Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the Artful Dodger's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, November 26th, 2009
1:40 am	sifting through the strewn It took the stones out of my mouth, and replaced them with pennies over their eyes... a ship sent sailing to the edge, excavated heart caverns, hands folded over in what i could only imagine was the symbol for peace.. [backwards wings and onslaught of bones] Every so often, the fragments resurface i'm sure you've seen it, eyes alight with rabid memories, strewn across the carpet hands clamped tight and buttercups in photographs, in electronic devices [a choice made twice] roaming and ,smudging like ghosts, like shadows, like conflicting psyche..making more of it than it was.. a story i could roll out like entrails, a tale as tall as the stars, on their stilt legs,overstepping statues. a memory as jagged as shark teeth, and jutting flames as we were burning in hell, as we counted backwards to 7.. hand in hand, heads touching as we sprawled out on the landing, on the platforms of wood in parks like there was only then,and never ever, when the world would stoop holding its breath, where you gave that last cheshire cat grin and made your lies into truths, made violence into purpose, made bad dreams into nightmares.. just like snapping fingers, and the two halves are there spreading my ribcage wide open to encompass this entire avalanche like working class echos, black and white intensity gleaming jarred against the contrast that viscous viscous contrast that your impression left,a longing stretch long after you up and walked.. long after these shadows crept, from beneith my eyes into the storm clouds gathered like leaning visitors at my doorstep, at my bedside, as i sit awake and gaze at the downfall, blurred and ugly and enraged at all that had happened, at all that does happen when we forget to pay close attention.. when we get tangled up in detail.. forget the brittle exoskeleton, and dance too close with madness, learn too much on the human methods, and all the selfish filth we have become picking each other apart, like rabid hyenas at a lions kill. [a curve in the neck of the swan the swaying of the weeping willow dancer in the midafternoon high wind] rolling forefinger over thumb, rain hammering and aeroplanes sound overhead.. a trashed image emerges, sounding hammers onto skulls and black eyes to the overheard. its exhausting to watch you at work its testing to watch the harm we test like we care, knowing we can escape that no one looks too closely, no one sees the subtle.. [thats what went wrong, we all forgot to be there..] and then, and then, and then, . . its empty streets of cobbles, winding downward towards the canal echos of clarinet and standup bass, bleak fog and the timetravel.. days after blurrs to unknown, staggering walks through black paths of industrial buildings with blown out windows, looming structures of decay rusted gaping eyes, wisping trails of old old magick, and moonlight dreaming bringback memories of starvation and insomnia [the best pieces i ever wrote] [the best parts i ever played] trailing wool and playing cards through the freezing year... when waking through your eyes, and letting the back curve just the right amount straighten the sinks, rattle the coins strike jarring vocals into the snow.. we all died and were reborn, we all shed skin like stolen overcoats from the lushworkers broke windows in each others souls and struck matches in the heartchambers burning rings of scartissue that maybe might never heal maybe might stay smouldering draining or giving strength, purpose or defeat sitting entwined in back alleys back to back, arms locked worse than junk, they s a i d talking through rotting teeth, and cigar trailing hands through hair and midnight majick, locked the protection,skipped the record and set fire to the strings the walls of concentration, the structures of foundation, came tumbling down those nights.. the blackness had spread through his eyes, [thats what took him] [let the calm break through me artificially injected through a series of precise routines] broke every voice we knew, lost every illusion we held close like ragdolls, like desperate beleifs, that we all make it out of this alive, that every one made their wings to fly.. up..up.. instead of, towards the gaping jaws ,and then it was just quiet, and the eyes cleared and the smoke died down like a curtain.. like a spinal column settling. a loud series of snaps, and a gutting like the very soul was scooped out and then replaced altered.. no discretion, no conscious definition, of 'for better or worse' [just different,quietly] flittering memories, of such a beautiful face and why she lost her cool. memory, of endlessness, of blue skies across meadows and a march of monsters across the circumference of the moon.. of the feel of batting eyelash, and whiskers and whispers of sweetness instead of tragedies that have been buried deep behind my eyes, ringing in my ears like swingset songs... sometimes up into the light, other times,downwards towards the night.. X . ~J.H.T (Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 29th, 2009
2:03 pm	the sunshine strikes again, steer clear of the frozen fingers as smoke cascades sideways from crude brick chimneys down to meet with the joker sun expressions of the morning,wearing wellington boots and sipping white coffee in the snowmade back porch box churches and sunken headstones [beneith it all lies a creek,wavering out like the near forgotten basilisks] even the dogs grave wasn't spared, snout chipped slightly,. smoothing out verses, over woodpanel benches a perch made all yer own, curled up deep in the booths of cheap diners, with those flickering florescent lights trying not to crash,trying not to laugh and mangle that pretty bright psyche car,candycolored in the persistent traffic of M.Emory of clammy paws and shaking head to the beat lying all alone,on the dirt and glitterencrusted glamour of that one reaccuring floor spreading out arms,to immitate heart to immitate a falling star,never caught in time wishes dripping through that soft green grass of feilds and valleys, schoolyard in reality catching breath like a bee in a jar, freezing it and tieing a little bow,so it can never fly too far away fromthe source,the hope,the understated truth of feeling,of seeing,of nothing,nevermind laughing through the storms dancing with the lightning,holding hands with willow as he bends his majestic boughs down at the park and just letting it all spin spin till the circles turn their effect on the world and we all ring around the rosey [nothing to do with the plague,this time,i promise..] . a wander into the streets of yesterday seems function has never been fully determined the machines of emotion falter too often,and moves are rarely made when they should.. softly spoken eyelashes, snailshell smiling hide the face behind the curtains,the show is done playing to the public has always been so awkward boardgames seem more appropriate chucking our voices about the room like coins down down the well, no girl shall crawl out of this one monsters are too close to home the black eyes of the consumed, the sharp jagged moves [i never said i was beauty, i alway prefered the beast. but my what a misunderstood beast it was.] the story is wound around my wrist and i can't help but sing,when no one can see from sideways doorways, keys to the hidden ways,unlock the little overlooked but just don't flee.. . a shooting star is a story,its tail holds cosmic fragments if nothing to do with the happy ending its not pessimism, i have never been that fatalistic even after a few deaths clung to the corners of sleeplesseyes and needles scattered over the floors the junk was corrosive. took turns ,rolled the dice, and caught the bus with the realization of simplicity the hardest ego may crumble and watching forests slip past a 4 day window ]bleeding moon playing the clouds into