heat days

the golden cotton of caramal lust muddles the eyes
thirsty for ripeness and fulfillement
we seize the time for the siestas or the toil
some in half-baked somnambulism
some loving the warm green of freckled tree flesh
mosaic of star and planet

Oh God I love the heat days but it sometimes is not loved at all
a fact of summer perhaps.

simple cuts

fixated on the winey-bile
are crooked limbs typing crooked lies
all the time finding faults
with people who only adhere to simple beliefs

there are people put on the table
minimized, atomized, radicalized, compromised
debtors, creditors, bankers, lawyers
all these money-can-bring-happiness-like professions
or people who use that philosophy for their practice
are all after you; your life is like a . decimal unit
crammed into fiscal years of binary blindnesses

I want just people to be able to breathe
taxation on life is now a monopoly market.▬

the twisted opera


Are we a society of outcasts or an outcasted society?
We love variety but we suck at maintaining good old orders
funny, how we label only to demonize and let free actual criminals
at times I feel we live in a jester’s court
for there the mime is told to recite
the judge sits behind bars
the pickpocket transcribes
and the joker is on the king’s seat
with citizens on trial
and the monarchy as jury

imperialism is radical with change
radical at staying the same.▬

feeding frenzy

my mind craves adventure
its been calloused by too much comfort
seeing the doozy dumpling of sun
and the marble effects of the moon
are but synthetic trophies to my vision
I can eat them by sight yet when I affix broader networks
I get elated because there in that dense map
beneath the superficial sheen lie freckled flesh, flexible flesh, floundering flesh
that cartographers would indeed enjoy.

The sensuous can bond with the intellectual sans the cheap armours
we can love with thrill and lust with piety if we erase those smooth contours that bait
desperation and disaster; we need feed-well our silences and outbursts.

I know birds in gilded cages can sing more
but the sky to them is an unklnown planet
to sing and fly in a 90° or 360° of some equinox
is better I think than playing tic-tac-to on parallel lines.▬

the apposites of opposites

bonds of gossamers are like constellations
waiting to be watched under scopes or naked eyes
with a study of aesthetics than mere classifications
hoping that God’s Creations will be loved —

I opened up the door of a basement
it looked akin to the attic
I guess this is is the kind of conversation
roots have with branches
soil and rocks
clouds and air
need the bark
needs to mix and mate —

I saw seeds that reminded me of nests
all trying to breathe and grow with some symmetry
all unique and inherited; a quasi-pattern, a quasi-harmony as God intended

you see boulders are like flutes they sing too
with voices wide and far
and boulders are like shrubs
they can be picked and scattered

I guess that is the bond between bones and feathers
they rustle like dews and branches signifying seasons
and can become sepia-gray underneath smoothness and pressure
we can only name some stars as we can only name some spiders.▬

dualities and homogeneity in some discourses

I am rehearsed in propriety, in the outlandish mode of some deviations
I can squint enough to see somewhat perfect; I can open up and stay alert minimumcan I negate the arsenic of the castaways? building broths of anger of being discarded
things that bang like empty skulls upon synthetic braile
the meniscus further tied down to facts that are error-born.

We will always be half-naked it seems while living
as I tap across wooden desks and hollow barks
I wondered who could understand truly today
when neon craze and selfish brazenness inhibits too much
gives off a neurotic dullness; a soul can collapse with the paucity of overload.▬

trying to be a bit attentive


budding bodies, coarse anatomies; picture a broken jaw and sensitive lips
to kiss that kind of person is worrisome, ugly — defiance of centrefold cages
where glossy people blankly looked bored; at times photographic calm, beauty appreciated, at times jotted-down lies, beauty catabolized . Oh, carnage is cozy because carnage knows its wanted. I’m talking about love — the kind of love that reminds of God, others, sleeping spouses with a ring like your own, of children coughing, of friends in some coffee delight and of imagination surrounded by natural traits and planetary wonders that make intimacies of both distance and closure.

