Reflexion

As you were by the door

2012-02-04T19:38:00.000-08:00

I saw you walking the pavement
Your head lowered blank in a thought
I'm sure you were thinking of lovers
And all of that love that you bought
With the beauty in you that reverberates true
Across the walls of my living-room
And in the middle I sit trying hardest to fit
Into a chair that is not there
And I loved you so true and so bare
Your words they are so unfair.

Your feet they have taken you further
And you've seen what you can't ever touch
Or is that just a lie for me to believe
Does that, my love, amount to much?
The birds in the sky are just waiting to die
And fall whizzing into your hands
They're talking, my love, "come with us, above---
Flying in the bluest of sands."
But you have no belief in the air
Your breath is a diamond to share
Your words they are so unfair.

One day I left you forever
But you pleaded with me to come home
I laughed and I said, "only a matter of time,
How long can I be expected to roam?"
And then you stood by and said your goodbye:
"I'm with you wherever you're thrown."
But if that is so true and has anything to do
With you, then why do I feel alone?
But one must not give in to despair
And one mustn't believe in your prayer
For your words they are so unfair.

The Obnoxious Transvestite Society (Lithuania)

2012-01-25T07:48:00.001-08:00

HELLO I AM MULA FISCHER DUNCAN. I AM THE PRESIDENT OF THE OBNOXIOUS TRANSVESTITE SOCIETY FROM LITHUANIA. HERE AT THE OBNOXIOUS TRANSVESTITE SOCIETY, OR OATS, AS WE LIKE TO CALL IT, WE ARE TERRIBLY OBNOXIOUS TO EVERYONE WE MEET, ESPECIALLY STRANGERS LIKE YOU. WHICH IS WHY IT IS PERHAPS APPROPRIATE TO STATE THAT I AM CURRENTLY WEARING A YELLOW SOCK ON THE END OF MY PENIS WHICH IS BEING HELD ALOFT BY A MIDGET. WE DO THESE THINGS TO STAND OUT FROM THE CROWD BECAUSE HELL YEAH! WE'RE OBNOXIOUS! AND IF YOU THOUGHT THIS MESSAGE WAS AN INITIATIVE TO RECRUIT MORE PEOPLE TO OUR SOCIETY, THINK AGAIN. WE DON'T WANT YOU. WE'RE OBNOXIOUS. NANANANANANANANANANANANANANANANA LULULU I FARTED. HERE AT THE OBNOXIOUS TRANSVESTITE SOCIETY, WE ARE NOT TRANSVESTITES. IT'S JUST A NICE WORD. SORT OF LIKE "RUBBER" OR "UNFATHOMABLE". THIS IS MULA FISCHER DUNCAN FROM THE OBNOXIOUS TRANSVESTITE SOCIETY SAYING FUCK YOU! IT'S MY SANDWICH.

MINE.

The Winkle Foundation

2012-01-25T07:47:00.002-08:00

Hey there. This is Lewis Von Winkle from the Winkle Foundation for overly attractive women. Here at the Winkle Foundation you, an overly attractive woman, will receive first and foremost the warmest of welcomes, even warmer than your family or a weekend in Egypt on a hot afternoon in June. But that is besides the point. What else would I get? Is what you are probably thinking. And if you weren't, well, you're definitely thinking it now, aren't you negro? I'm sorry, but in my country, 'negro' means 'beautiful'. So where was I? Ah yes. The au naturalle foot massage. The personal beach with a bubble-bath sea, and best of all: a night with me! Yes, here at the Winkle Foundation, the grandest prize for you, overly attractive woman, is a night well spent at the Stuff It Inn with your very own Lewis Von Winkle! Oh and I love you, and it was me who stole your tea-cushion. No, I'm not sorry. It makes for a great festive hat. And I like it. It keeps things festive around your head. Like eating a can of bread with the sharp end of a spoon. Ha you fell for it, didn't you? Here at Lewis Von Winkle, we share a laugh before we spy on you. This is the Winkle Foundation, saying peace out, fleece in, mexico, pelvis girdle, space-tha-fuc-disco shit-graze dig mother bitchin'-funk-a-doodle-doo!

Cream Cheese Sex Clinic

2012-01-25T07:47:00.001-08:00

Hi, I'm Marcy Chadman from the Cream Cheese Sex Clinic. Here at Cream Cheese Sex Clinic, we clinically cheese out your sex cream, with an innovative alternative to a vacuum cleaner and we call it the Mexican. The Mexican comes in five sizes: tequila, tequila, tequila, tequila and large can of tacos. Not just that, we also have a special lump of a prize for all our patrons and slaves! Breast cancer! It's the new way to evolution! Here at Cream Cheese Sex Clinic, we spare our radioactive waste for your beautiful glowing skin, to glow brighter in a fluorescent manner for millenias to come, even after your death! And so much more for your most vulnerable areas: we have, for example, the rarest, most expensive form of herpes! Get herpes from celebrities and politicians! Be the new cool infected terminally ill pop-sock of our society! This is Marcy Chadman broadcasting from the Cream Cheese Sex Clinic observatory that is shaped like a drunk vagina, saying Hitler was a sweetiepie and my nipples went to France! Tune in next time for more creamy cheesy sex pick up lines for the clinically-impotent.

Men (for) Talking Boobs Organisation

2012-01-25T07:45:00.000-08:00

Hello, I'm Mark Zachary from the Men For Talking Boobs Organisation. We here at Men For Talking Boobs Organisation have a very long traditionally ingrained method of having a lively and wholesome conversation with the breasticles of our significant others. Now, many of you out there will say, "oh, dear god! A talking boob?! Preposterously sick!" But hear me out here. Imagine the scenario: You wake up one morning with your brain far up your butt because of all that damn tequila you drank last night. You didn't brush your teeth before you passed out so now the inside of your mouth tastes like the asscrack of a greasy fat man who stuffs bits of pickled garlic in between said asscrack. You get out of bed and limp to your toilet, which reeks of vomit and filth. Inevitably you miss the latrine while you absentmindedly take your cock out for a piss. The carpet turns a darker shade of its own colour as your stray piss accumulates around it. Right at this moment your wife comes in, swearing like a fucking dragon-slayer from the ghetto. You realise suddenly that she pays you no respect and makes you no breakfast. You slap her and she falls on the soaked piss-carpet. From then on she is quiet and listens to you, but you for the life of it cannot squeeze out a single word of conversation from her. However, she has sex with you for she is afraid you'll beat her. Quite alright. While you're down to business you gaze philosophically down at her luscious titties...and they say "hello!" You're amazed! Baffled! Turned on! You spend the rest of your life treating your wife like shit and having the conversations you can't have with her...with her own boobies! Through these years we have seen many breasts rise up to fame and flatulence: Squishy the Right-Wing talk show host in "The Daily Boobage", Rapunzel Finch who is a writer, writing on the eventual freedom of breasts from the bondage of women, and of course, Lilly and Lilly, the two talented twin tits who made it big...well, literally. So big, in fact, that they were most successful in UN peacekeeping missions where they were used as talking shields that would make bullets bounce noiselessly off them, and at the same time have a lively, loud and eventful conversation about money, education and the healthcare system with the enemy soldier. Yes, here at MFTO, we share a dream. This is Mark Zachary, and I just love boobies.

