for Mind Field3/6/2007 c1 
44Alyosha Karamazov
I really enjoyed this. The mental images were strong and beautiful. You made me see these things with just a few well-chosen words and the images stayed in my mind long after finishing the poem. Great job.
44Alyosha KaramazovI really enjoyed this. The mental images were strong and beautiful. You made me see these things with just a few well-chosen words and the images stayed in my mind long after finishing the poem. Great job.
2/12/2007 c1 7The Breakdancing Ninja
Though the poem is literally, about the field of the mind, it has an explosive tangent to it-where all colors, thoughts, and sounds collide. It doesn't seem very much like a home.
It seems more like an alienating, sort of threatening environment. Though it's beautiful, it could swallow you whole or crush you. I imagine that it could be someone's dream to go to a place like this at will, a place like Paradise, except more surreal-a place where they could draw their thoughts from like one would draw water from a well, and yet it comes at a price. Just like how the ambrosia of the gods is something that is the zenith of catharsis, one must traverse through dangerous territory to get to it.
This mind field feels the same way.
The convenience of the poem is expressing a convergence point; taking ecclectic, and often clashing thoughts and finding a "home" to put them in.
"Sight", "context", "understanding", "meaning". These are dangerous concepts to link together. In the beginning, I was awed by this poem, and still am, though I'm more unsettled than anything else. The mind, in all its glory, seeks to organize and catalogue, place in little boxes. But where it cannot, it collects and builds a mountain pile.
This poem's thoughts seem that way. Where even emotions converge and lose their separate meanings, becoming one thing. It's a threat to my individualistic nature and the unending need to categorize my thoughts.
There's nice things in this mind field, and there are scary, darker things.
It's a threat to my very nature. And though this world still tantalizes me, I'm sort of against it and know better than to stop through. Because even if I spark that brilliant inspiration by spending three minutes in this place,
my mind could very well explode.
7The Breakdancing NinjaThough the poem is literally, about the field of the mind, it has an explosive tangent to it-where all colors, thoughts, and sounds collide. It doesn't seem very much like a home.
It seems more like an alienating, sort of threatening environment. Though it's beautiful, it could swallow you whole or crush you. I imagine that it could be someone's dream to go to a place like this at will, a place like Paradise, except more surreal-a place where they could draw their thoughts from like one would draw water from a well, and yet it comes at a price. Just like how the ambrosia of the gods is something that is the zenith of catharsis, one must traverse through dangerous territory to get to it.
This mind field feels the same way.
The convenience of the poem is expressing a convergence point; taking ecclectic, and often clashing thoughts and finding a "home" to put them in.
"Sight", "context", "understanding", "meaning". These are dangerous concepts to link together. In the beginning, I was awed by this poem, and still am, though I'm more unsettled than anything else. The mind, in all its glory, seeks to organize and catalogue, place in little boxes. But where it cannot, it collects and builds a mountain pile.
This poem's thoughts seem that way. Where even emotions converge and lose their separate meanings, becoming one thing. It's a threat to my individualistic nature and the unending need to categorize my thoughts.
There's nice things in this mind field, and there are scary, darker things.
It's a threat to my very nature. And though this world still tantalizes me, I'm sort of against it and know better than to stop through. Because even if I spark that brilliant inspiration by spending three minutes in this place,
my mind could very well explode.
1/9/2007 c1 243Manuel Fajar
There is a wonderful word printed on a fine German beer, , meaning a deliciously delightful bitter. Your gorgeous poem tastes like a dream of , touching every transposition from one thought to another, from one brain to another.
243Manuel FajarThere is a wonderful word printed on a fine German beer, , meaning a deliciously delightful bitter. Your gorgeous poem tastes like a dream of , touching every transposition from one thought to another, from one brain to another.
1/2/2007 c1 EnigmaticArsenic
Well, I don't know much about poetry, but just enough to know I like this. It feels kinda like one of those art projects you have to do for school- you know, in which you have to convey your personality symbolicly and such crap. Everyone's always came out more or less the same.
But I like the way this paints such a dreamlike picture of contradictions, nice sunshine and moonbeam images like white fences and cool meadows, and yet intermingles with the darker side of the psyche with the "sigh smoke and steam", "giant men who speak sweetly with bitter breath"; and then the bit of palpable emotion at the end to tie it altogether.
That's what I get out of it anyway, though I might just be on crack or something. XD (But poetry's really all up for interpretation by the reader.)
Well, I don't know much about poetry, but just enough to know I like this. It feels kinda like one of those art projects you have to do for school- you know, in which you have to convey your personality symbolicly and such crap. Everyone's always came out more or less the same.
But I like the way this paints such a dreamlike picture of contradictions, nice sunshine and moonbeam images like white fences and cool meadows, and yet intermingles with the darker side of the psyche with the "sigh smoke and steam", "giant men who speak sweetly with bitter breath"; and then the bit of palpable emotion at the end to tie it altogether.
That's what I get out of it anyway, though I might just be on crack or something. XD (But poetry's really all up for interpretation by the reader.)