Some days ago you gave me flowers with no love due
I gave you chocolates that made stalement its capitalism.
Like stretched elastics we’ve been pulled obscenely
and when did you move to the opposite side of the chessboard I could not know
I thought we had the same team; I do not like this checkered dance.▬

Posts from Posterous

Posterous is closing on April 30th 2013. I had a site there Trailing♠the Astral Plane I just decided to bring my old work here under one post head (P.S. my author page info —

I am an eccentric wannabe novelist [I write but I guess as I am not published yet I am the “wannabe” with no pejorative strings attached] I love Japanese anime, psychology, philosophy, the natural sciences [though I am a novice in them] and many elements of mathematics [though I suck at maths].

This is also one of my blogs as I like to experiment with different blogging platforms.

I’m a University student by the way.)

Onwards with the stuff I wrote:

A Slight Musing 14th April 2011

You open a door; maybe it’s for you
It’s always a risk putting a foot down

but it is always an adventure


an enigma is a human cell metamorphosing into something quite more than just a ball of membranes and nucleus…

A Diner

There are places that you may wish to go to — these may be places in your dreams and you don’t know why you wish to go there and who you wish to consult but the feeling of wanting to go there is around. It is satisfactory to only want at the moment. To want anything else does not seem to compute.

But that illusory beacon haunting you in the mental vagaries of your thinly woken life. Why do you seek it? Why do you want it?

Possibly because you are afraid of this life

But life should not be afraid of

Embrace the goodnesss

the flushing thrill of your own existence

the flushing thrill of your own blood as you know it pumps within

the flushing thrill of your skin knowing the tenderness of the wind

Life is to be understood

to be journeyed

A dream is just a quiet breakfast on a roadside diner which nourishes you; as you feel the dawn, feel the ambience of a lushy desert or a barren of rock forest and you can feel it. Tell the nose, tongue and hand to feel it. But then life is waiting…

The true visceral and the true spiritual is out of the bounds

Climb aboard your omnibus

Climb a ride to some destination which patience knows lives…

The Paramedic

I knotted on these IVs to the flesh
The victims are being supported
ancillary oxygen
if blood could feel
sentience projected
could it say?
Hey there — help me pick the flow

now you are rolling on life
fasttracking to more extra beats
adrenalin is helping me out
Hey there — I am trying to keep this door shut

you may wear some clean gloves
but there’s no wiping clean a genetical valve
you may wear some sanitizer
but there’s no wiping clean affection
you may wear your lipstick on
you may wear your best watch
you may wear some good shoes
but there’s no wiping clean
the mortal song

Oh God I’ve tried
to ignore the pleading child
Oh God I’ve tried
to set aside what scalpels throw
But you made me this way
To do my job
I need to know
the jargons of the soul

Well, push and pull
gravity’s coming through
Well, we push and pull
like those soldiers we call waves
and we’ll push and pull
like a canvas of a page
and neatly tucked
or in mayhem streak
I say

Hey there — I’ll do the best that I can do…


There are no such things as independence
you think;
hush, the queen will hear
hush, the king will hear
breaking our limbs
honeying our travesties

we move downward
we move fast
we are spiraling out of control
we are made to be organized
in our flight we breathe real
we are tortured by algorithms
made for us
we demand no obsolescence
to our song
we want these cages
to remain unhinged
so that we may break
out of them!

Queen I don’t want to hear you
King I don’t want to hear you
I am passionately disloyal to you
for you betrayed me first
you betrayed me continuously
you conned me with your parade of innocence
and your bounty of animosities
I will no longer plead
I will no longer serve this hive of insolence
either change your ways
or have me exiled
I won’t say I’m sorry
I won’t say I will mend
because you are damned
you’ve done no repentance
you want us to carry your sins

That flower that bloomed
who said he was yours
nobody elected your interests first or your interests last
you made your own penalties
you made your own vengeance
by a guise of plenty

now step down from your throne
step down your vice
step down from your frivolous aim to reprise
I won’t hold onto empty

I can be abused no more!