2012-01-24T07:46:00.001-08:00

this drifting brain
is harrowed through
in mindless laughter
it sings to you

boobies

2012-01-10T00:05:00.000-08:00

( o Y o )

drifting through the jungle

2011-12-28T22:48:00.000-08:00

keora leaves fall quietly on the
tired river that
moves steadily towards the
awaiting sea
one cannot be
aware of activity
at all times.
& at all times
tigers roam the
islands of the sunderbans
& at all times
i was not aware.
& all that was received was
a silent feeling of
being watched through
the darker trees
by two luminous
effervescing eyes.

breathe this green

2011-12-28T22:43:00.000-08:00

breathe this green
that echoes across
miles, that echoes
underneath a sleeping
river green. breathe
this green that
cancels the brown
of eyes breathing
and the green
breathing eyes
of the river.
breathe this green
through which we squint
for a hint
of orange and black
that never was
that always was
elusive.

2011-11-30T06:29:00.000-08:00

She was on him, screaming his name, squirming like a hungry maggot while He lay still enjoying the springiness of the bed. She was a passionate, fiery-eyed goddess and He was carrying an entire galaxy in his head. But in the end, underneath they were both dead. She longed for a countryside life with horses and pigs and cows and little yellow seeds that she imagined growing into big fat trees. He longed for nothing anymore, except perhaps the continuous oral care of his cock. To be honest both their dreams were futile, for while one tries to follow her dream, the other pins her down by the mouth with his manhood. These are all metaphors. In the morning they have coffee together, hungover without drinking, cross-eyed and cross with each other, for no apparent reason. It is just so. They have no work, no hassles, and no expectations from other people to slow them down. But here the question arises: slow them down for what? In twenty years time they will not go anywhere. The same house will stand in the same place at the same street, decaying. By that time his cock will not be able to pin down even a squirrel, and it won’t even matter. It will be too late, too late for her. Her blonde hair will be doled with wisps of grey and white silk, and her hands will be too coarse and deathly to hold the reins of a horse.

After a series of genial miscarriages her want of a life has faded away. Her eyes reflect the apathy and grief of her city, the streets of which are swarming and swarming with her brothers and sisters, all dead underneath. Yet they hide their loneliness well, deliberately and with haste. He likes to think that he doesn’t, anymore. His loneliness is poised on a sad little stage for all to see. He visits strip clubs and dingy pubs with suspiciously mangy women, who spend their time polishing their ten-foot fingernails with a hot bowl of wax while eating soup with their vagina dentate. They are strange. He is lonely. He likes soup but it doesn’t taste like anything anymore. Not with the coarse and deathly hands that prepare it.

They got themselves a dog, a thin old spaniel, name being Rasputin, blind as a worm. He wasn’t a very good dog, but that too is debatable. Half of her time went by cleaning his feces and washing all the insects crawling over his body. He drooled like a hagfish. She loved him but he only humped her leg, sometimes, half-heartedly. She tried to take him for walks but Rasputin would prefer to stay, instead, with Him. He on the other hand hated Rasputin and would tie him up to a poplar tree in the garden and kick him repetitively. After a point that seemed to be his favourite pastime. After a point Rasputin was no more. His ribs had been kicked open and he died a terribly painful death on a painfully festive night. She cried a little, while he got his excuse to get drunk with suspiciously mangy women. Life drifted by.

On the day of His death he was at the museum. A horrendously heavy night of drinking had left him wandering zig-zag with a bottle of rum in his hand all around town. A suspiciously mangy woman followed him, eyes rolling, lips wet. Soon enough and somehow or other he had stumbled towards the museum, and it seemed to him natural that, since he had come this far, why not give himself a free tour? The time seems right to see the history of our little ickle earth, what with the dinosaurs, and the fossils, and the artifacts, and all that science, mystery, legend, and fucking monkeys in caves staring placidly at a group of other monkeys wrapped in white staring at a group of other monkeys embroidered in gold, all these dumb fucking monkeys. Fucking monkeys, he thought. And so he broke in, and he walked halfway down the hall, and passed out, and in his sleep he choked on his own vomit and died. Fucking monkeys.

If anything, she was jealous. Her eyes had not delivered tears when she heard of His death. Her eyes had delivered only a look of confusion, and then a look of anger, and then a look of acceptance. And the next day it was a look of jealousy. It always leads to jealousy with these people, thought God, the most jealous of them all. And so, now she was all alone, and the house was as empty as her mind. She only felt grief, and a curiously large amount of self-pity. In her coming years she will never realise that the change she had wanted, the excitement she craved all her life, was always within reach, always in her hands. She only had to reach out and grab it, and shove it out towards the sky for all the stars to see. In the coming years she will never realise that she, like so many of us, has lived the life of a vegetable. And on the day of her death she, just like Him, will regret every day of her life. And those of us who do not experience life, but rather passively drift by airily without paying any attention, we shall all regret, and never be able to escape this spiral.

innerlimbo

2011-11-06T12:17:00.000-08:00

my lips they seem to have been sealed
i cannot say till it is revealed
for now my heart is still as stone:
it fell asleep to a simpler tone
it breathes and breathes in yellow sighs
and it may not stir until it dies
and within it lies another heart
that weighs too thick to be torn apart
that has no will nor life nor grief
that bears no way to feel belief
but deepest down i know of this:
you must fight for what you miss
and no heart of stone can ever stand
between me and my wonderland;
so i take my leave till it's revealed
my lips they seem to have been sealed.

lonesome night

2011-10-16T22:11:00.000-07:00

watch it grow, this lonesome night
this night i wish would fade to white
watch it breathing lullabies
watch it breathing through its eyes
my conscience chokes and cannot sleep
i've run too far and delved too deep
and now the road that led me down
has led me to my lonesome town
so now i'm here and i cannot leave
i cannot do what kings achieve
and when the world is cold and still
look out through your window-sill
watch it rise, this deathly plight
watch it grow, this lonesome night
the stars they're glowing yellow-white
the stars they're glowing crimson-bright
never dancing out of sight
never reading what i write
the stars they made my heart ignite
they need no love they have no fear
this lonesome night i disappear.

2011-10-13T05:47:00.000-07:00

Misery disappears at the realisation of a beautiful indifferent universe.

Hiding Under the Living-Room Table

2011-10-13T03:43:00.001-07:00

I have been hiding under the living-room table for almost a thousand years. I have hidden in many other places around the house, but this was my favourite spot. The living-room table. And a marvellous table it was, with it's precariously polished, beautifully carved legs that hung down like the limbs of a black jungle-god. By now everyone knows where I am, for they've figured out where I spend most of my time. Hiding under furniture. They call me furniture man. One day while I was concentrating on my usual hiding posture I was surprised to see a little girl sneaking in from behind me, her eyes big and wide with fear. I asked her what the fuck she was doing here. She said she was running away from her captors, and I peeked outside and I saw her entire life in the shape of a jackal scavenging through the room, in search of its vessel.

Why am I here? I could jolly well be outside, running around in the park playing frisbee, or eating ice cream, or just generally enjoying myself. However the fact of the matter is that I am still enjoying myself, outside or not, and rather immensely at that, in my little dim rectangular cave under the living-room table. There is a difference between isolation and solitude. Here, I have all that I need. Sometimes, I sneak outside and merge with everyone else to keep them happy. But wherever I go, I am always under the living-room table.

The only time I feel I should abandon my shelter is when I am in love. When I am in love, I falter. I no longer wish to be by myself, but rather with (and very awkwardly so) the one in question. I am like a cowardly dog, too afraid to come out from under the sofa to take his little scrumptious treat. I am afraid, perhaps, of heartbreak, and perhaps I am not afraid at all, but merely apathetic. Or perhaps I am afraid of dependence. I falter.

Her hair is a mesh of golden brown, almost the shade of her eyes. I remember watching her walking by, I remember dreaming. She remains beautiful, she remains graceful, while I remain untrodden, silent, staring. She is also afraid, she is indeed hiding. She is yet to pull me out. When we are together our tables bump against each other. She knows nothing yet, but might just be curious. I may be curious. I may have faltered. But I have faltered while sitting under the living-room table. And I have loved under the living-room table. And I am in love under the living-room table, wishing I could just crawl out.