formation visualization of breaking back to basics lone flowing hair womyn crossing oceans to turn her head forward turned back around,cuaght by the ghosts and spoken to by no real consolation building bones stronger,frame from dissintergration stepping out of one cage and into another [there is no door] its so hard to remember,when you stand at edge after edge after edge keep the streets close,and your fears closer how else do you win the game,they advise, that has been played for centuries across the spine matching torn paper to handwriting of the departed[i will remember always,don't think i too will forget all those wasted nights stored beneith the skin] its time for celebration,even if i can't stop crying even if the fever has grown into a fine frenzy benieth vaulting ceilings the cracks may cause it all to collapse but there is wreckage to build from and anything can be made into glue to bind the faltering heart beat to drum the bassline . a chipped shoulder making clay into paper,as the sunrises on track working complication into typeformat empty out the trash records flung like frizbee, bookcover to the human impression scripted out and bound with pictures raising laughter over the screaming sidestepping,take this dance to the floor don't wake me up before i am done this dream keep the locket at the gates snapped shut to press the flowers puddles of cobbles and snuffles of runny noses receding steps backwards down all the runways of mind fashion the frame was shaken,but the core remains intact and stubborn as a leech it will take more than salt to tear it away entranced,but in secrecy or as secret as the most obvious reaction can be once upon a time i stood in the centre,but far off to the corner in a room not too far from here,over tea and compact living,stringing catscradle automation makeshift improvosisation at the call of company gaze crashing to the collecting dust the spiderweb decorativ incorporation light those past rooms cluttered by books and african brothers dagger et mace masks expressing only frozen personality,when you look over with the army decor of the french,world war 2 roman influence seeping from maps and cat nose ,as he used to dance ballet paws held to a clean point. . whisper stardust into my eyes pupils burned out by the sun lighter clicking teeth stained by tea all these years tapping out the melodies on tabletops tearing the matches from my skull chewing fingers, exorsice this nervernous from my tummy the impending instance the fluttering of a thousand monarch butterflies make room for the moths move over isolation.make room on the stilts for the piano of simple contentment cutting like a butterknife though the oceanside sands still moist from the visiting tide swayed like a lover by the moon to return return past the chipped shells,place the pebble beneith the tounge and treck onwards torn sweater of rough twine and mended chain little grey string tied in doubleknot collecting feathers, perhaps one day wings will be made crude and wax clotted and childlike but that can't mean they won';t hold// footnote to the orchestra of solar bazarr smokin' cigarette like a philospher bring back the 'los' concept,even cross all that distance and all those beers chugged by candlelight while the beetles scuttled,and centipedes tapped their shoes tie the laces,so you won't trip this time this time the music speaks down within the ribcage i can still joke through the tears laugh through the doubled up pain,if i want to can't help it,migranes get a kick out of it the voice is getting haggard but the emotion conveyed is worth the momentary rasp the evident flaws mapped out in craniological terms over wiskey and coffee,in the Griffen's layer one young day with God and the Alien [come see it again..] the faults are what makes us who we are// and i am in love with yours.[save it for later] the peace and quiet of monday morning in the sunshine in the snowstorm muffled beyond thought.procession in the paradegroundss slipping pennies on the railroad track right after climbing bears by the seaside in the wake of misguided evidence. . a sunken night of baked goods. she said i need love said i need to be taken in and for someone to treat me like he didn't,at the tail end of shell building in iron when it all cut the circulation off and freezing happened. in need of intervention,in dire need of calming or was that just words of consolation i do not search the starsigns.i refuse to put my neck out to the guillotine. there are no first moves within my vocabulary shy bright thing smoldering ashes caught under fingernails, and butter melting methodical in unconditional silence roadsigns mean nothing to the immobolized./ get behind the wheel and drive chances taken on so many occassions all chanced out, fuel is low, refill is too costly best to keep it quiet, i am not the most daring just the biggest fool. X ~Dodger (Comment on this)
Tuesday, September 15th, 2009
1:10 pm	the fool and the falling star we,.took the stars within our arms and emptied our eyes of your visions; your dirty fingerprints and double exposures, blackened tongue of missing heart.. opened our palms to the sun, and unsheathed our backs to the moon a face turned up to the night fall, [the mauve hour,and its sweetsweet weight] uncovered and unshackled returning to real faces, our blatant cores flashed like dirty secrets, like ill kept yearnings a parade of magnificent mistakes [birds in midflight] and then somehow, they are clean and true.. no mistake to think of.. scraped away the masks and fiction, worshiping our flaws, unfastening our ties and binds acknowledge the imperfections that make us whole and we are taking, and we are taken and we are given, giving strength crossing our hands above heart beats.. feather and flames reignited and the memory that we are blessed, that we, are re..creation letting time fall in granules of sand from the concepts, the ideals the perfection glimpsed in the illusions ;that control exists, that we have identical limbs that life will stop and wait at the red light a stall for the sake of singular a gesture tailored and \may i go, and i don't know why.. may i walk forward and be content, upon this concrete, drawn in and buckled down, upon the ground in passion in madness in intensity in acceptance in love and unconditional continuation down there with the dirt of the earth, and the roots of life until i lose my sense of confinement between these lines drawn, stepping over the wires over the joined arms of blocked vision the gangs of 'right' and 'wrong' until we stand , dancing barefoot mind expanding outward, contemplating unrefined thoughts like this, here, now [the only moment there is..] the intense sense of.., a breath drawn deep from within the belly ear layed down to hear the shudder.. a shard of silence shared like a slice of ice between two minds, between a thousand eyes clasped together.. sending pebbles off of rooftops; safe and sound, drawn out like the eagle curled into and out caught up in midair, the great mysteries stories mentioned in passing by Raven the great simplicities...of falling and a sensation, a fingertip to spine backwards as opiates, sideways as the lines installed, in the crosses and x's symbols intilling errors and fear with all their repentance clung to the arms of humanity, begging for bites.. here i be walking through the walls, sideways gazing, arms held open trying to find that .between station; a concentration of meaning joined between finality of impermanence, drawn in the vacuum of moment, [a room like no other] andcaught, by the cusp of reason, a soft embrace beneith night skies petals drifting from the open blossoms. and there is a searing pain dislocated worse than bone fragments, in this structure.. we was born to houses with doors and the every attempt to open the pathways between us kisses on both cheeks listening to the impossibility like the meteor shower skimming the branches of weeping willow. a magnetic circle, drawn around and round this, eyes closed to the thunder. palms stretched up to the electric and a silent speech, shaken from the folds of fabric,like a granite river, like stardust from the skies sweet oblivion cradling life with affection, instead of desperation..soft skin and batting eyelashes carried across the threshold of secrets untold ,a rainstorm of exsistence and i ain't got no coat on,but i am still dancing remembering those cloudy days,and midmorning suppers drank down like hot chocolat with all the makebelieve,tucked away in a pocket with string and hearts made of paper we will reenter the world hand in hand ,like guests and hosts,and complete fools. X ~J (Comment on this)