Waltz of the Equator
Your countenance is of the moon
and it beams freckles from the sun
you have night canvassed under your bosom
with the day passing through
and if shooting stars only knew
of storms and gales
upon your brows
for they are beneath helping you see as your eyes
and the sea that foams in your heart
Has triggered its surrounding land masses
your days are empty
filled with void
to reach an astral layer
filled of space
you are harbouring angels
and a demonic lurks
you are harbouring aeroplanes
for a ocean of oxygen
you are treading on the sky
and you float in a garden

you are a seedling
your roots will see a window
you are a great ark
rippling on a nostalgic pond

how is it your breathe?
on an air-free house?
how is you know?
when knowing is clouded by a black hole?

your pretensions are truthful for they exploit facades
and only being mortal can we call immortal
for the waves of the sand in a desert Eden
broke out from the egg of a buzzing foliage
and premonitions under the microscope may burn for lack of light
and lasting prayers can surmise a temporary life

and heat and spasms in tundras can glare
bring geysers in barren earth you were not aware

and walking on roads of old make one new
bruising of the skin allows blood to be cocooned
and microcosms can birth to nebulas
and your birth mark accuntuates a tapestry contained in skin
and a insect bleeding can make a meadow’s tearing

inside from cell to cell to cheek to cheek
a kiss to kiss a dozen fibres of being
and tongue to galvanize a riot
and riots to be unheard

in this breathing frenzy a small storm passes
in this articulate language one word emerges
in the shell of the snail where a sea dwells
in the fusion of atoms a corrosion swells

and I envy the little
and I envy the large
for the minute is awe-inspiring
and the major is detail

God is listening
God is listening

I can make castles of clay
and one drop of water remembers me
for I was integrated
into chaos and harmony…

Web Designer

Crochetted within codes and passion
tilted into an arc of wonderful
unstrapping layers and layers
sinews of cognition
mount a paradoxical invasion

in heaps of words, numbers, pictures and symbols
I plan chaos and order
in the heaps of virtua and realism
I plan identity and imagination
like pondrous drops of wayward dreams
out of the nutshell that we call the brain
habituated in thinking blueprints
habituating to sense in solutions

can you offer a respite to me?
I offer a tangible vessel
can you explain to me the matrices of a kiss?
my tongue has tasted only delectable words
confessional to methodical
valient in artistry
I put enagements into a tour
vistas to a space
poetry is always in motion
in that capsule mind-place I possess
my instincts may not survive
Or survive in the fragmentations of old cyber flux

am I a listed anomaly?
or abnormally normal?
can these lips that synethesize architecture
serve as a synecdoche to my heart uncensored?

your rapture is an illusion
I crafted some in spare time
your rapture is maintenance
I capture some in some professional

is life a set of circuits
all gig-lamped to come down?

is life a monoplolization
of technological composure?

little do I dare to draw breathe
outside on a window sill

maybe I thought easier meant contained
aside Pandora’s parable fixation

what if I cannot hide hope?
what if seduced out of a box?
what if I cannot hide hope?
what if it escaped freely from the box?

I illustrate a blank letter
with a epistolarian touch

yet in some wider canvas
my flesh learns of grain…

Strongest Heart

If I were to compose a heart in words then maybe the veracity of it would seem unlikely to all; concerning that the heart does not easily get labels as our orientation and our actions.

We can see this easily, even many a times when one does wrong the wrong does not illustrate the heart in its entire so the heart [and brain also many a times] is unfit to be easily labelled. The heart can be labelled but to each is mostly the owning. If one is a thief by nature as we say we might be able to state that the heart of that individual is that of a thief and will always be as so. But many a times the concept of “thief by nature” to be corresponding with “thief by heart” may not be really an easy equation to write. Even a horrid thief or a kleptomaniac cannot be called “thief by heart” easily. We can only assume that the thieving aspect is an aspect and not the heart in its entirety.

Basically, that is why we usually give people second chances.

So, the context is usually the ruling principle of this subject. When one kills one can be called a murderer but one can not be a murderer a heart so simply unless the individual is as cold and nefarious as the crimes committed. That is why there are differences between people who had killed a person in accident and serial killers who dote on torturing and murdering — the truest thieves one can find.

So, which is the strongest heart?

I guess that is quite a contextual question and one that has labyrinthine answers —

— we can observe and analyze and find a veritable answer in our longings to define warmth and stability; variance and virtue…

To Read or Not to Read

Does anyone like reading books a lot? Do you consider yourself as a bibliophile? Are you a traditionalist or an E-book person? Or Both? Are you a genre aficionado ? Or, do you notz care as long as the read is good? Do you prefer generic literature or do you crave more of literary fineries? Do you splurge on both? Do you have a fandom? Do you think fandoms are uncool? Do you write fanfiction? Do you read them? Hate them entirely? 