2011-10-12T05:55:00.000-07:00

Why are we here? Not to exploit, or destroy, or deceive, or hate, or multiply, or believe, or even to love, or travel by foot, bus, train or flight, or just to smile and be happy. We aren't here for fate, wisdom, or grief. Nor are we here at someone else's expense, or because it was our destiny. No, we aren't here for any of that. We aren't here for anything at all. So why are we here? It doesn't matter, fact is that we are. Relax, just enjoy the ride.

Autumn Lady

2011-09-28T21:40:00.004-07:00

It's been many lazy afternoons
That I've seen you through your window
You were dancing in the living-room
You were spinning nice and slow

And I entered through the garden door
And I caught you before you fell
For I know that you have constantly
Been falling to the floor
And I've seen the way you look at me
I've seen your eyes before

And the sun had stopped its shining
And the seas are breathing softly
While your eyes they shimmer brighter still
Like a star from long ago

And the stairways zigzag through the trees
That stand outside your walls
They hang onto the highway
For fear they too will fall

And the gates of hell have been grieving
To have lost the sight of you
And no king nor god can ever fathom
The things that you can do

And the sun had stopped its shining
And the seas are breathing softly
While your eyes they shimmer brighter still
Like a star from long ago

And your breath it sifts the sand at night
As we sleep upon our beach
It stretches white for miles and miles
Its end too far to reach

And I've taken all for granted
And I predict what could be said
But you, you stand a fortress
And your soldiers have left me dead

And the sun had stopped its shining
And the seas are breathing softly
While your eyes they shimmer brighter still
Like a star from long ago.

And every second my eyes rest upon
The path that you have walked
My heart he leaps and disappears
And my lips they cannot talk
For I know the path that you have chose
Was the path that I have strode
But I'm lost and my shoes have tethered down
From the friction of the road

And the sun had stopped its shining
And the seas are breathing softly
While your eyes they shimmer brighter still
Like a star from long ago.

Atonement

2011-09-21T10:10:00.000-07:00

Our night is young
It sweeps the sky
In its cradle
We learn to fly
And one can see
One wear a smile
And snigger secrets:
Secret guile
And long ago
Within my sleep
I fought a war
I went too deep
Now that is lost
And lost for words,
I sit and stare
At shadowed birds
That sweep the sky
Forever young
Riding verses
Of songs unsung
Yet here you are
With your pretty hair
And I look at you
And I sit and stare
So hear me, love
And heed my cry:
Our night is young
And shall never die.

2011-08-23T11:58:00.000-07:00

these people that are now a crowd,
these people that have screamed aloud,
their sorrow hides behind their frown,
their stories i shall pen them down.

To a bird

2011-08-23T00:10:00.000-07:00

in the streets that we have bought
i have seen you lost in thought
in the plains of grief and naught
i have seen you walking.

and upwards you had hitched in lifts
and downwards i have moved in shifts
and never have we paused for gifts
nor water nor conversing.

and i have seen your inner world
and i have seen your sighs unfurl
in fits and screams they swirl and swirl
without rhyme or reason.

and as i drift on further down
through our moon's dressing gown
there is no tear nor grief nor frown
only quiet acceptance.

and as you circle up in time
through fields of forest smoke sublime
most definitely in your prime
too soon you reach the sun

and when you touch the fireball
one day baby you have to fall
and spiral down where angels call
to you in dreamy murmurs.

so do not breathe another sigh
for in my dream you learn to fly
and in my dream you never die
this dream that spirals downwards.

and in the streets that we have bought
where we have drifted lost in thought
where the city groans in grief and naught
existence has no meaning.

2011-08-15T23:15:00.000-07:00

how long has it been?
how long, through these filthy semen streets
have i been walking?

these things on the wall

2011-08-10T06:15:00.000-07:00

these things on the wall who are forever in yearning
these things on the wall who will forever be sleeping
they stand for no man and they stand for no minstrel
and they are standing no longer but are hiding in mirrors
these things on the wall they have reflected my reverie
they surround you with hunger till you cry out a memory
and every waking morning they will feed on my conscience
and they follow me in subtleties till i end up going nowhere
and they wait for me in numbers and are guided by shepherds
and they dance around their campfire and lather in their alcohol
and none have ever lingered for more than a moment
and none will ever linger for the rest of this evening
and there will be no one to come follow me tomorrow
and one cannot fathom the weight of their sorrow
but soon it shall pass and soon shall be forgotten
and i will never look back over my shoulder
these things on the wall they are waiting for morning
these things on the wall they have truly been learning
and they have leapt on the trees but not on the mountains
and they are leaping over rivers and riding the oceans
these things on the wall, they are not breathing
these things on the wall, where are their shadows?
these things on the wall, where are their shadows?

2011-08-06T06:02:00.000-07:00

My motives are lost in repetitive thought.

estranged

2011-06-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

this face is not mine
these hands hold no dust
nor shine
nor an ounce of love that lived on
in the creeks of my skin
i, within
a world submerged
upside down in the waters
of sweetest nonchalance
yet if perchance i wake up
from this terrifying terrifying sleep
hold me tight, sir Tragedy!
for i refuse to fall back:
god knows i can't swim.

Fat Rape Morning Sickness

2011-06-07T11:00:00.000-07:00

Today while reading the paper I bumped into what seemed then like a familiar tale: "Man Raped by Woman". Within a span of five seconds after reading the title my mind was attacked by an immense number of irksome, incoherent images of the likes of slime and hairy feet fucking the shit out of me. Do not be baffled. It happened, and a very long time it was as well. She was a hefty age of fourty-three. In fact, the difference between her age and mine happened to be an entire year more than what my age was at the time, which was twenty-one. So you can imagine I had mixed feelings about this business from the beginning.

She was a tall, flabby woman with big bones. I say "tall, flabby woman with big bones" so as to protect my now twisted ego. In actuality, she was a humungous whore of a lump. She had layers of rich fat skin with the occasional unsuspecting mole that popped out now and then in between the fat, which from the neck gradually began to grow more substantial in size as your eyes traced her gruesome chest hair all the way to her saggy old pussy that roared like a dirty little hungry tiger. It smelled like a fishmarket, and I wondered what in the world I was doing there. I couldn’t leave because she had me by the balls. She told me I was beautiful and I blushed and span around the room for her while she looked me up and down, a cigarette between her fingers. She coughed now and then, not a man's cough, and not a woman's either, but rather somewhere in the middle. She stuttered a lot, and being an avid user of eloquent words, you can imagine how long the foreplay dragged. At one point, maddened by her Sisyphean efforts to finish pronouncing the word "pulchritudinous", I screamed at her to fuck me, as I could no longer hear her "p- p- p-"s and "r- r- r-"s without my brain exploding into mushy cinders. "M-m-m-make y-y-y-y-y-your w-way ov-ver t-t-t-to my p-p-p-p-p-elvic g-g-girdle, love", she said. I took my clothes off and tried to jerk my dick to an erection, but that plan was going nowhere. In fact, it began to shrink, smaller and smaller, till at one point I feared it would vanish and I would be left with probably a lone clitoris because God took pity on me. God is a subversive that way. In fact, do away with God, that subversive son-of-a-bitch! Looks like I wouldn't be getting that clitoris after all. Luckily for me though, my penis did not vanish, and with some difficulty I was able to slide it into her vagina. It did not work for long, so I tried to think of some sort of sexual fantasy that could bring me back into the picture with a respectable erection. I covered my mind with a blanket of breasts, while she blanketed my face with her own, which gave me some solitude to think, and in a matter of seconds my pole was up and my flag ready to be flying. I could not figure out, though, how I could penetrate her, and she could not help with her head on the far side of her body, isolated from her vagina by the wall that was her tremendous belly.