Monday, August 10th, 2009
10:50 pm	When we stand at the gates, fists curled up to meet the doors, hands drawn up to scour the contures of our faces reflected in dusty mirrors in semidarkness The pressing connections between one thought to the evolutionary step of action, these realizations drawn from a game of dominos the childrens play of marbles, one hits off, spinning out a dozen more.. and the stone throwers stop in a row, heads inclined and eyes widened gaze leveling downwards as the gravity of the occasions of past.. step up the stairs in grave mood tying the strings of fear and its instigations into bows, one hand clasped to another hair caught on the sharp edge of curled lips as the winds raise their voices [and i swore, i could hear the world breeaathe, that shuddering cavernous creek a thousand sinking shipsss] \ Stepping lightly, everythings started spinning feathers disheveled across gardens, imagery and flittering emotional electricity around and before the eyes like twisting film.. those features are hard to forget the cold flint within the eye of the hurricane burning candles at dusk,just stepped out of the fires.. and the ways in which we wear out aren't even equivalent to the exhaustion we breed by trying endlessly to fight ourselves trying to dig the holes to bury whatever traits we decided you decided weren't worthy weren't the preferable, specified, the right way to wear our hats, our smiles, our ties incorrect records to laugh, to dream, to move as we wish, did you wish that? the intensity in a snailshell, sitting alone upon the window sill as the darkened clouds begin to coterize.. i hear the deafening weight carried across the earth by exsistence.. And within my head, i dream of the lifting of all the cages i dream of endless open skies, und der Freiraum ,that can almost be glimpsed in a piano concerato, the deep emotional voice of cello, swaying lost within birch and peeling paint.. and i dream of days of thunder stripping the shingles off of our petty judgements, and the searing pains of isolations imposed as though every person is a god; yet doesn't point inwards for better, but projects outward in an attempt to heighten their status.. i dream of days when blood will stop seeping through the walls of society, like overcast wraiths and all those rainswept streets will echo the poetry of unconditioned thought ,sans premeditated layouts sans the boxes and molds we have been asked to force our varied forms into.. what has progressed in a world, that after thousands of histrionic recollections, can offer up nothing more than the same foolish patterns drawn from scrawl to ink to shiny technological 1s and 0s, i ask you, as an insignificant entity ,with all the burning of a thousand decades of injustice, what should i have done with my talents to solve? what didnt i do that i could easily have been able to learn? they say one alone is nothing, but one living for their life with others in love, instead of for only others and resentment is more powerful withstanding... and every silence has a story to tell the lost echo of the moments ensnared within the struggles, a sky moving sideways across peaceful sight as they face the cliffsides, even as the experience states just a moment left, just a dozen decades ravished with wartime splendor, with the contradictions layed out like wounded soildiers and we can no longer distinguish, our minds have been overpowered drowned by the entranced visions [she's afraid of a light in this dark...] this bird may fly, but the cage shall be left and i wont lay down this hammer, till its good and dismantled and scattered across the sands of the red desert and this skinl sheds the poisons spit out all the sharp words, inclining heads for all those years of searing and straining against the bonds, and the memories of others the second hand guilt, the untouched anger at the state the world created, the world we manufactured by the laws with all our love, all our hate, all our ... neverending arguments, drawn out like infinity just as the snake chases its own tail.. i dream of vast meadows reflected across the surface of your eyes, metaphorically, a break in the ice, and a silence to these fears, these fears i see wandering the streets, and flickering through the bodies of the people.. i dream of calm, after all the years consumed like the half starved dogs ,consuming the moon, like the haunting image of your face like the dark streets of east hastings like the black eyes of blindness... {how many fates took to their heels, how many masks chipped from our faces? i've stood spinning here,making myself sick in my attempt to run from the sun... i'd taken every poison they fed me, and yet i still failed to keep you alive.. so i painted our faces, and i caught the next ride chasing the shadows of past, dragging myself along the sea's bottom for the mistakes i made, the venom i spat when it all came down crashing on our heads breaking all those perfect card houses a handful of 'roaches and the cats pulled from windows and i was frozen, to that moment the years that stretched as far as my pupils after 6 days insomniac, and white kaffee draining around bared teeth churning smoke...] i wake,and there are vast skies, and i don't resist letting them capture me for those few moments of peace, and the reminder that i balance my own scales now after years of tipping back and forth/ X ~JHT (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, March 27th, 2009
12:26 pm	making stick fires, they sat about a random tower trailing sleeves in the dirt, and magick spells cast offkilter sewing stitches into the hems of dreams the dreams of broken wishes, and eyes closed tighter than should have been required had the days sunken their sound had the rats kept to themselves had the blankets housed less holes and the wind been let in,to dispel the sense of gloom from the accumulation of misguided magick of sinking .. there was one, where every sleep would fall endlessly down a well every time, stand about the edge, see the inevitable end and yet..and yet, simply gravitate regardless as though that was an eternal wish keeping the end in sight, was safer than not knowing that well, began to instill the saftey only repetition blinds us into beleiving is right. .. there was one, a child of mere age that would daydream after nightmare always end up surrounded by the sphinx with their gleaming eyes shining from london streets trecking forwards,claws clicking on cobbles in trailing little circles, like question marks and ask her, over and over and over 'if there were a thousand skies and yet ,only behind her eyes, where did they belong?' (Comment on this)
Monday, August 25th, 2008
