Monday, November 29, 2010

Let Us Calibrate to Celibrate

The rooftops crumble because you are full of destruction. 
Lions make fluffy pets to someone as scary as you. 
You swallow lollipops whole. 
And when you cry, your don't really cry at all because you are tough. 
No tears will drown you in sorrows. Let the weeping willows cry for you. 


"Cut a chrysalis open, and you will find a rotting caterpillar. What you will never find is that mythical creature, half caterpillar, half butterfly, a fit emblem of the human soul, for those whose cast of mind leads them to seek such emblems. No, the process of transformation consists almost entirely of decay." 

— Pat Barker, Regeneration

Saturday, November 27, 2010


Si ton coeur est l'or, cette foi en vrai amour aurai toujours suis feu.
If your heart is gold, this faith in true love shall always have fire.
D'accord, l'arbre lourder fueille de fleurs aurais sont ont glace.
Okay, the trees heavy petal flowers would have had ice.

J'ai veu la triste oeuf et c'est trés triste.
J'ai veu triste l'oeuf. C'est trés triste.
J'ai vu l'oeuf triste et c'est une vivre.
Les jolie chanson est bête quand les gens chanté avec le moche mouche

What Happened

to chasing after perfection?
Were you, Ama, ever perfect at all?
Do not bother to answer those questions,
for those are unfair to ask in the first place.
However, please do explain what you plan to do
with your mind.
It is interesting to see what a girl you have become
when all that seems to happen now
is that you drag your feet as if you
developed roots that twist into the ground.
It is one thing to love trees,
but you cannot become one by no means.
That winter sun only shines very rarely
and you blame the clouds for your somber mood.
Obtain a positive star constellation
because night is the best time for living.
Travel to each star and accomplish a task there.
Don't let yourself float down to earth
once you believe you can fly
instead of this sedentary lifestyle you live in currently.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Messing around with memorized french words

La lune dansé avec  la maquette. Le soleil effacé le poir pour une chapitre deux. Dans le loin les toiles sur les tableaux huile chanson fueile. étoiles. toile. bandes. toiles d'araignée. toiles d'araignée français. Les fenêtres été décor avec toiles d'araignée. Mon dieu, par terre est j'aime le mur de vivre. Vivre vie pour les gens n'est pas jolie. L'amour est pas faux parce que la belle fille aurais mort. Je besoin l'amour. C'est ne amour pas. Je n'aurais pas amour  un homme jusque si practique geurre est amusant. N'oublier pas cette l'amour. 

Cache ta joie! Lourdeur. Pipeau. Ne pas manquer d'air.  Rater son suicide . J'ai raté toi. Je rater toi. Je aurais aime t'embrasser, mais toi est trop loin et je besoin votre amour. Qu'est-ce qu c'est? Toujours garder mon coeur parce que c'est triste. Un mot d'amour. Amoureux dans le noir et sont vrai tout.

Thursday, November 25, 2010


When nothing erupts in my mind because the words I do not speak shape out much of what should be felt. I left something next to your bed by accident just so I could travel back enough in one year to see you again. I do not care about the objects. I love the soul depicted here. Your heart is like a metronome. I see my eyes in reflection of the mirror as a sky. I would dive off the highest tree into your arms so lets never fly solo when we can see the world together through a telescope I welded myself from scraps of metal. Abandoned buildings became a sanctuary to us as we wandered afar from home. We gathered moss to create a bed and strewn leaves to form a net of caresses natural and motherly. Like a womb, we hoarded our delicate subtleties till sunlight illuminated the tops of our eyelashes. I gathered your nothingness into my somethingness to make it crafty and destroyed the devastation of what is to come. Wouldn't you say our love was equal and friendship was a trust to be unbroken through bonds? Addiction to the same puzzle nuzzled our noses and fretted for sleep. Dreams drove and left us with these. These are our hands to create a makeshift masterpiece. Dance in course of fleeting moths. We are dusty and fooled to be in love. It is trickery in reality, is a killer to the cause of nobility. So therefore it is proper to hate simultaneously to love as all black to white ratios need balance and support. You have my back and I have yours. Ccomrodory is important to survive in double lands multiplying too fast.