She spread her hog legs as far as she could, and the stink from her pussy thickened, and I cried, silently, while fucking her, cowgirl style, while she grunted like an animal and then, suddenly, holding me by the face, slammed my mug into her pussy. Inadvertently I was stuck there for several hours, till her husband came in and saw her with a man's head up her slit-hole. He took pity and slid my head out with the help of some kerosene. I had to, of course, tell her "thank you" and "you have been most gracious" and "we must see each other again", but really, what choice did I have? She maintained that what we had there was love, although I have never felt having your head up a fat woman's vagina is ever an integral part of love. However, it was to be accepted, because who will believe me when I tell them I was raped by a female? I'd sooner tell them I'm a wizard with an oracle penis. That'll have them going for a while. But the former? Unbelievable. The incident in the paper seems to be a sort of breakthrough for us humans, and perhaps the days have finally come when our collective consciousness will grow like mushrooms and in the brink of the explosion that will be our final step of the ladder, we will realise that women can definitely rape the fuck out of men.

Starry-eyed

2011-05-19T00:31:00.000-07:00

Wave goodbye to moments akin
Ferment the flesh of the fruit of sin
Sip it, now, with nonchalance
In death do I live my foreverdance.

Icarus

2011-05-19T00:29:00.000-07:00

Red gleamed white in this brightest night,
Red rushed past my eyes.
Like angels soft and sad with hearts
That fell into the skies.
In leaps and bounds we spread our wings,
In leaps and bounds we flew---
But I dreamed too soon, I dreamed too soon,
I dreamed I dreamed of you.

2011-05-09T02:51:00.000-07:00

Verusian Vinniefly.

mole in the crown

2011-04-26T23:52:00.000-07:00

procrastinator! she said
minion of the mundane!
plant your head onto my earthy bosom,
i have love yet to spare for slackers like you.

she wanted me to fuck her
(till limp,
till hanging:)
and i was to let her know when i was done
perhaps fill out a few forms
(a nod here, a signature there)
i came all over her ideals;
and shoved my religion down her throat:

"how do you like that?"

we hid ourselves under the blanket of government
but little did she know,
i was a bedbug.

His little box

2011-04-26T01:06:00.000-07:00

Years later, I found a little box where I kept my most prized possessions. It was empty. Had I not wanted anything as a child? Perhaps I had lost everything. I remember losing my toys at a ridiculously rapid rate. Even now I consistently keep losing things, and people don't trust me with their lighters and matches any more. I pocket them absent-mindedly. I pocket all sorts of things absent-mindedly. (I am an absent-minded thief.) I am stranded in my self-made island of wretched carelessness. I mean no harm. (I am a harmless possum.)

It was empty.
Are we compelled to put things into our little boxes and spend the rest of our lives scavenging through our neighbour's backyard looking for more? I hold every shit in the morning closer to my heart than mere material wealth.
Often I drown myself in self-pity and try to justify my disregard for the enormous web of humanity that surrounds me, with vague philosophical ejaculations. They are all premature (ha, ha). It seldom works. Perhaps it is the sperm count (my philosophical penis is weak). I am like a dog without an appetite in a land of raining biscuits.
I have recurring dreams. I have recurring dreams of being followed by a dog, rabid and mangy, mouth frothing at the lips. He stalks me everywhere I go like a lonely drifting spirit, inching closer all the time but never close enough. Every morning after, I would awake with goosebumps scourging my back and no morning erections. (I still have these dreams now and then and cannot figure out why he is so intent on following me even into offices, banks and classrooms. I must be going crazy.)

I must be going crazy. People mention this all the time but seldom mean it. It is half-hearted and lethargic. It breeds loss of breath. It is death. Often it loses its meaning and observers let it go by without pausing to mull it over. Words die in conversations on the profound. (Words die in English classrooms.) Usually it is a lie. If a man were to truly realise the inevitable demise of his sanity, it would send a nerve-racking chill up his spine (And plant rabid dogs in his dreams. He will be followed everywhere forever and ever.) If I am to go insane, I will need nothing more than an empty room and a box of paint. (I have learned to keep things simple.) I will paint the room to my liking. People can watch me as I paint the walls over and over again. It will be like a zoo. (I am a majestic tiger, and the paint is my roar.) (I am Sisyphus, and the paint is my boulder) They will throw me treats now and then and I will grovel and drool on the floor like a pathetic worm. (Insanity is no joke.) I hope to goodness I don't become crazy enough to eat all of the paint. I hope it never happens (and now it will because I've thought of it. That's how it is on this bitch of an earth.) That would be a real shame. (What will I draw with?) That is bad enough to be deemed as torture. (What will I do when I'm bored?) I hope they don't put me in a straitjacket. I expect I will die out of an excess of defiance (paranoia) or claustrophobia (paranoia). It has to be paranoia. I do not trust myself. (Sometimes I feel that everyone I know are aware of something important, and keeping it secret from me) How will I draw with a straitjacket on? I will have to use my mouth. I will have to try. Apparently some people can paint with their anus. (I will have to try.)

I will have to try and put things into my little box. Maybe cut-outs of pretty girls and some money. (These days little boxes are known as banks). I wonder if it will matter if I am to go crazy anyway. (Will I remember?) I have not given up. I give up.
I will not remember.

2011-04-20T03:19:00.000-07:00

the sky is red with anger and the deserts are still yellow. in the city the streets wind down like ancient serpents, hissing in a hollow drone, its alleyways wet with dead rats and subway semen that turn up all the way from the crowded subway below. and yet the irony is, artists are still painting beautiful pictures.

blue

2011-04-01T10:47:00.000-07:00

blue the colour of september
blue this dreary night of march
blue the skies after withered storms
blue the drunken days at hand
blue my mourning motherland
blue the skin of corpses cradled
by the lonely love of a river
(the river not so blue anymore)
blue the heart of fire
blue this world of prying prying souls
blue cockroaches in manholes
blue your grey eyes
blue my heart
where black applies.

Night-time

2011-03-31T21:48:00.000-07:00

Tonight, under a sleeping sky,
I kissed the moon and waved goodbye.
For she, unspoken, had grabbed my heart:
Our love can tear the world apart.
And so, after our night went pale,
I checked to see if our love was stale.
And lo, behold! I found no heart:
She took that away before the start
Of the time when we slept
tangled, insane,
Of the night where she spread
into my brain,
And I smiled to myself, and I wrote her a song;
I will see you again, it won't be long.
I will see you again, it won't be long.

2011-03-21T20:02:00.000-07:00

Dream before your time is nigh,
Dream before your turn to die.