What is about reading that satisfies you the most?

 For Colored Girls movie review 16 April, 2011

For Colored Girls is a movie based on Ntozake Shange’s play For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When The Rainbow Is Enuf — the movie is evocative and extremely brutal in its realism as it portrays the lives of its protagonists through various experiences. These strong, empowered, independent, intellectual African American women attempt to seize life at its roots and put a stamp in society where prejudices and injustices lurk about. All our protagonists have distinctive personalities; none is like the other but that is the superficial examination — the true context breaks like a wave beautifully colouring the landscape. Each protagonist is represented by a colour — Alice (Whoopi Goldberg) embodies white, Gilda (Phylicia Rashad) embodies gray, Juanita (Loretta Devine) represents green, Kelly (Kerry Washington) is blue, Jo/Joanna (Janet Jackson) is red, Tangie (Thandie Newton) is orange, Yasmine (Anika Noni Rose) is yellow, Nyla (Tessa Thompson) is purple and Crystal (Kimberly Elise) symbolizes brown.

The women at first are either isolated or know each other on a surface position but soon as the story progresses like the colours of the rainbow they begin to flourish together and mesh as one with renewed strength and absolutely laudable stamina. The tale focuses on sexual and physical abuse, rape, abortion, medical welfare and the tightening relationships that the protagonists go through. The movie opens with dilemmas our characters are facing; unescapable situations it seems — Tangie is Alice’s daughter but obviously shows no respect for her, Alice tries her hardest to keep on believing in her religion but taking care of her daughters, Nyla is a dancer with a prospective future but is also forlorn, Yasmine is a vibrant dancer but must struggle, Jo is attempting to reconcile with her husband, Crystal does not know what to do with her abusive spouse and her kids, Juanita tries to do the right things for her community, Kelly does as well but strives to keep her past behind and Gilda is a maternal figure but also a strict landlady trying her hardest to keep her tenants in line. Prematurely most of the women are not apposites but opposites — they rage on with their codes and philosophies, and most don’t care even if it kills them. However, throughout the movie these strong protagonists realize that their dependencies on useless objects or back-stabbing people are in conflict with who they want to be — to each is her own storm through which they must survive to reach the rainbow.

The portrayal by all actresses were so vibrant and exquisite that I was moved — as Google dictionary/Wikipedia even states that Ntozake Shange’s art form birthed in this piece, the “choreopoem”, is a fusion of various devices and I saw the poetry in motion with full attention and enjoying every moment. Each word, each dialogue worked to its best effects and the cast was incredible in performing them. As usual, Thandie Newton blew me with her strategic tempos at being Tangie — at a time coquette, at a time vulnerable, at a time ferocious as she challenges men for their double standards, at a time dangerous and strong and unique in a beautiful way. Kerry Washington does her best in being the confident and intelligent girl who also, for youth and naivety, is exposed to grim realities but obviously headstrong enough to plough and plough. Whoopi Goldberg will forever be the charming entertainer whose lips as they move create ripples in each letter, Janet Jackson dives energetically into her character persona and she can really deliver something realistically shaped.

All I ca say is that I was really gripped on by seeing this movie and I want to read the play

I think this movie is for people who don’t mind independent thinking and out of mainstream plots.


  • Wikipedia
  • Google Dictionary 

In A Bedside of Indifference

To be won by indifference
is a discontinuance  of humanity
perplex the soul
perplex the broth that is your
body on chemical fire
larynx is  echo
echo is oceanic
and bleeding a blue membrane
in a hissing heart
trembles the bone
it is distance | proximity wages war
like lifesigns in outerspace
invisble to a naked telescope
incongruous to a kaleidoscope
yet so permeable
in a osmosis of its own mechanical machinery
you were starved by indifference
you crept into bed
for a large biten lullaby
that held no rapture
of a organ gone wild
of a patient parody
in escalation
downing about
like a speared whale
a bolden tongue
knew well
yet you are dyed
by something

Existence is a key
needing a foundation
searching to be found
for what are the jewels
worn by a groom
believable without a bride

and thoughts can reshape
Break the stone that lies
in your skeletal chamber
you rid lies
can you rid malice?

