out, that they already know why they are attractive. However, in the span of a few weeks, most of them have learned that the mirror is a tricky place. People aren’t necessarily as beautiful as they believe. When a person stops being concerned with how they look, the only thing left to do is try to look better.

Don’t get me wrong, I have never told people that they are ugly. I haven’t been sure that this is a right thing to do. In the era of social media, it feels like all of us are constantly subjected to extreme angles of hair and butt, so I imagine most people take the advice of every Instagram photo as truth. At the same time, however, everyone I know who is single is obsessed with their looks. No one wants to hear that there is no such thing as “the perfect amount of muscle” or that a few extra pounds can even be a positive thing. I have yet to see someone not feel comfortable with their body after being told that it’s not a flaw. Most people know that their body is something that can work for them, something that they can get healthier and more in shape with time.

I’ve only ever heard this advice from the men in my life. My mom, for example, is forever yelling at me to “just stop eating so much candy.” I’m a hopeless romantic and I find myself sending love poems to people on Facebook. I can think of many girls who want to be ugly. In fact, in her latest book, Rainbow Rowell says, “Girls are all the time trying to be pretty, or to be liked, or to look right, or to prove something about their culture. We all are searching, in the way we are all inherently beautiful.”

But “beauty,” according to Rowell, “is about what lies between.” The saying has long been a popular one at Northwestern University. “If you’re beautiful on the inside,” someone would say to me in high school, “you’ll be beautiful on the outside.” And most of the time, this proved to be true. But I have also seen too many of my female classmates on those “best of looks” lists. To many of the people who tell us how beautiful we are, we are either “model-thin” or “in the mold.”

Sex, Math and Fortnite (part 03)

Our culture obsesses over finding the unattainable. Beauty feels like a competition. It’s as if we are being asked to justify why we are beautiful, like we are up for a popularity contest. People are constantly comparing us to other people we find unattainable. On the other hand, I’ve always felt that the standards placed on us are unfair. Girls are continuously told that they should be “a size two.” It isn’t right to judge a person based on their body. I believe that beauty should not be judged based on one’s self-image, but on who that person is on the inside.

Some people have it worse than others. Some of us have suffered from eating disorders. It is a misconception that you cannot become healthy and be thin and still be beautiful. I know I am still physically attractive, but I no longer try to be beautiful on the outside. I make it a point to not walk around wearing a red wig. It makes no sense that our culture is not OK with us being happy with who we are.

:: 09.28.2020 ::