Whisper

2011-02-22T08:10:00.000-08:00

To you, my brother, these lines are laid bare.
To you, my brother, I weep freely.
For the needlestain junkies in the streets have flung me out,
And all the minstrels in their opera halls have spat their hatred on my face,
That boiled sickly sweet so much so that entire cavities drilled through my brain
and kissed the stars that hung around fucking and multiplying in their sky-beds above
I have been pushed into an orgy clown-box
by people who had considered me innocent,
and white and shiny like a rare diamond,
which when it looked into the mirror
saw itself in kaleidoscopic horror,
I have toiled under sack upon sack of wounded hearts
which I stitched with the skin of my shivering lips, which in turn
hung limp and loose and paranoid and unable to kiss,
I have toiled under entire mountains of protruding eyeballs squirming and staring staring staring,
staring maggotridden and stinking,
I have toiled under the stink of justice,
for I had wronged, I have wronged, I will err,
I have toiled, I have toiled, for a snail-paced decade of decadence
And with my fingernails I have scratched a stranger's face
That sat placidly on my neck, unwillingly, obscurely
Fingernails that bled profusely from their tendons
that hung bare and peeled off if you picked at it enough,
I have walked through slimy green gangrene greentown redtown blacktown downtown alleys
where angels fucked themselves over gigantic barrels of whiskey,
their dicks hanging out like some
ugly decaying stinking sucker-mouth sucking the night air,
which they briskly tucked into their trousers at nine o' clock, sharp,
their dicks, not the night,
passing greying, dying versions of themselves without a second thought, indeed, with disgust; indeed, with guilt;
I have fallen through the flickering trickholes of love
and landed on soft pillows of indifference and often I have died,
and I have called for you, brother
when I lay in bed with my brain throbbing on the far side of the room,
I have screamed, screamed for slithery electric eels
to tie themselves like a noose around my tongue,
before I cry out:
"Shit! Filth! Suckers of Satan's cock!
Mongrels! Murderers!
Fuck you! Fuck yourselves!"
And yet I refrain, I refrain
My heart is heavy,
My heart is wilting,
And to my lovers: I have forgotten you
with a sort of kindness that you must have used to forget me,
I have forgotten your eyes when we fucked day and night,
I have forgotten our kisses when I look at your silhouetted face,
only ready to show itself after
a decent diplomatic mask has been chosen,
I have forgotten our grief when we sat dawdling in empty rooms
with heavy walls that vomited nightmares and toxic ooze,
and our flowers are now scattered along an unremembered road.
I have forgotten how to awake,
I have forgotten myself, and sometimes
I forget the world.
I have toiled, brother,
I am dying, brother,
And I do not know where I am.

2011-02-18T22:30:00.001-08:00

Love love love love love
la-la-love
makes the world go WAR

Tragedy

2011-02-15T09:18:00.000-08:00

We laughed, we cried,
Side,
By side,
We danced, we danced; However---
The shine we held was thus expelled,
And she hid her face, forever.

I searched our cheers for years and years.
I searched, until today.
She was, perhaps, a dream, of sorts:
A dream that slunk away.

Starry-eyed

2011-01-23T22:14:00.000-08:00

Wave goodbye to moments akin
Ferment the flesh of the fruit of sin
Sip it, now, with nonchalance
In death do I live my foreverdance.

Loop

2011-01-23T19:56:00.000-08:00

I must have entered through the back-door, although it could have easily been the front, if I happened to looked at it that way, once, twice, thrice, or if all of us inside already chose to perceive it that way, but that was not the case, as the case may be, or must have been, and so I must have entered through the back-door, the black-door, the aging, deceased, forgotten minority of a door, even though there have been only two doors as far as I can remember, as the rest of the front and back-doors ceased to exist completely, like when you shut your eyes as tightly as possible till starshine seeps into that enveloping vacuum that floats, infinitely, infinitely, I wouldn't know, I don't know, I must have known, I must have entered through the back-door, I don't remember, I forget, I don't remember, I have forgotten all of you in the process of remembering where I have come from and how I came to be here, I have forgotten all of you for I grew fond, grew to be perhaps, perhaps too engrossed with myself, my hands, my feet, and the world around me from which you were to be rubbed off, erased, the world that I entered through the back-door, the black-door, the strong, silent, stone door, I have walked on oceans, yes, oceans deep and oceans wide, deep and wide I entered the back-door, the black-door, after which all of you were forgotten and the gaping hole that was left in my memory was filled with that back-door, that black-door, the door behind which stands a million-foot fall, I fell, I fell, I slipped away, through the back-door, the black-door, I don't think I will ever remember when we are.

A Letter of Apology To That Little Man Inside My Brain

2011-01-17T04:08:00.000-08:00

Little man, speak;
For you have been silent for many nights
And I have made you wear silly smiles,
As you walked back,
Endlessly,
Back to your curious little cave-lair,
My head.

Little man, scream;
For you are very very angry with me,
I know,
And I would really really like to make it up to you.
Truly, honestly.

This time, we walk back together,
Endlessly,
Back to our curious little cave-lair,
My head.

Fucking Alcoholics

2011-01-13T22:48:00.001-08:00

Wake up, wake up, little child,
And smile your toothy smile.
I have heard your calls through your little red window,
And I, I have decided to help you.
I have decided to help you
Fight the man-eating monsters under your bed.
That being said,
It will cost you a cookie,
And seventeen golden coins,
For each ghoul I slay.
And if streaks of treachery
Cross your mind even by an inch of hair,
I will sit you firmly on your chair.
And you will have to watch,
As I beat your pregnant mother with a bottle of scotch.

Call me Dad.

Agony

2011-01-13T08:27:00.000-08:00

It was one of the brightestnights in his life and he lay on his green grass-bed blinking unblinking at the starry starry night-sky ceiling shimmering sleepily above him, like divine rosy cheeks of a white virgin goddess. He bid the world the softest of sighs, and closed his crescent-moon eyes. Inside, a massive pulsating void vast as the ocean and scarlet as the fiercest of fires engulfed his torso as he melted into a gleaming green stretch of deep-seated joy that was his happy little room. His jingling, shrieking box of kaleidoscopes. His dancing, singing, jingling, shrieking box of kaleidoscopes. His secret, silent trap-door. And yet if all was well and the world was shiny, then why, oh why so glum?

Poor child, he was colourblind. He was deaf. And he was alone, for his parents had passed away.

The end

Eugene

2010-12-28T22:12:00.000-08:00

He woke up on a day like any other crawling out of his cave-lair like an earthworm blind and cold surrounded by the enveloping grey neglect that was his room. Poor Eugene. Poor, poor Eugene. Sunlight thudded silently on the lone square window boarded up with cardboard and a deep-seated resignation pertaining to the brighthappy day outside. And the world whispered in his ear, "go away! go away and never come back!" I daresay it was possibly a misanthropic fly buzzing close to his ear laden with boisterous diseases of the soul but Eugene perceived it differently. So what was Eugene to do? Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, decrepit Eugene. His receding hairline was all that he had, his gleaming bag of diamonds and rainbows. His vibrant, actively receding hairline. Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, aging Eugene.

" Do I include the World in my miseries? It is there, sure, waiting, waiting, waiting for me to come to a proper, democratic, unanimous conclusion. It stares at me with famineblue eyes challenging my degeneration. Do I stand strong? Do I dare? The scent of all its grief and all its wars unceasingly draws deep lines and caves under my eyes. It is one thing to go against the world, or the world against you, or love against grief, or grief against plunder...but alas, now it is a mere heartfelt pause that resides in my isolation. My conscience, he chuckles, and sips his wine. Poor, poor Eugene. Poor, dead Eugene.

Love thy neighbour and covet his ox.
Shut me away in my kaleidoscope box.

Red-Velvet

2010-10-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

My name is Épais Velours and this is not the beginning of my story. My name isn't Épais Velours either---but I made it up because I don't like my real name (But I like my last name. It sounds funny in Estonian: Kibestunud). I am 12 to 21 years old. In a few minutes my father will take me to an Asylum. He says it has soft rooms and bright, white lights. And nice people in white shirts who will take care of me. I don't want to go. I heard him tell my mother it's next to a 'desolate' beach, slithering towards a sleepy sea. I made sure to take my mother's vial of pills from the cabinet in her toilet before my father and I left in his favourite sedan. Apart from some of my clothes, my bag consists of a toothbrush, a vial of diazepam, a vial of dextropropoxyphene, three strips of nitrazepam, smoking paper and a gram of cannabis. I'm sure there are a few alprazolams in my bag, hiding. I'll find them later. Before we'll leave I'll smoke a doobie outside in the garden, behind mother's blooming rhododendrons. My cousin was supposed to come with us, and toke with me, but he didn't turn up. I don't know why. Maybe he's sad. Or depressed. Depressed is a nicer word. It has a more official feel to it.