you fought somewhat brave
yet avarice is your attention
you cloak remedy
for fear is your attribution

you cannot grow
you already wither

Reading into the Horizon

Your aptitude for synchronization
is moulded by your passion of postage
you are beaming with a protozoan sun
miraculously glowing in osmotic pores
and having a lighthouse in your veins
signaling an ether and ozone of some faraway
symbiosis in intrinsic detail
pouring out sans cacophony sans co-conspiratory
you are a theorem
implied by gravity
and inter-steller dimensions
I am some shooting star
Orbiting around
a lethe-like world
weary and energetic
in the same artery
holding me

You are so tiny
and so large
in our own rights
we create equations
and solve hypotheses
in our own roundabout ways
paralyzing that thing we call
paralyzing that thing we know
bonding into significance
of some starry galaxy
that commutes
the hermaphrodactyl
synthesis in our brains
and the souls
we inherited

washing in black water of space
washing against the white matter of the stars
we see that melding
makes and explodes
all over our bodies
marking our births
into a new layer
marking us with

we were possessed once by a static indolence
now it pours honey in motion
it pours velvet in all absolutions
we are bridging our hem,ispheres
trading away from isolation
on a dawn-dusk plate
we recorded

we are ascending
in some quiet-noisy corner of the universe…

Hoping to Gaze into Star-Shine Equilibrium 18th April, 2011

Running into motion
capturing your sound
your emotive translation
of your voice
of your being
and your blooming soul is happy
is gardening my inspiratory vault
your paradise | your immortality on earth
lights like oil on latern
lights like a moon on day
whispering night
To a delicately golden ear
and I flourish by
in your concave spectacle
that is your sentence
your ideology
we are running like deers
we are running like lions
and your solar and lunar baby that is your heart
Is beating on a momentum of the stars
its chrysalis of desire
its chrysalis of the cerebral
your tantrums of the tongue
Is igniting oxygen inside my brain
my tantrums of my tongue
is your oxygen instinctual brain
we complete halves
we complete wholes

morning in your eye
night in mine
and sun in my right arm
moon in yours

we are satellites
we are planets
we have honed adaptation

we are animals
we are intellectuals
we have honed equivalence

we have shared the lips of a star
we held the sails of our bodies
our pilgrimage is a lifeline
that has eloped to a new start

we can harvest eveything we touch
we live in a tactile realm
and all the concerts of dimensions we see

I am ready are you?
it’s time to breathe…
Boderlines of Conversations

We picked on some odd faces — a musk of oddness in the darkened light — like silhouettes dreaming of more concretes shapes in life. There was an old worry upon a face and a merriment in memory. Some instances seem to be more bloodshot than a bruise.

It was easier to tell a lie than to tell the truth: it seemed so.

And adolescence turn to adulthood — a transition unfelt. More like a babe never born to be grown; a mutated underbelly.

My best friend and I met when I was fifteen and we haven’t talked in eleven years. I don’t know why we were friends: we had similarities but many awkward moments of seperateness. I guess it was familiar. We were pretending to be people we were not. I was a cooler girl and she was an athlete. She did not like sports and I did not like being one of the cool girls.

Now I’m in my thirties — I haven’t married yet and I haven’t dated anyone in five years.

I usually am a freelance journalist and at times teach in some universities in random semesters.

Annie is my best friend. She used to be a great soccer player. Now, I heard she has become a housewife. Though I see her as someone very meticulous and energetic. It is a belief that most housewives do not have that and Annie obviously breaks that psuedo-science. I don’t know what other pretences she had but after she called me I thought meeting her now would answer those.

We don’t live together anymore. She lives in our hometown and I live somewhere more closer to the University campus so there is that georgraphical seperateness plunging at us to remind us of seperation.

When I take the bus and finally get there the hometown seems more derelict.

I walk to her house directly. My parents said they won’t be home.

Before I open the door she opens it.

” I was waiting for you Abigail; you know I was thinking it was you walking up and how right I am.”

Her words were careful and not so lively. I figured this was not hiding. Maybe it was fake. All that energy. She seems more composed than me.

