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Jan. 10th, 2012

Alleviate me you Faceless, nameless...weightless & helpLess.

mood: drained drained
music: Loser=Weed.
No sleep..
I'm bleeding the blood of unborn babies & my right index finger is fucked.
I can't even begin to fathom how freehand writing is going to be possible in its state, & I have a full day set ahead of me.
 &

I'm in love with a girl
who isn't even aware of my very existence.

Sanity & happiness are an impossible combination.
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Posted at 06:11 am | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

May. 28th, 2011

Hernia, hernia...

mood: lazy lazy
A toast to contracting cervical radiculopathy,
herniating a disk or 2 in my neck.  

Posted at 07:03 pm | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

Mar. 17th, 2011

(no subject)

mood: cold cold
music: Floe - Philip Glass. My Window - The Residents. Hanging Around - The Cardigans.
I hate Being

so close to you
mortally

where my sates decay
faster than Flesh

running parallel
brackish walls of tears roll
crystalline

quicker now than I
could tear my cinereous Self
away.
a scant cage --
dearth you Cannot

penetrate

[as though] my inward absurdities
would swallow [you wholly..]
& where I
lay gentle
in android shells;

shackles We chose
to adorn our venial ankles
, tadpole-feeble 
bells,
parades a merit
pre-acclaimed
baby-stepping
on scarred stones .
Impetus
charters frivolity
where churlish pages
turn or twist in a haste.

You
hosted that these
eviction prophecies
were self-fulfilling
a chase.
My billhook trapped
between bed frames
, Debauch
of a lie-ar's lay
amongst the bedaub -
imbruing my
dusky wretches - bedbugs,
& sleepers in an
imbued hypnosis
blue
 
...somehow still
you'd persuaded me
to lie
in
, depress.
adhere 
to these Dionysiac 
beds shadily;
perhaps, even
nightly
I would come to
, Rest.
hit the hay.
Your vendeuse tongue hunchbacked
lathered the soundless word
through, where earwax couldn't assemble a fort.
I was bought --
SOLD
to you.

It's my own fault
for complying
bodily to a compliance 
vitreous,
saw Refinement
in your amorous objections;
canned my
Resentment
for the night rang handsome,
a venereal chancing
of once-frightened
bed-hoppers.
Laterally under 
my pomelo tree 
pot luck escorted
onerously

against heinously spat
shares of air
inour sips of spit,
gallops of care.
 mouth in tongue,
tongue in teeth,
teeth in Lung --
"As the Brewery grew mild & much colder on that Thursday dusk
( ... )
 

Posted at 07:46 am | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Jan. 27th, 2011

Gentlemen, start your engines...

mood: coffeecoffeecoffee.
music: Raga Marwa - Ram Narayan.
I have a little problem with implementing change when it is demanded & mandatory of me - through direct action particularly. Well.. it's not that little, more like an elephant sat in a room. As if this in & of itself wasn't bad enough, I've always rushed hastily into denial & excuses for this sort of behaviour. Deductively, procrastination in my case isn't necessarily out of sheer indolence; moreso a defence mechanism that has residence in some unknown limb of mine.
Too often I find myself inert, concluding that "I don't know what &/or how to do it...", better yet, "where to start" even if the reality is au to the contraire. A deep seated respite seemingly consumes me, leaving me inevitably sat on two stools - the former wanting nothing more than to take the initiative, to "do", albeit the latter unmovable, @ least not by any qualms of my own.. in example, the prospect of cleaning my room to its entirety will begin a mental procession of whether enough is being done accompanied by absurd indecision, fearing dissastisfication with the finished product prior to any endeavours. An acute awareness of how my actions may impact every possible, & improbable, outcome leaves me vacillating on proverbial eggshells & thin ice; veering any presentable focus on a specific task, shifting objectives & challenging my determination.