10:28 pm	through the curtains of rain [photografie:Aleš WAKSMUNDSKÝ] . in sotspoken fragments,the woven excerpts a timeline unraveled like ribbon through inconsistent finger movements over the sunken keys of the grand piano stationed in rest,or perhaps..moreso disuse, at the far corner of that wartorn dancefloor all splintered and coarse as the language of a vagrant emptied at The time, the Time of censor when the jazz was torn out of our hands and hats freedom crushed beneith one selfproclaimed lord after another shoelace ties clipped from necks, dollface with the sad eyes, pale as an orchid keeping watch by the windows as the chase rang out through halls and alleys bass saxophone, bitter backalley doorway scribblings on the most passionate of notes, between rage and rebellion, resistance and preservation.. ,weaving stories truth donning masks in third person to express silence, and the after thought.. of breaking it.. and those words lived onward and onward, these words echo as those echoed the thoughtlost notebooks, the chained in smuggled and troubled penned in the hidden walkways of frozenplaited past glasseyed and lacklustre, pallid and wrought of ivory and iron.. through petals of rain, the imagery stands embossed. Time, [that man with a flowing face] he..never stood still for anyone. when we all died,when we were all reborn..when we fell backwards and forwards..through shattered carnival window.. photographs carry imagery, but these words will carry perspective and emotion with open doors.. see as you see fit,dear.. [in midfall,the rains returned..] across uneven cobbled footing, and turning ,winding scatter of marbles, mismatching pins and needles faces sealed behind masks, and scissors used to amputate needs the darkroam alleys of filthridden shop windows lightning struck individuals.. a face in the pit of ashes, smeared out significance [but wired into, her, heartt..] wandering the grounds of unrealistic experience through 1939, back out into the ruins shrapnel and discontinued conversations lost in the afternoize of fallen bombs.. the dove feather rose above the debris little hands and claws made of dilated pupils course as the falling snow over peaked rooftops, icebitten windows making patterns hiding sunken faces in their dreams.. an echo often sounds. a touch of faltering flesh.. when we count back to ten, indicating to our left, the hepcat with the stolen property and the magistrate with a collection of wills and pigion skulls,, the tobacconist without eyes, and his wife with the sword collection.. the slaughterhouse manager, and his morphine addicted daughter... things may flicker and switch, may spin like a wheel of destiny, or dis.ease through the ages of damage partnered in this dance of life.. with the ages of beauty... you may find me here, picking the shirtsleeves and the petals off the ground,. wondering wondering in the empty halls in those hollow walls which houses that Great disaster yet, can simply be the most beautiful thing ever seen... benith the frostbitten language,and the sunburnt wreckage the veneer has been lifted, and through tragedy do we see the comparisons... X ~J Current Music: devil doll, yann tiersen (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, July 18th, 2008
4:17 pm	back to bc so i am back in vancouver. its a headtrip to say the least. nothing is in french. old magick. not enough bricks. less ghosts. a hell of alot of memories. but,it would be nice to see people. but i can only chase so much. so,for those who want to get in touch with me,since i have no numbers to anyone now...send me your numbers. yarr. beer will be had! X ~J (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 19th, 2008
12:58 am	its in the way,you turned and looked over,the pages emptied and stammered. there is something,within the sta[i]r/e/s opening up into hollow eyes,and then the skies cast over in little ways,just so little ways that make it real. real they said over sips of blackened soot coffe,e..and vaguely put offerings a- [here they drew a pause,out of their hats,in india ink] t the reckless end of the story. such a pity was the word scrawled over his hand in pockets that fell down those accursed sta[i]r/e/s will they ever lead upwards,will they ever turn their eyes farther?? X (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 18th, 2008
9:39 am	Carnival callings to d,ear Prudence there was a ragtag band following behind us all dressed in chalk smeared black and red diamonds, blues smudged as the night pastel over sharpened cobbles in silence and in musick, tophats tilted and patchwork coattails,.veils clung down like cobweb curtains beneith the bleeding beautyspot horizon cradled within delicate fading mountains sleeping as the selfpronounced heavens,[shimmering feather boa constrictors] rained rose petals and scarab beetles,. like storms kissing the ocean.a porcelean hand to the splintered heart chambers and the lines on the sands matched to trailing tails of skampering feet,snailshell patterns the caravans born of darkened pine breeding all of noah's arks worth in woodworms and termites flying silk flags and dancing feathers turning words into dancesteps through the pockets of Time,unusual collections of weather wild ways of turning winds through hair and eyelashes the insturments played in brass and rust keeping tuned with the shadowed windows on either side of thoughts creepin' a mixmatched laugh,ringing out brazen and biting smooth as seasoaked velvet in the rain of wednsday morning,or was it friday? keeping the keys next to the bass,chipped mug next to the snakeeyes rhythm bordering on abandon ,a tumbleweed affair as the bottles roll cross the tipping ship surface in the clouds,on the way to touch the Moon carried upwards through horsedrawn and seagull carried structures resembling,but not quite pinpointing this waywardly carnival,maskclad but hiding nothing nothing in a jar with everything and just the smallest remnants of blueberry jam keeping the hardtoreach corners warm... . 'the sun is up,the sky is blue its beautiful,.and so are you...' X (2 Comments |Comment on this)
9:38 am	Walkabout She walked before the storm, along longdeserted paths. Hands loose at the sides but outstretched to the night when little fingers seeked. This girl with her drawn down mannequin face wore peeling paint dresses and unwinding sweaters of soot. They came to cling to her icesculpted hands like missing children of the milkcarton sort, swinging and grinning through the delicate mist and smoldering petals. Here shadows peeled and lamplights flickered where she passed. Little monsters crept out from hiding to follow her lead,like rendition Pied Piper of the ethiereal, they moved in black water backstreets in the wake, eyes encrusted with charcoal like ornaments and curling limbs of dotted ink spills. Creepers of the Twilight, locked through fractured bass riffs at the entrance of Night upon tilting horizon veiws [where the ships are spun upwards to meet for tea with the starsss]. Like trailing smoke, the musick unraveled at her heels. Little faces appeared at the edge of gutter and sunken stone structures leaning inward as aged greiving. The realm of untarnished rusting magick ,of the veils thinnest moments, the Time of no clocks comprehension. Hair trailing through winds fingers like muffled beauty. Through the smooth clicking atmosphere, she walked tall despite the freezing breath of twisted metal remains and years upon years of distance. Lone tuning of assorted instrumentals slipping from the windows passed, they began to form like portals, gaping jaws from where they crept to join the cloud of beings in tow like trailing ribbons, linking to her in common and in difference, these sinking frames of Twilight made in motions. All mixmatched brothers and sisters, some thin birch bark wrapped and excavated fossil pressed close to slinking smiles that curled upwards in plaster,others held up bandaged claws with neverending songs fashioned of wayward wordless lullaby in the tangled ears of cryptick knotted flesh made of uncertain recollection. Others still wore hats topped with matted fur and whiskers turned upward towards beadwork eyes brightened like wildfire. Feather clung to wax backs and snickers tangled paws as they spun round and round and round,like backmasked sound.. The streets curled before her and behind her like serpents, cobbles akinned to roughworn scales in deepringing color. She led the misfits and rambles through those darkened ways like Korczac had led his orphans,loyal figurehead to the longsunken ship eyes,ringed with stars even if they were meant to fall like comets... X (Comment on this)
