// prosaic

This appears to be a really great party. Alien creatures garbed in exotic shades of pink and purple, blue, green and red encircle you, smiles and light shining upon their faces. But you can't quite make out what anyone around you is saying.

// What is this?

The output of a poetry mashup generator called prosaic.party, written by vilmibm, which incorporates some of my own prose (which I uploaded as a text file) alongside some of the greats (TS Eliot, Lovecraft, etc).

Last updated: 30-Nov-2015


So who squished the crucifixion snail?
Consider it making up for lost time, if you will.
Watch the gray light becoming more like day.
With unerring precision, you guide it down to rest in my palm
Awaiting further instructions.

I'm surprised your memories are triggered so slowly.
Perhaps this is all some kind of bizarre conditioning
With a sigh, we glance at the familiar purple spiral.

Has anyone seen my stained rhythm?
When I find it, we will engage in a different kind of game.
The first dream seizes you around the neck and hugs your skull to its chest.
Consider it making up for lost time, if you will.

Has anyone seen my smoking dungeonmaster?
Tonight was only the beginning.
Please, I've been good, just like you told me to.
I know you're listening!

Soon the spiral dissolves into a bolt of lightning.
Can I recall its melody? I close my eyes, focus inwards.
A cup, or a feather--can you make it float?
Yes, why not

An improvement on the original design
Because your mother already made it for you.

Yes, why not.



They say there is no hope to conjure you
If I could break you I could break a tree.
-dear--mysterious--beautiful-- white myrtle-flesh.
Optimistic expressions of the feminine.


He reached the girl, dug his claws cruelly into her
and someone else yelled, ‘Is that guy crazy?’
Radiation-exposure film, and violets whiter than the in-rush of her own white surf.
And of course, he knew their eyes weren't like ours.
Gasping for air, he looked around, but couldn't focus on anything.
He pressed a button on the bulb in his hand
A tingling sensation floated across his body, and sank like sediment to the tips of his fingers.
She turned and looked a moment in the glass, hardly aware of her departed lover --
‘The fewer who know about this, the better,’ she said.


Clone all the crosses.
Douche canoe! mock the prickle.
Clone all the crosses.

It wasn't all for nothing.
No, this was too early.

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made by Vixen Phillips | foxtail @ protonmail . com | @subtransience@tiny.tilde.website | @foxtailrainbow