When I got inside I realized that the meticulousness was not faked. Each wood furnished. Each china piece dressed with the colourful patterns of delight. Each furniture waving comfort signs.

And each vessel so neat. Like they have never been touched. Inanimate, virginal pieces.

Comforting but strange.

And strangeness added intimacy.

Because we know the abnormalities of ourselves. The secrecies expressed in abnormalities.

She serves me tea

I accept

That is not her or the her I knew

She would rather have lemonades cold or those cola-beverages

tea seems more like an imposter

but to my life tis no stranger

” I never had liked sports.”

Fifteen minutes had passed — she had told what she knew I was thinking. What question was imminently arriving.

” I knew that.”

I am casually blurting out the obvious. Tea is a sophisticated truth serum. Its taste coordinates well with confessions.

” I don’t mind household chores: though I really don’t like them either, I’m just good at them.”

I hesitate to ask anything else — I don’t know what to ask. It seems she will say something more, ” And…?”

” Well, I don’t mind ’cause I can be by myself. My kid goes to school and the husband to work so I can be by myself. I like being by myself so it really works. I don’t like sports because it consists of too much teamwork and interaction which I despised. I just did it because it beat studying anyday so yeah…I like being indoors and giving myself time to watch television or read magazines: I don’t like too many interactions period.”

” But what about your husband and your son?”

” Well I’m luck my son is much of a loner. And my husband prefers work to any other activity. I can beam by myself. I like buying china and I like buying things. I enjoy the party of me. When I met my husband I knew this guy would be a keeper because he was such a workaholic and my son takes after him. I just don’t do jobs on permanent basis; if I want to do jobs for time to time for fun I do them. Love is not really my thing either and I think my husband is more romantic than me. I just married him because it was suitable. I like lounging around. ”

I did not know what to say still because this was so unlike the Annie I remembered but then again it was an open secret between us that we were not truthful to ourselves. That we were doing fakeness because for some reason the reality was fearful.

” Abigail, you’re a teacher?” she looked at me a bit incredulously.

” Well at times — I’m mostly a journalist.”

” You and studying, that’s so unusual.”

” But I love reading and studying.”

” Those boring things?”

” They don’t seem boring to me.”

” So, you are a nerd?” she giggled.

” I don’t know.” I smile, ” Maybe I am.”

Then I get up, ” Thanks for the tea.”

” We are not best friends anymore right?”

She spoke, cup in hand — my self towards the door.

” Maybe, we are not.”

I can hear her start sobbing, ” Is it really because we are so different now?”

” No. We helped each other when we wanted each other. We understood that we were hiding our real selves. That’s really a God blessed thing. To have that kind of communication. We can still be friends you know. It’s good to be really ourselves now.”

” How did you become such a nerd?” she giggled as she sobbed, ” How did you become so talented? I always thought you were dumb and just a queen bee of sorts though you never bullied anyone. You turned out to be so un-plastic. You are such an outcast. I never knew that.”

” I guess outcasts are variances in the world. I like being the way I am. If you come near the University. Drop by — I might teach you my course.”

I open the door.


Your thin mouth
marshmallows of raw flesh
kissing into each other
like hermaphrodactyl flower petals

your emaciated form
an anorexic display
your form of fat
a champion of cellulite

gotten stares
gotten hopeless

watching every pound

so are not you any less poetry?
are you any less passionate?

if you do you can convey the inches

convey them to listen
no need to be a garden of popular demand

wear your glasses as if they oceanic skin
with waves as the rims

wear your garb of unauthentic fashion

you are signalling poetry of uniqueness…

Life in a Grain — Life in a Vortex

Dwidling through the metafiction
and fictions; the omlette and poached vectors of creation
lovingly scrambled is intelligence and liquified is desire
more or less is quantity
{∞} is reality
and {-∞} beneath our sleeves
as cards packed
molecules  are memorized — grown — assimiliated
faster than blinking.

You are a motionless poetry
a motion of earth
lying undersea
yet thrusting in ether
life in a zillion cells
yet spoken in letters

apostrophe, catastrophe, atrophy, trophy — psychosymmetry
you are but there and then you are complex
in a simple single body
you execute a lot in mere moments

God’s design
a little cloud

wafting through a solar system of embryos and metamorphosis . ▬