Dots Cover a Blank Screen to Make it Dark

Gruesome indispensable closed up fray the time of day breaks as they
call out the last one to hate on shay try a billion squabblers to trust may.
Months reel by barking hay giving shouts and screams to feel for fame
intuitively troubled depending upon schemes rhythmic dottings determine
hankering shallow men pressing on me galloping my rights away.
Enslaved in surreal shadows of a place unknown as they swallow my life
transferring my noise into energy and pain unbearable to legs shattering in weakness.
Do they know what they are doing to the youth?
Does the contemporary society feel any worth?
Can our voices work?
Important delays take shaking fears elaborating them to many ears. I wish I could not hear
my sisters depression of so many false claims determine their weight. 
Nights haunt the bodies that move so slow even though one would think
our numbers could bless a heaven in gold. We thought work was 
finished and I scrabbled to come ashore yet no relief was belayed 
and sharks poured into our shame.
Television was my perfect vision, but it was stolen by so many other eyes.
The images all portrayed us being splayed.
Commercials pictured us being paid. 

Mournful Mell Rose

Mell Rose is simply like a rose.
She blossomed out of a stem from a bush
and her skin gets prickly on defensive croons.
Her lips are soft and red and her hair fluffs out
in an amazing way.

She got killed the other day
and roses were laid around the scene of her murder.
This murder knew she loved roses as much as they
belonged in her name.
But the odd thing was
that her death was too common.
Just another beautiful face wiped out from this world.

Thalamus of Intentions

Tensions rise when the baked pie smells so sweet
you now cry.
I had warned you of the wax candles set aflame 
do most definitely burn.
The wax drips unforgivingly
you do not even blow it out.
You sit there and cast out daydreams of longing
for something to be done...
however I do not know what is to be done.
I cannot grasp the things you feel.
I hear your sorrows at night when you tare you bed to shreds
because your loved one left you, he sleeps forever on his death bed.
Your funeral shall be arranged when you are ill enough to care.
Just continue onto to see the sun in June.
We will travel to the beaches and see the lagoon.
I tread in dangerous waters of your waterless tears.
You might as well leak wax 
the same as the candle does
because in such turbid times
torment eats away as turmoil seeps
into our brains we barely eat
and we never sleep
so we melt to drift 
till we disappear 
into a

Amygdala Menagerie

The collection of bird feathers are pinned to the wall.
You could name every single feather.
Intrinsically disbarred from man behaving like beast
has brought a woman to your side to calm the tempest fleece.
Your hair is no longer tattered
and you now see tall trees flatter
the gray sky in winter.
Her name is your name spelt backwards
because you rewound your clocks too many times
when those nights you sought for revenge.
Why must your heart beat when the love is lost
when she loves you more, she sees deep into your spirit.
Her soul magnifies unconcentrated lies.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Exiting Existence

Equilibrium detained a rebellion.
Stratagems revealed ambivalent frauds.
Forward winds rewind delicate laced wings.
Jade statues oozed out honey into open mouths
that lack sweetness because they speak harsh words.
Flowers turn deadly that smoke melodies in fog.

He haunted the edge of her hippocampus.
The core of her brain sought out death.
A bend in the road drifted out riffs
of a melancholy hymn that signaled
familiar ground.
At least their was a beehive of keys.
Each key opened a portal into an unknown
event in history.
Around the world there grew a fear
that nuclear holocaust would seem to endear
a trust worthiness unforeseen to bare.
Could he hear a whispering voice of another
lousy soul lost about the dreams in a wasteland?
He thinks he could be a hero,
but another must think that too.
Both thoughts of the same dream equal to blasphemy
and that shame leads onto a new.
He counted the keys for which to pick
to find that hidden door amongst the huge, but few, trees
that must have grown here for 300 years.
He searched and searched.

A girl spied on him from above.
She crawled and sprawled her limbs gracefully like a spider
on the branches. She could leap a great distance as she had taken
to flight like a dove. She made not a sound. The branches did not creek.
She held her breath and hummed when he sung.
She had snatched an antique key off the beehive.
His was a modern key.
They could both end up in different times,
yet no one ever knows.

Between the sparse standings of trees
grow flowers that are gray and fragile with death.
Android deer run ramped in this white bulge.
The deer are adapted to eat the flowers of death.
This forest of white atmosphere, black trees, a silver beehive,
gray flowers, and the deer are of velvet covered metal
are all encapsulated in an opaque bubble.