9:37 am	FOrgotten Tails the way they were leaning inward them walls looked lost in reflection through dreary weather and smileflecked children passing stooped against the onslaught of winter fingers freezing lillies of the linguistics translations for what words couldn't quite touch from far above the starry faces hair caught at the edge of lips and snailshell the matted visages entered the scene like great wings past daylight hours,out of reach of harm these Forgottens moved like fluid choreographed euphoria one step here and one tap there long fingers wrapped in elegance,angular skeletal frames profiles caught the breath of any regardless so frightening,the people would whisper behind closed drapes like a horror story,even if they never knew its source never thought to seek the truth. from word of mouth into ears of misbehaving child though perhaps it was for the better,that the Forgottens remained untouched by prying questions ,stinging looks from prejuidiced eyes stormy with fear and revolt just because they wore the skulls of cows and bears [such little things taint like dye drops on coffee filter..] they preffered perhaps,that humanity remained non the wiser as they prowled those frostbit streets swarms and on the lonesome,shrouded clouds of hanging fabric little nails touching delicate like microscopic instruments so much care behind the motorized bones, like softspoken love in the velvetine embrace of candlelit rooms. they tilted they gazes grazing the closed doors and chipped stairs moving from one place to another,dining on dreams spinning gossamer seams to stitch together beyond the realm so fashioned as 'reality',those hopes and deepwell penny wishes to construct the lives of subconscious dreaming into elaborate stories fit for those who walk on and nightmarish sigils into the rabid realms of those who burn.. each a lesson to learn,a fear to face,empowerment to receive by their wistful musings made aide to the humanity that scorned them,unawares though when sleeping,to these gliding sails to shipwrecked frames hung crude against the winds [in love and lighte,the dark too do sometimes walk] X (Comment on this)
9:36 am	Snapcracklemurmle a torn silver lining,slipped beneith the ey e \of the hurricane alphabetically organized according to name according to the movement beneith the soil and flowerbeds covers drawn up to the chin and patted down,like in search of weaponry at the brink of fear,[theysaytheysay] you can lose your way,in the sudden hit to the wall the burst of a lightbulb or electrocuted needle if the restless lost catch up with the flirting darkdark stepping around the beetles single finger tapping out the tunes that go round and round and round like the carnival lights behind steeple tents and mannequin remains 'cross jarred yards of barking dogs and dustbunny glitter left behind,or left in mind of your arrival upon the scene like a scheme fashioned lightyears before by a snickering magus with the clearest eyes of glass an apple core embrace and a ferret with a wooden ear named Saturn Carr Pete/ [the first to see,the tornados storming the city partnered with 3 black holes and a tsunami...] just in case. just incase the musick box went on strike[better pay or less hours!] and the veils dropped like vases leaving you standing in the center of the ring[leader] counting out the stars and feathers drifting like nomadic insects made thinlike silver and vibrant candycoated conversations rattling and mismatching socks like knocked off vowels in epic streets of crocodiles,except with scarab beetles all pinned up but still snickering,as they wiggle their wings defy the rules of logick what else can be done when the strings are cut when the wings are let go,and the birds decide to fly? circling streets of Old places,at 2am on a broken bycicle fingers cracked like Death valleys expansive floors [where be the milk and huney beneith the surface?] quiet,dear. keep the breathing in the curling fashion wrapped in waywardly messes and fixes. in this chamber of M.Emory's palace, the plaster is always crumbling the rust creeps up and down like pinstripe windows rattle,doors mismatch with their handles carpets curl to swallow cherries and chocolate,spiders weave out tapestries and ladybugs waddle over waterlogged fingers.. here there be monsters,dancing twostep with the angels making faces and intwining claws with humanish hands in demolished spleandor of years and years lost and found and lost again those meekish murmurs slipping into the cracks of walls nestling like silkworms in their cocoons as the wind howls like the beast it can be,even when its laughing outside trying to get in,but only halfheartedly candles burn and wax spills and draws out patterns over the uneven paths that some may take and some may skip, attempting to keep the restraints of the english language at bay but still conveying what is wanted to display like word painting,the little nonsenses renegade visuals instilled in dewdrops on the back of the eyelids see the magick? love over fear/ X (Comment on this)
1:31 am	Room of Mis.guided Instruments.. tiptap tiptapscratch with slithering scraping there stole forward rusting metal arms and legs in the shapes of blades wires running,running from cranium to poorly welded tails throughout bolted torso,in sample moods upon swings of violins,and lonesome oboe crooning softly to the darkened windows, but the shutters were only half open,to let the snow in smirking lamplights of jaundice yellow flittering through fractured square shapes overlooking as one drawer pushes forward from the wall then another,with minute effort alittle grunt,and then clatter glass eyes emerge,glimmering fires behind single lens ricocheting across the grimey room to get swallowed by the deep purple beetles shell as it lumbers 'cross uprooted floorboards and behind a tattered curtain [its getting to be that hour] a forboding flicker of the singlemother candle and her offspring rolling to the edge more curtains,gossamer silver matted hair slit open as a long needleleg emerges,followed by another like an exotic dancer misguided slumber, the stilted creatures,wrought of protractors and rulers spinning facial features pendulum swinging from unhinged jaws watered down with leaking snow and saltriddled tears,.a thunder apears wrapped over sorrowful bass creeping on four pins over stained maps and documents drawing circles with the penend and just a touch of oil drifting feather up to parched lips of cold steel,contemplating, offering nothing other than clockwork suddenly startled by uproar of chisels,carving and knocking fleeing into tunnels made alternatly by burning and drillthings rolling like panzer units upon plaster and wood coils and springs gathering to create mathematical equations on the infinity symbol, with the metal malformations from stray scissors nodding off before the winters breath causing corrosive build up like dripping terpentine in this sunken room where this hour switches all the sands of the hourglasses replacing instead with knuts and bolts and loosened plans for just an hour,keeping the colors grey and green and blue diseased with filtered outside trafficks this time when the motionless motion ,motorized scrapmetal little beasties of purposeless remnants,miswelded instruments stirring and snooping and slinking upon errands of undetermined bussiness just in this hour,forever if ever.. X (Comment on this)