The doobie is over.

8:15 PM. We're finally on the road, and my father is humming his favourite song. I've never liked it. He learnt it in the army.

8:30 PM. I'm in the backseat of the sedan and on five tablets of nitrazepam. It'll take a while to hit. It takes six hours to drive all the way to the Asylum.

9:15 PM. 10 nitrazepams, 5 diazepams and 15 dextropropoxyphenes. I found some sort of pill in my bag called ACE-PROXYVON, and I popped three of them. I feel sort of woozy---some sort of effect on my cerebellum---otherwise I'm experiencing a slow slur towards double vision and an aching desire for a smoke.

2:15 AM. My name is La Lumière Rouge, and this is not the beginning of my story.

4:00 AM. Timothy Tart brought in dead. Cause of death: Overdose.

This is the beginning of my story.

2010-10-13T13:59:00.001-07:00

If God was a desert,
You would be his desert flower.
And if God was a desert,
I would be his mirage.

And if God was a mirage,
I would be religious.

And if I were to be religious,
We could've been good together.

We could've been good together,
If I were to be religious.

But, alas---

Realisation Song

2010-09-15T11:25:00.000-07:00

A falseweak sun at the break of dawn
Tugs at hearts bent on being forlorn
Till a fad of farse and fault is born
A fad which we all secretly want to belong to

And those of you who empathise
With shallowsheep in wolf's disguise
Who know nothing but still criticise
Their lungs full to the brim with blackhole lies:
Do you really think that you ought to?

And those of you with shirts and ties
Who never witness the change of skies
Or suns and moons, but mere hellogoodbyes
It's time that you wipe the sand out of your eyes
And realise that our world is stark naked

But don't you blame
Another name
For in the end we're all the same
Stuck together in a go-go game
That goes on and on, oh what a shame
That we cannot escape this spiral

And those of us who fall in love
With hope that there are harps above
Will fall out of it soon enough
When we realise that haloed men don't exist here

And I'm not here
To bring you down
I'm not here to witness frowns
All I want, babe
Is to wipe that sand out of your eyes

Just realise,
Realise,
Realise;
And wipe that sand out of your eyes
And then it's pretty easy
To smile as long as you're alive----
Just avoid the rules of human beehives

And when the coast
Is sharply clear
Bottoms up to your mug of beer
Let music crawl inside your ears
And dissipate all your fears
You'll find out, man
It ain't that hard to smile forever

'Cause all I want, babe
Is to see you smiling.

Kisses of moonshine

2010-08-12T09:22:00.000-07:00

(We are one)
In our land
We're drunk
and we're high
On lifelesslove
and the taste of the whitest of lies
No need for shallow
hellogoodbyes
And there's no need for you
To preach to me
On love and life and the things that be
Many preachers before
have said the same thing to me.

(In the mornin'
She was there
With her long flowin'
Flowin' hair
But in the evenin'
We're leaving
our separate ways)

Sleepysilent heart of mine,
Drunk on kisses of moonshine

And don't you forget
All the songs we sang
In our wildest breath
Lay this secret land
And don't forget
To kiss, and sigh
Watch time fly
slowly by
Like an albatross in the sky

And don't you leave
Your girl in love
Leave her staring
At stars above
Take her by the hand
To an otherworldly land

Sleepysilent heart of mine,
Drunk on kisses of moonshine

With a girl by my side
I've got nothing on my mind
Without a care in the world
I've got nothing on my mind
There's nothing on my mind

And so it was
Laughter at dawn
No more summertime blues
Or feeling forlorn
We were reborn

Sleepysilent heart of mine,
Drunk on kisses of moonshine

suck my cock

2010-07-31T16:02:00.000-07:00

If you fuck with my brothers I will slice off your throat and drink your blood but you are all my brothers whywhywhy alienate me leave me the fuck alone and witness your dead fucking skies by your own fucking self because you see my little brothers it may be that all I need is a drink to lubricate this flow of jackfuck but all I have is cancer and an empty mind overflowing with inabilities to express this flow of jackfuck goodbye.

truth

2010-07-25T13:49:00.000-07:00

truth

today,
tonight,
these days,
(our so called)élite intellectuelle
(ssssss
s)uck on success and lick the heartlessboots of men without souls
and a blinded void for a heart.

****

andnow, we
pause and exuent...
...and enter my brain---

andthereisachange:

POP ecstasy and shutthefuckup;
DROP acid and shutthefuckup;
DRUGS ARE COOL shutthefuckupBUTWAIT:

i smell a miracle

a miracle!

****

!jesus is coming
look queasy,
and puke, piss, shit fuck, wank and spit
on his filthy decrepit dickfucked morningwood handnailed bitchcross----

and the same goes to your god:

you
must be blind;
unwind.

i am (am i) sorry for speaking my mind (?)

***

i have a heart that is made of stone
i have a heart that you condone

****

the universe is indifferent to our grief.
let it go, ladies and gentlemen, and accept relief
but

the universe is indifferent to our relief.

bluegreyplateau

2010-03-19T03:28:00.000-07:00

It is a still-life silver evening,
Coffee on the moon.
As back in Earth, love rolled on,
To a thin, insipid tune.

Overhead was a breathing sky,
Who shook with songsandstars;
As amongst the chaos sang a lamenter:
A dim red planet, called Mars.

Back in Earth, you stood faceless,
Bathing in rush and red;
But don't you know, dearest freckles
Beneath all that ego, you, indeed, are dead.

And the waitress took my coffee away.
Yes, closing time was nigh.
As I sat there in a shroud of smoke---
I was floating in the sky.
Again, she told me, "it's time to go,
As the cigarettes have been fired."
I asked her for
just one
last
toke,

But the ashtrays had retired.

On mixed emotions

2010-01-16T03:32:00.001-08:00

Too soon, too soon
you took flight.
This just might be, madame
the very end
of our brightestnight.

Ode to euphoria

2010-01-04T19:56:00.000-08:00

We made love
In a labyrinth of sparkling moonlight,
Painting shadows in the sky.
Your body writhed,
In soft rhythmic motions;
To the pulse of swerving sitars.
I could hear your breath:
Rising...falling...rising...falling...
And in a burst of euphoric mirth,
I followed the beat of your heart,
And sang a song to your eyes;
As swirling smoke rose from an incense stick,
Caressing the deadfolds of a deadcalm satin curtain.

Realise, friend
How utterly beautiful your life is.

Realise.

2009-11-17T11:24:00.000-08:00

A dusky jewel,
with wings to fly;
The only jewel in a spangled sky.

2009-11-02T12:34:00.000-08:00

A scent danced past, through the air:
The fragrance of your pretty hair;
Redfireorange, wild as smoke,
As trippy as a sniff of coke.

On human evolution

2009-11-01T08:01:00.000-08:00

BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED BAFFLED

Sickness, and dysfunction

2009-10-28T11:27:00.000-07:00

I felt you
Wrap yourself around sickness
A sickness better than any dysfunction I could offer you.
It was, of course, a trick of the light,
An empty, degraded vision in my mind.
But, free as you are, and bound as I am,
All is possible.

Funny, really, how satisfaction is to man,
As brain is to a donkey.

I told myself, "pull yourself together,
It's all good.
It's all fan-tas-tic."

Fan-tas-tic.
Fantas-tick-tock-tick.

Is it?

