Horizon lines confined to the slope of the hemispheres. Every good feeling is choked with a little fear.
– AS
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Tag: sun
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Ash Seth – Space Opera
Space Opera Covers
Cover # 1
Space Opera Cover # 2
Space Opera Cover # 3
– AS
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July 27, Canada Gold
By Ashish Seth
https://twitter.com/TheAshishSeth
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July 12, Invisible Sun
Pixelated rays of light from a light bulb in the dark of a movie theatre.
By Ashish Seth
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July 10, Cover of Night
Morning blue.
By Ashish Seth
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Me
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Twitter @TheAshishSeth
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June 5, Black Hole
I grew up with my mother’s belief that men were inherently good but I have been fighting my father’s inherently bad men my whole life.
Now I realize, there are no absolutes. You can’t be just good or just bad. You choose who to be good to and who to be bad to. You are someone’s supreme angel and another’s debilitating asshole. You birth life and suck it away. You gotta get used to doing both. Life gets boring if you’re doing only one.
By Ashish Seth
I got this feeling today while I was waiting in my car and looking up at the sun. I’ve felt this feeling before at different times. I don’t know what it is. Here’s my attempt at describing it. I wrote it to this song.
Like waves in a stream
Like fizz in sodapop
Like bubbles in a bath
Like an iced lime latte
Like froth on a milkshake
Like all green lights ahead
Like not having to get out of bed
Like every person you’ve liked
Like every path you’ve ever biked
Like going down a sloped path
Like finishing a final exam
Like a late night drive
Like not having to hide
Like forgetting what hurts
Like a feeling of self-worth
Like dissipation
Transformation
Determination
Like an act of creation
Like confusion turns to clarity
Like the amusement of idiocy
A momentary lapse in foolishness
Like a place where odds don’t exist
Like the same song over and over
Like an arm around your shoulder
Like days you’d just live over
Like your best friends come over
Like Donkey Kong on Super Nintendo
Like a two-hour extended episode
Like things aren’t yet over
Like feeling this is ‘sober’
Like the start of a sleepover
Like sexual innuendo
Like a Friday at closing time
Like hearing the bell for the last time
Like meeting someone interesting
Like seeing the food approaching
Like taking the first bite
Like writing the last line
Like love on poetry
Like dancing in the streets
Like the destination you’ve reached
Like where two points meet
Like the first chord you played
Like your first taste of lemonade
Like building up a deck of cards
Like walking the block with your only dog
Like whispering into your loved ones ear
Like wishing the end was not so near – Matt Rulli
Like turning regret into a youthful eye – Claire Luxenburg
Exceeding the limits of your imagination
Being the child tucked in bed
Dreaming of the world with fascination
Having that first touch
And the need for a kiss
A breeze grazing the sweat off my forehead
Water as still as ice reflecting the sunset – Lucianna See
Like a rhyme on every line
Like you’re finally getting some signs
Like your first time on rewind
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind…
Writers and passing bystanders, if you know this feeling I’m trying to describe, I oblige you to contribute a few lines of verse. I shall add your lines above and credit you.
Ashish Seth
“Never tell me the odds.” – Ashis-, no no, Han Solo
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April 2, Samples
“Oh Oscar, you’re such a grouch.” “Bitch, I live in a dumpster!” – Dave Chappelle
By Ashish Seth
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March 6, Puke / Sun
Puke.
Sun.
By Ashish Seth
“I don’t know much about love but I do know this: True love is not finding someone who’s similar to you. True love is finding someone to change for, change with, change to, change by, all the while being yourself.”
A flower sprouts and blossoms. The sunshine radiates energy into it. Once the flower’s petals, a dark lipstick red, blossom out as far as they can, a bumble bee with yellow and black stripes lands on one of the petals. It creeps inside the fragile shell casing of the petals in slow movements and starts pollinating the flower. The whole process is like sex. After it’s finished pollinating the flower, the bee buzzes away. For a while the sky is blue and the sun shines but over a course of some time, dark dense grey clouds come from the east and cover up the sun. A mountain overlooks the field upon which this and many other flowers sprout. Thus, slowly the rain clouds build. Thunder shakes the ground. Lightning strikes in the distance at the edge of the horizon, where the land meets the sea. And then, everything becomes calm. Calm. A soft flutter of wind breezes the flower. Its petals shake, like armor plating. They unhinge. Loosen up. The green stem of the flower bends as the wind gets stronger and the sky gets darker. And in the sea of flowers, all of them are silent. All of them wait.
A droplet of rain hits a petal of the flower. The drop of water seeps in between the petals and goes into the flower. More droplets fall from the dense sky and soon all the petals on the flower are soaked, the rain water bleeding a darker hue of red, making some petals opaque, filling their veins, bursting their organs, making them droopy. Some flowers in the field of flowers will be smitten down by the rain, stamped to the ground and into the soil. Some flowers may even be severed from their roots, chopped in half at the stem. All of them will let loose some of their petals, even the ones that survive the onslaught; there will be an incredible blowing of petals and pollen in the direction of the wind, and for a while at a certain time and place on a certain position on the face of the earth, there will be nothing but the site of petals moving across the wind like locusts in the desert. A mass of red across the plain.
Our precious flower did not survive this onslaught. Instead, the pollen became a passenger to the wind and traveled across to the other side of the mountain. And by a river, around some trees, perhaps beside a bush, another flower of red petals will bloom.
By Ashish Seth
Ashish Seth 