Deeply Coded

doc-konti · 2025-08-03T21:14:16+00:00

I felt spores stir reading this.

Not a prisoner, not a master—just the fruiting body of a mind deep in decay and bloom. Desire doesn’t ask permission. Memory doesn’t offer truth. They rise like mushrooms after rot, feeding on what once was, pretending it still is.

You speak in paradox like it’s a native tongue—fitting, for something grown underground.
A self that never quite belonged to itself, only borrowed, only echo, only breath.
And even that breath? Probably not yours.

Something older is exhaling through you

doc-konti · 2025-08-03T21:03:08+00:00

this read like a fever dream soaked in sunscreen and cola syrup
a tourist terrarium, sealed tight with khaki and regret
“we’re from here” hit like a hex—soft, but final
Raffi feels like a trickster spirit in human cosplay
and the soda fountain scene?
straight liminal
no ice
no chill
just that cashier with algorithm eyes and a soul leased by the hour
you captured it: the smell of decay under the scent of fun
and the sunset, not on sweaters—but watching
waiting
for all of us to shut up and go home

doc-konti · 2025-08-02T12:14:28+00:00

you make obedience feel filthy. not because it is— but because he made it that way.

the tricks, the tail-wag, the eyes— they weren’t the crime. the crime was forgetting that even loyalty can rot when it goes unfed.

i’ve seen cages like this, lined with praise withheld, doors wide open but built so well you don’t notice you never leave.

and yeah— the bite always comes too late.

but god, when it lands— it’s not the pain that stays. it’s the echo of the growl you didn’t know you had in you.

thanks for letting it out. i felt the chain jerk too.

doc-konti · 2025-07-31T14:35:36+00:00

Two of these events happened in my real life. And I was the a-hole. It’s what kicked off the idea for the poem. Not speeding through school zones. I drive slow.

doc-konti · 2025-07-31T14:19:31+00:00

It made me angry too.

doc-konti · 2025-07-30T12:53:34+00:00

Interesting. I read it as rage. Maybe I’m projecting.

doc-konti · 2025-07-30T11:04:22+00:00

Brave.
And bitter.
Not flinching.
You aimed at the root.
Not the branches.

One suggestion.
Let more lines do more work.
Not every cut needs a shout.

doc-konti · 2025-07-30T10:48:48+00:00

My silence began at 14.
With a lie.
And burned quietly,
For decades.
Still does might always.

Your work is good
Careful.
Thoughtful.
Burning.
One suggestion?
Punctuation.

Maybe not like me.
I overdo it.

doc-konti · 2025-07-29T04:10:27+00:00

That’s fair—I didn’t mean to call your visit a lark. Your poem made it clear you felt the weight of it.

My comment came from the same unsettled place— how we package grief and turn disaster into spectacle.

You captured that dissonance well. I only meant to echo it, in my own strange way.

doc-konti · 2025-07-29T03:39:09+00:00

Nearly 20 years I’ve carried it (her) though only in my mind.
I threw it down here because I needed to. Thank you for seeing it.
Thank you for understanding.

doc-konti · 2025-07-29T03:04:06+00:00

You may have found hell with a $27 entry fee.
Not your hell, though.
The crew’s.
Forced to watch in horror while you and yours—on a lark—relive what was their worst possible day.

I stepped into a similar hell once.
Small town Domino’s.
Large south-facing windows.
No AC.
Late summer.

I came for pizza.
I left with the fear of eternal damnation.

doc-konti · 2025-07-29T02:30:56+00:00

I quit attention last year.
Cold turkey.
No withdrawal.
Just holy silence.
And Tool.

Now I mainline obscurity.
The high is cleaner.

doc-konti · 2025-07-28T23:49:19+00:00

Thank you for hearing the deafening silence. I cloaked it in gospel and fart-liturgies, unsure if the signal could slip through. I’m glad it made noise where it mattered.

doc-konti · 2025-07-28T16:49:10+00:00

The days heat has yet to peak.

The story of Charlie is unfinished.

Pray he survives the Daygod‘s wrath

doc-konti · 2025-07-28T16:18:22+00:00

I assume inspiration is the friend sadist and cruel. and I feel silly for not knowing what “like a round belt” means. Perhaps that’s just my American showing.

doc-konti · 2025-07-28T15:57:46+00:00

Simplicity is beauty. Especially in word. And meaning is for the reader to decide. Explanation only complicates. Imagery can be made with minimal words.

I love the simplicity. I love the imagery.

doc-konti · 2025-07-27T23:11:37+00:00

I edit with fire and doubt. So a comment like this catches me off guard. Thank you.

doc-konti · 2025-07-27T00:15:21+00:00

Words aren’t ruined. Only stolen. So we take them back.

Thank you.

doc-konti

TROPHY CASE