You write it down, lest you forget.

2009-10-22T09:02:00.000-07:00

2009-10-19T23:52:00.000-07:00

And I'm getting sick and tired of all the excitement and twists and turns and tilts crashing into me.

I wish my world was mediocre.

Duality

2009-10-17T03:51:00.000-07:00

Despite

2009-10-15T08:48:00.000-07:00

It was a nightshademorning.
We sat huddled together
Against a coffeeblue backdrop;
Condoning the cold in sleepysilentwhispers.
Shadows shivershuffled past us,
Bitch-tits swinging in the wind.

And yet, I paid no attention.
For I was warm,
From the heat of your lips.

Pale green eyes

2009-10-03T11:37:00.000-07:00

Raining leaves, in shades of red:
A dying autumn has sparked and spread.
And in the presence of amber skies,
I saw a smile, and pretty eyes.
Pretty eyes, in shades of green:
Pale,
And dreamy,
And dead serene.

Open your eyes

2009-09-22T01:19:00.000-07:00

Wake up, stranger, and witness well:
Your future does the sea fortell
Swing, you will, (believe in me)
On the spiral of your galaxy
Like a bird of prey in flawless flight
Come see your world in black and white
Embrace, you will, the skies above
In the reddestrush of strangest love
In the blackesthole of your own desire
Twist your spark into a fire
Push, you will, across, beyond
Your mind is but your magic wand
Screwed, you are, if you close your brain
Feel, stranger, go insane!
Screwed, you are, sucked straight in
The proof is in your crawling skin
Indeed, you are, just a verse
In a poem called The Universe.

Drink

2009-09-18T10:51:00.000-07:00

I sat with you
On warm yellowgreen leaves
In the height of this fine autumn evening.
We had a bottle of fermented incoherence with us,
And you, shitfaced,
Licked your lips,
Folded your mind.

Because everyday,
Is saturday.

The whitest lie

2009-09-04T02:38:00.001-07:00

Sipping coffee, rainy skies,
I think of freedom, and the whitest lies.
Whitest lies to help me hide,
Whitest lies, I confide.
And anger, hatred, sick and shame,
Shame, yes, and no one,
No one,
No one but I,
Am to blame.
No one but I, refusing helping hands,
Alone, and cold, in this darkest, darkest of lands.
Alone, and vacant, as gods above,
Love the comfort of drizzle-love.
Nowhere, really, for one to run,
Whitest lies twist everyone.
Mindsoulboggled, hearts inflate,
For the whitest lie, on a plate;
For us to feast on, to savour its taste:
Whitest lies don't go to waste.
Whitest lies feed the poor,
Whitest lies form folklore.
Whitest lies, for me, and you,
Turn us twisted black and blue.
Done, I am, with whitest lies,
Done, I am, with rainy skies.

2009-08-29T04:04:00.001-07:00

Euphoria for sale:

Tranquil,
blue pill.

2009-08-27T12:12:00.000-07:00

The thing we always blindly grope for in life is not love, but satisfaction.

Perverse

2009-08-26T07:40:00.000-07:00

Stranger, stranger, on the wall
Bleeding like a waterfall
What now, will you stay for tea?
Shall we ramble on humanity?
Nailed, you are, as a decoration
Use you, I will, for masturbation.

Mockery

2009-08-22T01:12:00.000-07:00

Let's take an evening walk,
And never come back
For a few days.

2009-08-17T06:33:00.000-07:00

Confusion: a dire affair,
A part of my mind died in there.

2009-08-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

There's a fucking weasel in my ticker.

2009-08-13T06:39:00.000-07:00

A bottle full of apathy,
For the world, and me.

2009-08-12T10:38:00.000-07:00

Shy, shy love.

It is a pity, and a crime, the way so-called unwritten wisdom keeps us apart, waiting.
But what is wisdom, but a belief? And what is belief, without a proof? And what is proof, but just another belief?

I miss my auburnafternoons,
And daydream trips to the moon.

And, wild nights of sweet, subtle delight.

Shy, shy love. Are we bent on being secrets forever?

At least, I know now that I exist.
At least, the sea keeps me alive.

A toast

2009-08-08T10:21:00.000-07:00

Confusion : a dire affair.
And so I write with careful air:
Here's to you, I declare,
And here is to your scarlet hair;
And here's to the sleepysummerrain,
Here's to you, againandagain;
Here's to auburnafternoons,
And our own reflections on coffee spoons;
Here's to our wildest night,
And drunken caresses in drunken light;
Here's to infatuation, and daydreams galore,
And to empty bottles rolling blindly on your marble floor;
Here's to ashtrays overstuffed with cigarette ends,
Here's to compromise, to make amends;
Here's to faliure, and advice,
Here's to the beginning of enterprise;
Here's to you, I declare,
And here is to your scarlet hair.

A boy by the sea

2009-08-02T11:52:00.000-07:00

All around me, witness the sea
An eternal shrine of serenity.
And swirls of smoke float away, high
Into the redrush of the scarlet sky.
And clouds overhead, calling to me
Birds fly by, daydreaming, free.
Conifers of peace, swaying and wise
In this universe, nothing dies.
Wind in my hair holds me ever so dear,
Whispering lovesongs into my ear.
And what are waves but lullabies of Nature?
And what am I, but Her caricature?
Looking above, I spot the sun
And in fiery glaze, I see Everyone.

***

Tonight,

I am sitting on a rock by the sea. And I am witnessing the most beautiful painting in the world. A cold summer sun drowns the silent ocean in a glamorous shade of gold. The soft waves lap at the sand around me. I feel...peaceful. Like as if, nothing matters. Like as if, I am one with the elements. There is a boat in the distance, its silhouette bobbing sleepily. Calm. Islands smile at me from far, far away. Seagulls beckon me to fly with them. There are rocks playing hide and seek with me, showing themselves, and disappearing into the water with happy giggles. My mind cannot help but wander off deep into the cradle of the scarlet clouds above me. A blissful dream. I feel like a new-born child, caressed by a caring, secret breeze whispering lullabies in my ear. I feel like every step I take from here will take me further away from everyone else. No hassles. No troubles. Just love, and beauty. And, simplicity. What more can one want from the world?

Ah, this feeling.
I never, ever want to forget this feeling. This feeling in my heart that seems to scream into the very bones of my body, saying, "You belong, brother. You belong."

End

Stuck

2009-08-01T07:04:00.000-07:00

You can run,
But you can't hide.
And no one there
To confide;
Apart from me:
I am you.
Your universe is,
Black and blue.
And you cannot crawl
From your brain.
Indeed, you are
To me, insane.
No one to share
Your blacksky view
Alter-ego's
Watching you.

Blackout

2009-08-01T05:34:00.000-07:00

Distant sun,
Silhouettes,
All the birds return to rest.
Night creeps in,
Silently,
Moonlight floods the eyes of prey.

Shivering,
In the cold,
A hermit's dark abode:
Man lies dying,
Soft and still,
The sun remembers his grave.

By the lake,
In his world,
A poet writes a verse:
Cuts it off,
Writes again;
Perfection seldom stays.

Images
In my head,
Insanity slowly spreads.
Wipe them off,
Can't be done;
A conflict with the mind.

Hands go stiff,
Pupils wide,
Feels so light and bright inside.
Rush of liquid,
Through my veins,
Planned a vacation from this world,

Goodbye.

To let go

2009-07-31T03:46:00.000-07:00

It is when your sleep is a swirling auburnautumn leaf caught red-handed in the icebluebreeze, that you know you have stumbled upon solitude.

And nothing can be destroyed,
Because everything, everything is beautiful.

Centre within heart.
Heart within soul.
Soul within peace.