1:31 am	Dear moonlight sonata... when the sky clouds over,you bow your head the onslaught of rain and grains of sand scraps of initiative to step up or step back curling and uncurling within your snailshell waving out the lines of notes onto tattered paper 1st movement to the second walk through the ruins misstep or counterclockwise reflections swimming into the eyes of roadside puddles mud slinking up the pantlegs,into shoes full of rips and tears bound together again,.with bits of string fallen short,or stopped to injest the brightlight of the morning face,grey oval eyes soft pastel cheeks rouged before chipped mirrors expansive windows returning the visage without critique as the steps fall behind,clattering trams passing moving hidden behind hat brim and upturned collar walking taller,in time with Smuga cienia, ensnared, and then replaced by M.Emory in more elegance than the language could compel with nothing but words to spell the waves and urges and emotions spilling from the coffee mug of orchestration made in part by the touch of violin and clarinet,jedna dve tri pianista stooped ,thin arms layed out upon the diner counter smoke curling upwards towards rotating ceiling fans back arched,cufflinks scuffed fingers working the small rectangular tiles humming softly under his breath,the music of the tiles were they keys wilst reading the posters pinned crudely cluttered with large black letters smeared fresh from the printers applied with nervous accuracy perpendicular and out of balance,like scattered ice upon the roads and throughout alleys clutched up by the streetcreatures,wartorn wreckage where a strange inspiration can be found at times walking alone,face drawn down against the cold turning round and round to watch footprints in the snow leading away into the dark Night`s unknown ,littered with chunks of stone behind and in the process of gone catching the smeared creepers ,from the corner of an eye just as quick as a flash,there and away whispy little strangers keeping up appearances in the heart of noir back to the past,haunted and alive alice of the damaged wonderland, keeping the dimmed days embraced with the bright rose faltered with outstretched thorns beauty and the beast,.dance dance dance with me. (Comment on this)
1:28 am	Matters of Silent Business caught and shaken. backing through windows stories above stories are told world mythology and medical termanology i can\t cut through these walls when my fingers blister and i end up spitting blood into the askew sink amidst turpentine oil paints speared with gold pigment over dismantled furniture protractor spinning circles and sidestepping nausea/ [the little needle prick,up a bit and to the left] my breath never did stand cleancut haggard eyes sliding through scenes like rusting braces putting masking tape over the rips stitch it up,nice and tight even if all the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't ever put it back together again/. [the dark core is like an apple seed amidst white flesh] shaking the stars out of my hair i can\t gift all i wish i could couldn't stand up long enough when the lightning hit when the ground shook and they took you away all the faces of yesterday months have passed,days and nights some sleepless others scattered like pebbles i see you sometimes in my dreams,my dears void of the illness,void of the shaking limbs eyes gazing with renewed life,. even from behind the stars.. and the distant smears of filth and glamour rockinghorse sundials snatching premonitions with scratchy voices over speakers past previous encounters with daybreak and under the moonlit brilliance of lunacy staggering over hills and valleys,monacle to one eye and burntlow candle dangling from chains round the grace of swans neck making out spirals and infinity,through brick and cobble dust collected by Ages historie of the incomplete,dictated and recorded in invisible ink,and a scratching feather weaving carpets of flighty transportation the soul standing at the gates to Anubis's apartment reclining expectation ,the days at hand head tilted ever so slightly to the left managing collagework language held up to the ears all curly and attentive,no detail shall be misplaced as the ways of the wasted ,instead make this your example a mathematical equation written out in charred branches four corners to the fifth element quintessential being,the pinpoint of the dream the eye of the hurricane.. we still speak like we stand in that feild still catch the words before they hit the cement with practiced incompetence,social wrecking ball magnetic power that failed even with the cautious uproar in the bell tower, slight stitches are still visible. what was i thinking? tracing out vancouver on newsprint over the wanted ads and carnivorous proclamations stirring sugar into this homesickness keeping the hounded out of the haunts and the missles to the extinct war records. in the fate of humanity,there will be laughter even if monkeys in little vests end up throwing grenades out of dates and little hats be worn askew there is vague certainty proclaiming that no one thing will ever last,but many things will go on forever and ever like strings of plastic beads,multicolored and rambling,like this right here. X (Comment on this)
1:12 am	Revisiting corner joints with black coffee insufficient funds,.in the backlogged sidestreets skippin' stones down those long winding alleys onward the legs walk,pants scuffing at the chipped backheels pinstripe and cigarette burn ,a miniature martini shaker attached to chain and skeleton key angular movements,hat held swinging twixt two fingers doublejointed and expressing black and white overlapping film,fresh outta the dark room and smokey siluettes tapping sharply out across yellowing floorboards and over to one corner,as the bells on the door announce entrance,and glance over sideways, ordering with one hand,for that strong coffee, over checkered counter, the works of the place,around the corner from the tobacconist and drugstore. cheap salt and pepper shaker eyes held bleak above the daily news,and the steam from the spillring out on the table cloth skips beats with the pennies tossed over dirty fingernail,and stubble of ol' Ralph ruffled down shirtcuffs with missing buttons sewn in wrongside up,with skill making faces up at the rain,dripping off the outdoors like great waves of math problems skimming the curb and past the butts,smoked down to the filter down the gutter mouth,through the long metal teeeth.. and over yonder, that wiseguy in the corner, the one with inconsistent names,always on the run but yet always sitting right there eyes turned up to the ceiling,and the single black fly keeping his teeth sharpened with the tension of it all,and those wings cleaning them to put him off,but he's aware the moment he turns the vermin will make away with his sugar [he be watchin' that one,and every so often,the door.]\ he knows too much about the anatomy of a broken down sailboat with an etherfed woman but no one knows fer sure..all just speculation at this point,in this diner turning backways at the far end,where the ceiling begins to dip and dive,.like a leaping goldfish in orange pinhole galaxy down towards the lukewarm soup before her face turned elegantly downward yet hands never making the full journey to eat it eyes always lost to the dimonds and the immitation lemur,slung carelessly about her shoulder yet here she sits,drawn by some magnetic lunactic to meet over and over,at 1 dollar soup and red leather seats in a booth true love escaped her and headed west but this love,forced and imagenitive,will last as long as she wants till the mind clears again.. behind Lucy, sits the thin wire frame of Roger nicotine stained teeth and fingers a halfsmile straightened by sugar cube,tapping ashes into the coinslot of the jukebox lonesome smear of a long forgotten presence he dines every day, on a bagel and some butter refill coffee and cigarettes,that seems the theme of greased back hair and interlocking knuckles bright chip of pupils well fed on the commotion as the waitresses move like pawns over the chessboard, serving water and refilling empty cups of quickwashed stonework aprons tied with quick movements, in the backseats on their drive to work in beat voltswagon or pickup balancing plates like bears in the circus always alert to avoid the pawings of the hungover the mob smirks in the back there, all suits and tie Italian or Russian or whatever that accent means even Johnny over