Some perhaps prolonged conditioning has developed the belief that the day I do, things [god forbid, everything] will "change" & I'll expect higher of myself so in some means, there's an automated prerequisite to ensure, if ever to completion, anything I undertake [directly] is done or acted upon just right else self-worth debilitates & plummets.
Flipping the coin, I awaken to the actualisation that, once done, the final product will be far & futility-ridden in orb & degrees comparative to that which I was aiming & initially shooting for -- although effortlessly written off [with most people regarding it as one & the same]. This extreme form of neurotic, maladaptive perfectionism has long hampered academic endeavours, creative expenditures, personal goals, possibly even relationships & my demeanour, for its difficult somehow to embark on anything unknown without the inherit self-consciousness kicking in with plausible timing. Having said that, we'll deem "unknown" the operative word... ( consider this a forewarning & proceed at your own discretion, but don't say I didn't warn you. )

Posted at 11:02 am | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

Jan. 25th, 2011

The Incarnadine Driftweed's Exclamations.

mood: energetic energetic
music: Let's Call This - Steve Lacy.

i am defective
radioactive
all woolly amusements
& indignant.

these prowlings unaware
a continuum --
themselves
contort
intrisically &
curtail savagely
against my arch & ark
like the harrowing kiss
of a withering cake roast,
up with a frenzy
waving past the winter
of a crimson's breath.
acid pits
covered in denim
laced in construe
nucleate a once vapid pitch --
ties the folderol
to your hookers & hookings
as you venture in vain
negating your demonstrations,
demonstrating your negations.

defiance meets
at the tug of polarities
between the three acre
where fortitude abates
& my organs cross,
belligerence mounts the
wolverines
whilst your callous flames
board the door
we've settled in.

Posted at 01:02 am | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

Nov. 27th, 2010

In this swollen vessel...

mood: hopeful hopeful
music: silence.

 ...I'll cross the bridge between our eyes 
As the heavy acres summon the parameters
of a godless chaste.
Riveting knee-deep in mirth
We mull our sweet cud.
A wave of comfort you blanket
enshrouds me. 
Beneath this plasma valley
your echo sliced thin
voiced eminently from all quarters. 
From my saunter I'll quake your debilitation -
an omen tribe of diamonds 
dangle plentifully; 
displaced into the wist
of your palms
thus linger above.
Wet & whence fully-sated, you'd lean
& shield me from fright. Should sleep fall
in my wake, lest you deter 

You are the blessing&
you are the blessed.

I'll savour the taste of your brackish quench
'till our lips meet again.

Posted at 01:56 pm | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

Oct. 18th, 2010

(no subject)

music: Beauty I Don't Know - Drahomira Song Orchestra. Sausalito Blues - Phil Upchurch.

In a faceless shade you bethink tenaciously still
These hands might cook up a disparate riot
As you will the stance of chaos under every breath
Muttered through your cold, pale glaze.
Steel pans to rest our ardour,
elbows to shoulder your lambency arrests;
No time to scramble bed, sex & breakfast
into some entrancing rendition.
Absent faced I'd recoil --
Immersed in thus disquieting morning dilation.
Every chug a sliver of the sycamore
Heark! That you'd swallow the forests.
A midwinter tyranny upholds.
The breeze, by fortune, conducts its merry self
Amidst mischief of varying densities
So the night swims past & through your paws abreast.

Don't wait up for the siren
To startle you into cognisance
For discernment is lulling
& blink by blink you'll surrender.
 


Posted at 05:02 am | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Aug. 8th, 2010

(no subject)

mood: churned.
music: It's Amazing - Smoke City. In The Beginning There Was Rhythm - The Slits.
"The soul has an absolute, unforgiving need for regular excursions into enchantment.
It requires them like the body needs food & the mind needs thought."
There's water everywhere,
leaking from the creaky floorboards
landing on the ceiling. Droplets from the
wood-gashes
fill my cup-like palms with ashes
open to the damp
steel-refined works of 
the spitting seas. The moon
vacates the now-swollen building,
with teary-eyes unwiped from the
cloth-clouds --
no pity for the forgotten swarming electrolytes
as they chant relief & manifest their brief
consolations to the chief.
I encircle pools amidst the puddle-lake
of furniture-ketones & languish-laden walls.
We lament the fire
hosed by the moist prospect:
There's water everywhere.
& we'll tell them of how
the moon was here, the sun & the stars too
but all  this water: it choked the stars,
put out the sun & drove the moon to its misery.
Once we had a heatwave; the waves ate the heat.
Now we're left with the waves
that are nightly fervour.
Once we had celestial bodies; then all these bodies piled up
In the terminal waves.
& very long ago, we had a moon.
He left, forlorn, to find somewhere new.

