heat days

the golden cotton of caramal lust muddles the eyesthirsty for ripeness and fulfillementwe seize the time for the siestas or the toilsome in half-baked somnambulismsome loving the warm green of freckled tree fleshmosaic of star and planet Oh God I love the heat days but it sometimes is not loved at alla fact of summer

mango pickle

pickles, tok of mango stuffcrust like shapes green and organgeleaf and firestuns the tonguethe effect like two drivesone of childhood and other of misfit days

levity at a fine point

a pinch of abyss in a voidis like a concentrated shape of a bubble| an empty placefeathered by a gibberish in a environ of ennui and ample boredom

simple cuts

fixated on the winey-bileare crooked limbs typing crooked liesall the time finding faultswith people who only adhere to simple beliefs there are people put on the tableminimized, atomized, radicalized, compromiseddebtors, creditors, bankers, lawyersall these money-can-bring-happiness-like professionsor people who use that philosophy for their practiceare all after you; your life is like a . decimal unitcrammed

the twisted opera

Iamisolated.I amkindofanoutcast…yousee methen don’tlikemeltingice. Are we a society of outcasts or an outcasted society?We love variety but we suck at maintaining good old ordersfunny, how we label only to demonize and let free actual criminalsat times I feel we live in a jester’s courtfor there the mime is told to recitethe judge sits behind barsthe

feeding frenzy

my mind craves adventureits been calloused by too much comfortseeing the doozy dumpling of sunand the marble effects of the moonare but synthetic trophies to my visionI can eat them by sight yet when I affix broader networksI get elated because there in that dense mapbeneath the superficial sheen lie freckled flesh, flexible flesh, floundering

the apposites of opposites

bonds of gossamers are like constellationswaiting to be watched under scopes or naked eyeswith a study of aesthetics than mere classificationshoping that God’s Creations will be loved — I opened up the door of a basementit looked akin to the atticI guess this is is the kind of conversationroots have with branchessoil and rocksclouds and

dualities and homogeneity in some discourses

I am rehearsed in propriety, in the outlandish mode of some deviationsI 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 discardedthings that bang like empty skulls upon synthetic brailethe meniscus further tied down to facts

trying to be a bit attentive

  budding bodies, coarse anatomies; picture a broken jaw and sensitive lipsto kiss that kind of person is worrisome, ugly — defiance of centrefold cageswhere 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

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