Breathe, Sal.

And let it go.

2009-07-29T03:08:00.000-07:00

Till now, mankind has had only two revolutionary breakthroughs: the number Zero, and LSD.

2009-07-25T03:34:00.001-07:00

Where are you?

In sane.

2009-07-24T06:31:00.000-07:00

"Hello, doctor? No, well, I was wondering...is there such a thing as Herpes of the Elbow? Well I've got a number of scabby pustules on my elbow----I'm afraid I was a little too adventurous this weekend and elbowed my wife in the vagina. Oh, there isn't? What about Gonorrhea of the Nose?"

Cock?

2009-07-22T09:03:00.000-07:00

Pussy!

Attempts to analyse a universe

2009-07-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

2009-07-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes,
I have this urge
To hide myself from the galaxies in my brain.

To the Tuna Can in Front of Me

2009-07-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

Dearest tuna can,

Do not whistle your tuna-esque tunes in my ear.
Because if you do,
I swear I'm going to
Snatch the tuna out of you.

Then you will be nothing but a
Sad,
Empty,
Can.

And, just when you think it is all over for you, just when your tunacan singsong voice is beginning to rust into oblivion, just when you are an inch closer to finally reaching intense fucking spiritual enlightenment after pining away for a million tunacan years, and just when you're not afraid of living a meaningless banana-peel life vegetating in my dustbin,

I'm going to recycle your ass.

2009-07-15T10:24:00.000-07:00

It is strange
The way people are never satisfied.

Your eyes tell me that you are troubled.
That there is something wrong.

But, of course, it is nothing.

Of course, talk is not the answer.

Of course, despair is not the question.

Of course, you are alone.

Of course, you will be forgotten.

Of course, you will waste away.

But if I could,
If you want to,
If it makes you feel better,
I would trade adventures with you.
***

But of course, you wouldn't.

Musique

2009-07-14T17:34:00.001-07:00

I pictured you flying
Late last night
But your wings were not in sight---
It was, in fact, a song you sang,
That lifted you into the sky.
Your feathers were a violin duet,
Your heart, a tabla.
Your spirit, a sitar.

Reflexion

2009-07-13T05:28:00.000-07:00

Before I pine away.

On solitude

2009-07-11T07:33:00.001-07:00

Excuse moi, if I may:
I saw you dancing yesterday
Like a bird of prey in flawless flight,
And I wonder if you'd dance tonight.
If you do, try and call;
I'll watch you by the waterfall.
That's all we need, to stay in place:
A poem and a pretty face.
And nothing matters, no need to brood
When you are set in solitude.

Note

2009-07-08T11:43:00.000-07:00

Dear reader,

Yours obscurely,
The Author.

If you dare,

2009-07-07T04:48:00.000-07:00

If you dare
Whisper a prayer,
From the comfort of your
Folding chair,
Don't call my name.
Listen, with care:
If you want to find me,
Remember my Ethereal Cathedral
Where shame is on a leash,
And thoughts are octahedral.

Half tone

2009-07-06T01:37:00.000-07:00

Tonight

2009-07-03T14:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight, in the chill of the summer, we are listening to Romeos and Juliets;
The men are drunk, the women are cranky,
And crying,
The girlthatusedtobe is stuck by herself outside in some cold, honky-tonk street,
And the children
The children are taking advantage.

Argh

2009-06-29T05:19:00.000-07:00

Screw it, spew it.

Yuh.

2009-06-28T02:32:00.000-07:00

The
Big
Red
Apple
Sat
On
The
Table.
I cut
The
Big
Red
Apple
In
Half
And
Ate
Its
Apple
Core.
It
Was
Delicious.

Opiate

2009-06-26T11:09:00.000-07:00

Muse

2009-06-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, on sleepysunnysummer days,
When Uncertainty and Hope come hand-in-hand,
Followed closely by crazed thoughts of love and happiness
In bum-like accuracy,
And it is impossible to not mull things over,
Helped by a shot of whiskey,
And -- l'inévitable -- cigarettes,
One begins to wonder:
For the sake of adventure,
You shouldn't ever know about the happy.

2009-06-24T01:57:00.000-07:00

Me and my clan against the world:
Me and my family against my clan:
Me and my brother against my family:
Me against my brother.

2009-06-21T23:52:00.001-07:00

Audience and Cast

2009-06-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

To wander into endless dreams of laughter and inebriation, faraway lands and queens with guitars, grotesque mathematics teachers and horrendous exams, walks through twilight alleys and twitching in bed, lack of thought and overabundance of thought, a blood red swirling wave in an eternal blood red ocean with a pale grey sky above, waiting, watching, judging, listening --- and never even once speaking or making a comment, leaving one in perpetual suspense, mind screaming out and body aching all over for some kind of hopeful floating answer that never existed, some kind of clue or sign or at least an assuring voice that would whisper in my ear, “relax, everything is fine, everything is good.” The blood red sea rose in strangled curls, pulling me down, breaking me away from touching the pale grey sky---and I did not offer resistance. I will never offer resistance. I will submit, and trip on the moment, this very infinite moment for ever and ever. The universe is a moving picture, and I am sick and tired of being either a spectator or an actor. All that is happening around me and inside my head: talks of love and happiness, dead relatives, caught red-handed, herb and hiding, guilt and passion, anger and apathy, sickness and sobriety, freedom and fallacy, shock and surprise, friends and foes, party and parting---in the end, they don’t matter. I am stuck and struggling in the land of the Living Dead, and it is time I let go, wake up and learn to be both Audience and Cast.

Humanity

2009-06-21T12:21:00.000-07:00

I remember once when I went down
To a sawdust pub outside of town
The air swirled with blue-green haze
With walls that remembered stranger days
And the barman poured out shots of piss
And eyeballs drank, their hearts amiss
And twisted whores, legs apart
Let their daddies hone their hearts
So that they may one blissful night
Meet a man, sharp and bright
While blood-soaked fetish chugs him on
Poor little whores, fucked, forlorn
And slouched on the floor, their lives in stains
Are junkies quietly spiking veins
Advised, you are, to speak not a word
For all that you say will be left unheard
Is this heaven, or insanity?
With faltering lives and disparity
Pushing us round a little room
Of whiskey and women and infectious gloom
And right in the corner two little girls
Their innocent eyes, glistening pearls
Fearful and alert, watching in pain
Something twitchy, slimy, pink: a brain
Writhing in glory on the cold-tiled floor
Like being screwed by Zeus forevermore
Or pushing a rock up a hill
And pushing and pushing and pushing until
Exhausted, confused, on the brink of insane
Enlightenment it does attain
And joining the brain, was, alas
An outsider, a stranger, a man from Mars
Who probed little children deep in their asses
As their parents emptied their glasses
And emptied and emptied, till they were drunk
And conscience fell with a little 'plunk!'
And everyone joined in for a fuck
An orgy with brains and lungs and muck
And God, he says, "You are my friends!"
Unknown to us what he intends
And this was it, brothers all
A sawdust pub where sawdusts fall
Like rain falling on insanity
Like you and me - and Humanity

Lament

2009-06-21T12:15:00.000-07:00

Love is the beginning
And here we have a bond
A bond that lasts forever
Why don't we ever get along?
Spark becomes a flame
Flame becomes a fire
And then another blows it out
And erases your desires
Watch the weather change
My fragile mind, in flames
And then another blows it out
And who am I to blame?
And soon, I disappear
Away from your shadow
No more nestling in hollow shoulders
Run with me through meadows
Hiding with the flowers
Hiding all alone
Hiding for all our lives
Despair carved in stone
And suddenly, I wake up
And what do you intend?
Love is the beginning
And the inevitable end.