Posted at 09:24 pm | | Leave a comment | Add to Memories | Share

Jul. 24th, 2010

Choose your drug.

location: somewhere.
mood: disconcerted.
music: I Faram Gami I Faram - Mulatu Astatke.
All the scratching is done & dusted.
Still, who scratches the scratcher?


I've mustered atypical expertise @ being idle; choking on inertia's stifling tongue. Nothing moves me in the right direction, if any, & before I can shuffle towards adjustments, I find myself right back where I started. Intensely over-active root, third-eye & crown chakras, seemingly.
How fast one can be overthrown from the seat of repose to fazed wanderlust.
There is, somewhere
where the dirt-holes dig themselves into existence,
& fault your immaculate knuckles.
There is, somewhere
that the water pitcher had spilt his wells there,
& calls your parched lips to trial.
Neither here, nor there, nor anywhere
But somewhere.
Find me there.

Posted at 02:35 am | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

Jul. 9th, 2010

Insomnia-ridden Banter with Mr. Wisdom Tooth.

mood: restless restless
music: Cassandra Wilson. Sun Ra. Moondog.
Coffee stains – that’s how you know I’ve commenced the day: another day in which I was awake preceding its conception; a day that I watched the sun birth momentarily. Funny, I miss my constant companions, the celestial stars, already.

Belly tired wagers war against fervent mind, having spurred the nether regions, chiming and cheering the contestants on.

Clusters of birds land with such precision by my side, rendering an inferiority complex stark at the steady viscous feet entitled to the base of the earth. They, the humble herds of birds, have walked the skies, seen the heavenly bodies whilst I am left to moat in trial. Futile, with my penpapercoffeetobacco-grounded inferiority – though they, these herds, know not of these utensils and artifacts I rely on readily at hand. I do not mourn or sigh - hardly covetous am I: my existence alone stirs lofty appraisal inside.

For you see – excuse me, I must emit some phlegm from my direly ailed throat…

That’s better. Now, where was I? Ah yes, forgive my proverbial indigence and languid splatters. Tuning my choked thoughts gets harder in such a capricious state. Where sleep isn’t a prerequisite, I must make a date for it.

Dates, virtually,in precision– time neither accommodates nor compliments rest.

Illusion of a regime, for the past, present and future are simultaneous in my head. Did I stutter? If so, there's partially due fault to you. My mouth is dry, and I cannot chew from the left side as you ignite a painful, sickening embrace. I find you forever unsettled, forever vagrant, forever in a state of hysteria. Dysphoria takes a sip slowly, swiftly from your sweet holistic tomato juiced and saliva filled cup of amino acidic mentations.

It is intricate beyond belief to constitute your autonomy within the universal delusion we are harnessed in, a world too disillusioned to even conceive the specter blindfolds worn. Coincidence is a rather futile word. I have, Mr. Tooth, been led to believe that nothing operates or happens in accordance to its laws – do birds not have wings to propel flight? Roots and stems not stabilize? I shall not augment my belief file [thus belief is moreover a hindrance] to penetrate through your enamel. Lest if I am crazy, what does that leave to supplementary make the rest of them?

I guess since I cut the meds out, everyone has been looking for a chance to execute their dubious suspicions – perhaps I am a synchronized paranoiac. I myself doubt it… it is the most euphorically vital I’ve felt.
“Could I call you dinner?” the netherworld inquires briefly - caging neither thought, neither near nor neigh, vociferation-absent and commission-deprived, and throat.
“You can call me damaged, fruitless, strangled and vacant beneath the flesh,” I retort. “The phlegm I have spat at your soil facade is as good as it is going to get.”

I do my deeds – whilst you chew, whistle and grind – and the day is done, this is not my idea of fun. By the way, I hope your newly dwelling well.

I must draw this conversation to a cease, for my writing – not to mention perception – is askew and precipitation is at its peak. It was nice, for a while, talking to you Mr. Tomato-tooth. One peculiarly doesn’t need the veering eyes to impose judgment. I have money transfers and other fiscal matters to attend to and voluntary work within the hour: lathered bones and clean vessels, they need never flinch or surmise a thing. Till next time… you’ll have to make due.

Posted at 09:12 am | | Leave a comment | 1 comment | Add to Memories | Share

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