Precariously Placed

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PRECARIOUSLY PLACED HILLARY MITTERTREINER



TABLE OF CONTENTS ME / MYSELF / I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 MEAN BEAN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 SUBSERVIENT SERVICE TO SELF-INFLICTED SLAUGHTER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 A TIME THAT YOU’VE LEFT BEHIND . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 MONUMENT TO NOTHING . . . . . 6 MAYBE? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 SAPPHIRE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 ENDURANCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11 A CRUEL, COMPLICATED KINDNESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 FROM THE TOP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 VENUS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15 PLACEHOLDER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 A GAME OF WIN OR LOSE? . . . . . 17 SAINT-JOSEPH’S WORT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .18 SOUNDSUITS & NICK CAGE . . . . 19 STUDY DIONYSUS . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 CRACK! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 CANTO IX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 HOW DOES ONE EVEN PUT A NAME TO THIS? . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 A CASCADING FLUIDITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24



ME / MYSELF / I

How do I describe the little facets that pull me here and there? A collection of moments grabbing the solemn, melancholic, joyous, the conflicted. Emphasis on conflicting and confusion. More often than not, the lure of the beautifully mundane and somber attitude of the city elucidates a whimsical fantasy. Existing only in the briefest of flashes, traces that are singed deep within my memory. And yet, the traces are gone just like that, and all that is left behind is a haunting of their former presence, what could have been. This is for all the love and pain I don’t know where to put, and don’t know how to say.

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MEAN BEAN

I clean to wash away the dirt Scrubbing to get rid of the stench. Bleaching the mildew from existence. I clean to wash away the memories. Scrubbing to get rid of the mistakes. Bleaching the worries from existence. I clean to wash away the memories. Scrubbing to get rid of the pain. Bleaching the realities from existence. I clean to wash and soothe my soul. Scrubbing to get rid of the toxins. Bleaching the stains to renew my calm.

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SUBSERVIENT SERVICE TO SELFINFLICTED SLAUGHTER

The smoke served you well. It’s silky high, satisfying and Sweet. Silently it severed the strands in your brain. So that it stained and soured your senses. And now every shot is your secret sacrifice, as you serve the syringe so dutifully.

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A TIME THAT YOU’VE LEFT BEHIND

Do you remember the dizzying bewilderment, as your stomach dropped, tears leaking from your eyes. An intensity that burned up from your stomach, breath in your throat. A moment hovering in time, perpetual and unending. Gasping for air, blood to your face, and a sweet joyous melody, rings out in space, loud and unashamed. Hands clutching your belly, as if to keep the pleasure forever. Do you remember, What it feels like to laugh like that?

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MONUMENT TO NOTHING

Covered and suffocated HIDDEN - Patiently waiting for nothing. Their succumb to horror, seized and bound. It is the dawn of their defeat. A body dead UNPERTURBED - Settling in emptiness.

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MAYBE?

Yes or no? Perhaps a lie. A means of shifting direction, signalling change or contradiction. Everything or nothing. Indecisive and ambiguous. Maybe, it is. Maybe it isn’t.

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SAPPHIRE

Look up and the crystalline surface twinkles above. Like a precious gem, it shimmers in intensity. Depths so deep, that below y feet the world goes dark. Horizon jutting across, marking sky from water. The clarity of the gemstone sea against the heavens marks a moment of peaceful tranquility.

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ENDURANCE

Learning to live with aching thighs, throat raw from every gasp, throwing the body over the hurdles as they come flying, tasting sweetness in the burn, each muscle tender and sore, yet the uncomfort is nourishing, as each struggling breath is rolled in nectareous delight, making the pain become all the more palatable, infusing strength within the bones and powering the will for survival with the hint of hope peaking through the periscope letting you know its within reach, hinting at, endurance, as the map to success.

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A CRUEL, COMPLICATED KINDNESS

Its an agenda he keeps hidden Eyes, the glimmering edge of a blade, caught in the light. A tight smile giving Way to deeper insight. Eclipsed, by a sinister truth.

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FROM THE TOP

Rocks Tumbling down the Mountain Eyes Rolling in their Socket Mouth A gob-smacked Void Water Flowing down the Drain An eye Staring back at Mine

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VENUS,

Silky limbs legs of curves, soft, supple Thighs meet at heaven’s gate. Though the eyes, hint at a restless being. Humanity malleable and fragile

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PLACEHOLDER

“I am‌ the weighty presence on your shoulders. a hollow sorrow dancing behind blue eyes. I am the pause you take, before you begin. An emptiness within, sending you in pursuit. You find me as a placeholder, solution never meant to last but my temporary fill is scant. I keep you looking forward, some wasted soul you spent, trailed behind, pleading. For all you see is potential warmth that will seal the cool melancholy.

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A GAME OF WIN OR LOSE?

Life is a game, how serious do I play? You roll your dice, no regards to those you hit. If life is a game, do you win in the end? You cheat and you lie, misery accompanying the descent If life is a game I don’t want to partake, You roll your dice, and we’re left with the ache.

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SAINT-JOSEPH’S WORT

It is a blossoming, pickled Kelly green, cinched at the centre. The taste of anise lingering within its delicate leaves. With dutiful care and warmth, it is protected from the wilt. It finds a friend in the tomato, as a beautiful deterrent. L’herbe royale, as the key to safe passage into death, opening heaven’s gates. Its sweet scent is a tender message of care, bringing luck and love in beautiful bunches.

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SOUNDSUITS & NICK CAGE

My Identity’s in and out Its own external entity. As expressed without a doubt I build protection with the Twigs that crackle around my face Moving with time, to who I’m meant to be From these roots, that snap and fly with a flick. I leave a trace, with their delicate kiss.

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CANTO IX

This swamp that breeds the Stench we enter. Three infernal Furies, Limbs of women and serpents, Girdles of the deepest green; The vipers soaked in blood. These are the handmaids of the Queen. With taloned nails, Tearing at their beating breasts. Must Gorgon show, For the eyes that behold her, Never again would leave these depths. Sturdy intellect he possesses, Observing the veil of verses so obscure.

Found from The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri - Inferno Translated by Allen Mandelbaum

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HOW DOES ONE EVEN PUT A NAME TO THIS?

*Sh sh sh sh* *whooooooooooooooogsh* *ehsheh ehsheh ehsheh ehsheh* *urghle urghle urghle* *argh shte* *eeeeeeeeeerrrt* *sh sh sh sh* *tsk tsk tsk* *meooooow* *eeeez huh eeeez huh eeeez huh* *MEOW* *ARGH AGH UHCH* *ugh*

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A CASCADING FLUIDITY

Life’s own gatekeeper A carmine pulse as Takes life with it Its velvet stream Rushing river As it flows like a Rich in its crimson depths Holding binding oaths Scraped knees Dribbling out from Beneath the skin It is the life that glows

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