there, with his stringy brown hair clinging to his cheekbones, two fingers tracing patterns in spilt pepper tapping one worn leather shoe in time with the tunes minding his business, but keeping ears open like radar. Bill coughin’ up a storm at his own booth thin sallow profile, sharp nose like a wellworn cooking knife scrawling out symbols, for his newest documentation of how the streets turned darker,and exactly how he helped them enter hell on notepaper from a secondhand briefcase leaking fountainpen and small errors here and there making it more believable than his own flesh and blood hunched over and consumed, by that compulsive mood that thirst for expression, lost to so many even with his drug induced stupor oblivious to the children playing outside, in the canals chasing each other past the bug splattered windows of the door misted by the warmth, cheap lettering in faded yellow scratched away in some places, by inconsiderate hands that couldn’t stop moving, scratching like nervous wrecks in the mid morning over grease engulfed fries.. the old gentlemen station themselves near the centre windows every day at precisely 12 noon, like a cloud walking in to the sound of bells and haggard exchanges taking off their shabby coats, checking pocketwatches that only barely work releasing cigs from insidepocket crushed boxes lighting and puffing and talking, with that near extinct way passing around the news and waving veined hands for refills toast and jam and eggs, tossed carelessly on plain white plates single serving cream, and stale tomato ketsup ringing up nostalgia, as they remininsce wishing they had enough for a better cigar and watching young Douglas with mild distress the son of the oldest of the group as he sits, thin knees up and crossed legs the bones showing through his grey trousers sipping his one cup,no food,but sketching the scenes with a knifesharpened school pencil, tounge held in the centre,between his little white teeth [he decided on art college, when his daddy wanted law] he was a sharpened mind, but his fancies took up most his time and he was drawn to the down and out like a vulture to a starving child with talent that stretched farther than any court hearing he knew it, but his father, Old Paccio, had been etched with distress his thin mouth held it permenant in its lines as he tried and failed at smiling, whenever he saw the lost hope completely oblivious to his sons work, and for many years still oblivious to the exchanges between Hazel the waitress when she brought Douglas his coffee, free of charge the look in their eyes when they constructed their own world after work and after school, in the private recesses of the rooftops dodging George, who didn’t study anything at all just slunk around the diner, hands in pockets, cigs clamped between thin lips shadowed eyes glancing longing, in their direction evident envy, a brittle infatuation, always hoping to be served by the girl he would never have and luckily he wasn’t cruel, or aggressive and blind just a cap pulled over his wistful eyes, and a battle to tear away detach from the pain and realize he was only 23, and that a whole world stood before him, if he kept his vision open without barricading the doors. the rain stops,the midafternoon sun creeps out of hiding sending bright light cascading reflecting in the puddles, spread like butter across the streets around this corner,through the windows enlightening the dishes and faces the insomniacs and walkabouts beatpoets and old worn copper voices animated in discussion or inactive in deep thought or complete silent musings the diner of Broadway and Main, in small neibourhood full of regulars with irregular personalities clotting the atmosphere with their eccentricities the flavour is one of a kind, you would love to see it for yourself the down and outs,the scruff of the culture just sitting back in your booth, put a quarter in the box and let 'Virginia Avenue' drift up with the smoke absorbing the atmosphere like a spaceman on his first trip behind the stars,above the marble earth floating amonst the conversations, the facial expressions observed out of the corner of the caffeinated eyes, scribbling on the back of a placemat writing out the stories of the people the community of the small section of town a taste like no other, for 50 cent refill, and tearing 4 packets at one go, to add that sweet serenity to the most nervous spinal injury a nice stability, in the rollorcoaster of life. X (Comment on this)
1:11 am	the house of M.Emory sometimes,sometimes i play to pass the time.observing , amusing myself with the feeel of all the different windows, where there is the perrfect moment,as the light hits the glass and skims past the face and i wonder if the occupants notice it,recognize it as i do when i take their place for that breif moment..] . . it snags a hold, and so much more shapely hands and the glint of a very certain madness [we're all mad here,the cheshire cat said..but really] flicking magnets through the looking glass sweeping doorsteps of hair and toothfaerie glitter sneaking peeks at the whisper,the doors have reopened those doors deep within, where i kept away from kept my distance of those barred rooms and quiet places for alittle while, distracted by the candy of reality so breifly,just long enough to grow distraught reassess my keys,count my teeth,.and straighten my suit fix that crooked tie gather up my rasp of dissuse and freckles from the sun there is little wishful thinking, just too large a helping of fatalistic belief i really tried to shed,like the python.. shy encounters rewired into awkward stances after snow poured down my arteries [he said"i'll be tender,to make up for your freezing.."] now enough wasting away, there is work to be done click of sharp little teeth, and escape mode survival in the darkened emptiness with itsfrozen trees and icy statues, so cool i can ask them to releive my pain with their touch wandering between worlds a smoothed out paper recommendation for the starsss copperplate hands held out with infinite patience soft musique of paradiso,mapped out in purgatory administered in the inferno,. should i eat that burning heart out of his hands? standing still in a valley of inverted clocks watching the moments pass, with my tounge tip held up to the center pinpoint the in.between of everything and beneith my askew breastplates a vision still flickers, like ghost weedled candles making something worthwhile,making it all unstoppable and keeping the calm content of it [its too much to explain, but if you want to hear perhaps i'll whisper it,across a sinking table with the bowed orchid sleeping on the mantel] some say i have grown weary, i beleive i said it first when the tiles on the ceiling reached 333 and the walks clipped the streets its all just how the moods swing.. a tap of the heel, and a length of good tape could heal the most torn of leather,. watching the pigeons keeps some mind over matter the rooftops, and the symetry[misspelt] of the wiring laying out the different passages to take/ there are no garentees of happiness, no masked prizes standing upon cheap tables at the end. but you never do know,it goes both ways,hm? there are the passing moments, and the gathering in my head, i lay out a garden the rooms, i am opening to air, and letting the occupants [well,most of them...] wander where they will, converse in pleasant hums even if their voices grate, and the seether seethes i have the one place to gather myself take all the little folds, and like a blanket bring up the four cornes like the universe,.the elements reconnecting with the past is the one thing, that despite all those studies and experiences i've held shows me most clearly who i am, and who i am not./ [throw up the flag,throw up the hands and shrug. what can i say?] X (Comment on this)