She takes off from a wavering branch
the whole tree quivers
and the weak branch breaks
her jump is not so powerful and she falls to the ground
deathly flowers poof out in a toxic dust all around her.
She acts fast to cover her nose and mouth with her periwinkle gossamer scarf.

The boy takes notice of her
and runs over to the dust cloud.
All the airborne poisons settle and he sees her pale face.

Deep with meaning.
Unknown season.
Latch onto sacred
scrolls of leanings.

A hollowed out niche in the trunk of the tree looks
cozy for seating two struck in a gaze.
Her back is sore from the fall,
he helps her up as they stagger to the noir tree trunk.


Echolocation is sophisticated when all humans long to be dolphins.
I cannot deter the halfblooded brutes. For they all shoot arrows at sharp angles.
You exaggerate claims of execution fame.
The gold of soft blades cut at your arms
and draw no oxygen.
It consumed your air.

Death is Anonymous.

Lunar essence affiliates all consumers of faith into a furry.
Sharks surround the hideous masks of favoritism.
There is no love in the dead pile of clouds.
Dust of shrunken feathers multiply
in vintage rose wood clocks
do they signify the greatest needs
of sexual desires
are ready to set off a bomb.
Time never lacks success.
It is humans that exceed in greed.
And only when the oceans run dry
that the harbor ships finally sink into fires
and we all die.
If you knew I was outside standing before a waterfall
Would you have watched me jump into the water?

Monday, November 15, 2010


Crawling on the ground in a circle.
You build up a wall of dust
it surrounds you like a cocoon.
Wouldn't we all love to be a moth?

Saturday, November 13, 2010

New Shame

I have few bad intentions and all the rest may seem gracious,
I can't complain of the ways you make me pay for waiting
in my life's lonely hours where there seems to be nothing but
cruel pain when the ghosts flood the canvas of my blank stares
and stray dust particles rewind in the dim air.
I can resume my composure...
all must be well. For my head just aches. It is better if I nap.
Then my dreams partake in a flight of assaults to a resting brain.


Henceforth, write as one must to utterly describe such feelings in the mind. Yes?

La Femme

Quaint thoughts in a cozy compartment that overlooks La Seine.
In the dreary slate grey ceil, a formation of dotty birds in the distance swoops in movement
similarly matching up to notes on piano music played from the radio.
The girl is an artist of imagination and paints it so accordingly onto canvas
that it frightens her.
Even if she is beauty, what reflects in an artwork is strange and mysterious.
Illusions that she has fallen victim to reoccur in her memories.
Paris is a romantic city and thus, she loves her art.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

I have a Mystery

Complexity is broken. Throw the shields away.
The sun light will come another day
when the sun will be ready to rise again.
And when my strength tightens my muscles
that is when I will be able to move.
I am a bolder at the top of a ledge
inches before the edge crumbles off into
a mystery of the world below.
I do not know the taste of wine
because the color is of blood.
I am not a vampire
however I do not possess any love.
The mirror can hardly capture my real face
unless I come to terms with my own mind.
Bitter cold hovers at high altitudes.
Too afraid to climb down softly
and I have to be the savior to my own soul.
Not a spirit out there who will save me,
for this I know. Somehow my independence will be in sight
and can carry my shoulders up high.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Unsolved Title Decision.

My faith was tested at the rate of concentration I have.
I have none at all and therefore I have not the power to concentrate on faith.
Love seems an insurmountable heap of luscious lead.
Loud crackling voices echo in my minds' ear.
Too many voices make the truest thoughts impure and tattered.
For it is far too crowded to be a blinding sun in someone's life.

Tired Mind

Steaming hypothetic of love
is neutralized under the sun.
If the stars were created this night
the ceilings would disintegrate above
and ambivalent musings trap our lungs.
I had a hunger pain that fanged away every second
and it consumed the rhythmic nature of my bones so much so
that they fell into softness of ruthless shame.
Unbalanced I became
departure from the same
into pieces of blame.
Hatred crept on me like ants
that march down a sidewalk
into my pants.
The heart dripped blood
flowers grew out of my mouth
where words once formed.
Feathers flew out of my nostrils.
Am I a lucky one
to be engaged in a natural change
into a sophisticated date?

I think not.