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Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in Surrealist Games' LiveJournal:

Monday, June 5th, 2006
11:54 pm
[conrad_metcalf]
automatic writing
i found i couldn't write today i was cold and dead inside icebergs shift and heavens thrill me but nothing lives to die inside my head sing songs of birds making in shallow graves trying to impress upon themselves the proper etiquette towards dating english lads upon houses and graves dance the sharks living to consume us all as i hide inside lines of thought driving towards oblivion my life take the direction of a pre-schooler's art project mishapped upon by all awkward
what is death but no longer being buried
tomorrow is never coming live and die alone today
death is a subject we pretend to revere as we write immortal lines of drivel
knock knock who's there the man with the sickle who comes to eat the pickle out of the children's dreams and take the family back into the land of wealth and shame with no one to blame but our lack of ingenuity and wit

we write as if we revere only we fear nothing but ourselves in the eyes of the beholder our neighbor lying in wait
into sin he did begin to dance upon the flesh of a madman willing to impress his soul onto her eyes
will we ever be clean of sin?
where do we go when we die but no one knows and or wishes to try because
with each passing step across the imaginary barriers the mind takes more strain than can accommodate and eventually withers away into madness despair and disease so lets come and play in the sand castle for all eternity before the ocean washes us all away and we are again absorbed into the flow of life and the universe all around us and zeus casts bolts to fight for our souls against prometheus and we laugh at the gods for their problems are trivial for they pay nothing of the gas prices we all deal with except i walk and don't drive too fast is the key and they say the key is embedded inside our skulls waiting for the right hole to slip into
Wednesday, September 21st, 2005
9:19 pm
[dreamer_undone]
lists.
Please provide 10-12 reasons why you would not pay a toll-taker.
Saturday, September 10th, 2005
12:16 pm
[dreamer_undone]
Anyone willing to take over the community? Please, we could all use a little more ambition than I am willing or capable of mustering up.
Thursday, May 26th, 2005
11:12 pm
[dreamer_undone]
I've been sadly negligent with this community. I hope to start again with some new games, or at least invite everyone to do some more cut-up poems... Or, offer suggestions of your own, please.
Sunday, March 6th, 2005
10:37 pm
[dreamer_undone]
A few general thoughts:

- When responding to a game, please post it in the "Comments" field of the Game Post. That way, all the responses will be in one spot, much easier to keep track of and read.

- If you have a game you think we'd be interested in playing, please post it. But please try to limit game suggestions to one per week, so we all have time to catch up.

- And please, if someone's post strikes you as being particularly charming, beautiful, sublime, etc, let us know. While the surrealist games are intended primarily as a means of furthering personal artistic innovations, feedback is always welcome. (Unless, of course, you are going to tell me what a horrible poet I am. This I already know.)

Good luck!
Saturday, March 5th, 2005
11:47 am
[conrad_metcalf]
To Make a Dadaist Poem:
Take a newspaper.
Take a pair of scissors.
Choose an article as long as you are planning to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Then cut out each of the words that make up that article and put them in a bag.
Shake it gently.
Then take out the scraps one after the other in the order in which they left the bag.
Copy conscientiously.
The poem will be like you.
And here you are a writer, infinitely original and endowed with a sensibility that is charming
though beyond the understanding of the vulgar.
Wednesday, March 2nd, 2005
10:11 pm
[dreamer_undone]
As the mirror distorts, so do I. I have ventured upon a revision of "The mirror" in which I have excluded a dozen words, more or less. I am satisfied with the results, if only temporarily. If my disregard of the rules seems cavalier, let it be known that I struggled for several hours before deciding the truly surreal thing to do would be to dismiss any established order. Therefore, my remake.

"I meander with the mirror"

I see that the mirror feared my unknown blankness;
its glass face must reveal this visage feared
by men, children and also time.
The unvarnished, horrible black face of God,
looking from inside a blind and vague soul.

I mask bruised fear,
as mundane new-found colors
might conceal silent shadows,
I too harbor ordinary human shapes deep
within the stream of impersonal or imaginary space
of shy hours, whose guilt might perhaps
disclose another being -
the me a blue child sees. No doubt the true one.
11:37 am
[vodrazka]
Game #1: Emily Dickinson
The leaves, like women, interchange
by Emily Dickinson

THE LEAVES, like women, interchange
Sagacious confidence;
Somewhat of nods, and somewhat of
Portentous inference,

The parties in both cases
Enjoining secrecy,—
Inviolable compact
To notoriety.

-----------------------------------
The women of notoriety
by J.V.

THE WOMEN of notoriety
Interchange in secrecy
Inviolable sagacious nods
To both enjoining parties,

Somewhat confidence,
And somewhat inference,-
Like the compact
Cases of leaves.
Tuesday, March 1st, 2005
9:07 pm
[dreamer_undone]
Game #2
Take the following poem and perform the same operation as with your individual poem.

“The Mirror” by Jorge Luis Borges

As a child I feared the mirror might reveal
Another face, or make me see a blind
Impersonal mask whose blankness must conceal
Something horrible, no doubt. I also feared
The silent time inside the looking glass
Might meander from the ordinary stream
Of mundane human hours, and harbor deep
Within its vague, imaginary space
New-found beings, colors, unknown shapes.
(I spoke of this to no one; children are shy.)
Now I fear the mirror may disclose
The true, unvarnished visage of my soul,
Bruised by shadows, black and blue with guilt –
The face God sees, that perhaps men see too.
Monday, February 28th, 2005
1:21 am
[dreamer_undone]
Game #1
Take a poem you find randomly. Cut it apart, word for word. Use those words, and only those words, to compose your own poem. Please post the original and the remix.
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