1:06 am	A sliver of Calm electroshock treatment is off the menu though when the rains fall, in a hum of inhuman nature the electricity flows through the blood sharp arrow pointed at the crisp precision artful tattered heart of the cemetary mink amidst the fallen leaves of cultured silence [with that suit of sharp dark, red mouth against powder snow,.and flint matted pupils glancing inward,whilst drawing out insight like sweetened honey thread from the ear of elegance..] he stands still, the world weaving like doves over singular essence will the birds drink the tears amidst the diamonds? a question begs an answer,.though perhaps before formation the answer was stolen crept away from the draping arms, climbing spines across the magnificent marble chambers of sleep where the doors are numbered thousands the palace of memory, and the possiblitiy of all kinds of reality birthed amongst the wounds of inspiration the softly fed ambition ,.from the jaws of the lion with milk and starlight ,this is where we visit,.voices muffled by the cavernous windows and spinal arches where statues stand in the dim halflight of twilight creeping in with the scent of orange and lillies ,walking like all the time has fallen from these folded hands and there may be no end to the moment as long as we want it, keeping instep with the train of thought, long discussions on the brink of the bridges crossing our hands in the symbol of devotion but without the strings sewn in to dictate what exactly devotion to who? love may be just as well whatever is meant needs not be spoken, when the table scrapes metal off the rooftop the bars lift off the cells,.some enter the light some stay where they want,.siluette against the metaphorical moonlight casting a soothing air, devoid of any particulars [i'm keeping this one secret...] psychologically in persuit, realistically in cognito. there are storybooks to be written, and many tales to be woven stringing up the hanging man mirrors stood up in front of the morphing gazes before there is any sense of surrender, even when standing back to back lifting the severed head of Mercury in flight beneith the caponni's arched paintings, packed full of animated saints and historical colorings in the shapes of people faces twisting into M.Emory, with their plights vibrant in presentation but distant from the earth, somehow colder than the crimson painted especially in the cheeks but more real in the tip of his tounge,pointed upward crossing evidently only once the pinpoint center and then gone,like lizard expressions and eyes glowing,embers in the dimmed lighting leaving ghostly impressions in the passing traces of dream,realism Now.. caught on the sleeve of psuedological,from the insipid eyes of a dreamer walking the rainstrewn steets of older cities, leisury stalling in the carniverous presence of holy structures presenting no lightning striking the sleek sinful the bashful intellectual of bloodletting mind wandering farther, different floors in a giant building corrosive as Time, and consumed by the momentary recreating life with the story ,the work in progress forever and a day, before the sun, squinting critique the stairs are winding forward to admit it reconcile with the thunder, observation peering keen as a blade initiating the inscition cut across the space in.between this.. a locket of incounters, shapely in their perfect fit no need to scorn the imagination, for its gift of content and the lessons taught over cosmic tones wind ravaged stairwells and tantalized curtains layed down to rest, amidst the magnified ribbons of musick seeping over the waking in touchtone reminiscense and the sharp outline,of the perfect cheekbones impressed forever,even if unmatched by any face since.. X (Comment on this)
1:01 am	Warzawa raking up the trailing sleeves, with a cough to the side,missin' work for a runny nose and locking the door with the key still inside.. picking through the photographs, the debris wearing matching socks a voice called horse,and two pennies and a dime. snufflin` through bookshelf alleys, sharpened corners ribcage contracting,lungs burning burning keepin`gleam in the jaundice eyes,and hailing to tuberculosis from the pages of historie. will this smooth sleep never end? filling glasses with tears and bandaids,let them steep like lavender oil partnered with bramble. [i feel the tug.yes indeed i do. it might be a shake,in a year or two.] still the softeyes of the sky always compell me the pitterpatter of rain on a sunday morning.. fleeting whiskers darting past peeling windows.. laying arms around and comfort,. nostalgia washed sightseeing,. there are slumbering beasts layed asleep there ,with little zzzs within the ribcage of my heart and though they are painted black, they wash out wight in the edge of darkness,where the thoughts hang like a clock imitating the orloj of praha before the german artilary dined on its artistic face. caught the force of the impact let the darts of repetition catch and hold because really,its true,and that,no matter what flags are waved or bright side you stand on,will do nothing to change a truth is true because it stands there over time and proves itself over and over,sometimes in exsasperation sometimes a bitter taste left behind [i can see it,sometimes,feeel it sinking] and that wilderness and the climbing vines of regression like atavism.. lessons watched being taught,but then disregarded.over and over and over humanity seems talented in the art of destruction despite all the gleaming wings in the herd all the protective hands over scarred eyes that were witness to the loss,.of everything real. there never seems enough peace heard by the deaf ears no flowers thrown will faze the tanks the building of armies.. there are foolish descisions being made,as usual.. that seems a constant in the ways of the influential but, will i end up standing at the edge, when the toll is taken for ignorence and inhumanity? will i cover my children`s eyes, grab them and run from burning building to burning building,like in those pictures as the bomb sirens ring f e a r in our ears? war has always fascinated ,a subject to eat up and heed and it leaves the deepest footsteps yet,after this neverending bloodstained trail,all these haunted days the shadows under eyes and the reflections breaking silence in the thunder.. no.one with sway seems to feeel. the prescription for a third war has already been written as it goes on and on, like some immortal disease moving from one land to the next,eating up the lives [what right have they got? nothing but a meatmarket] the facts have been flaked off and a new coat administered cover and hide,baby cover and fucking hide. within all those curling shells,the cure making soft voices louder tracing out backbones with a single finger and letting the exit wounds jut like the skeleton of a dismantled sea scarab fires burn,behind eyes,behind skin,behind words and it just comes to show,how unevolved we`ve remained though arrogance and technology claim different the smears over history are more evident if you ain`t too squimish if you think before in order to think ahead and though the silenced speaks only wavers i know my path now and i know how i don`t want to end it.. caught in a presence of mind,.an unexpected visiter that may as well take me ,let me care take all the whispers in the wind,and the nature of things and sleep beneith the grayscale X (Comment on this)
12:59 am	wildflower sleeping b'neith the evergreen seas surface loosing matches and counting stars eyes turned backwards ,and porcelean minding crossing hearts and impaled emotion in stasis drawn down beneith the cadaver laying low with the wistful violins, the marching damned keeping visions of the angel, hair curled about the face and darkened eyes to contradict heaven. waking the moon in the arms of storms incoming like tsunami breaking bones with ice words and that bitter memory, drawn in pins and sharp when the curtain fell, and the case broke it can do little, and it can do too much. one day, in this House, will be calm overlooking feilds of marble slumbers and wind flower (Comment on this)