I'm Fucking Crazy

They can't! Flyyy!!!

If every space, what a though process
And bracket an intention
What was going on in the mind
of a lost notebook, dictated by a curious mind
probably nine years into life. This is it...

  --------

Crest, Coal Tree
From the West
Half the Height
Of niagra Falls.

Snakes belong to Anthropoids
2000 years ago,
were only plant, animal
classified

“massassagua rattle”

Animal 35 Phyla

Bats heart 20 times per second

Todum Pole
Legs- Octopus

Linneas
Karl- Von

Said this is redicule

Scutes or scales
Babies come in eggs

1 poisonous snake in
Ontario, Massassagua
usually in the country

Tuatara 4 group
more like a Dinosaur
Few islands of New Zealand

Roger Whittaker
(American) (1968)

Animals
:35 Phyla
:1 group Cordata

Billion x 2

Crustaceans- Shrimp
Arachnids- Spiders

Endo Skeleton
(Inside sk....)

Exo Skel
(Outside sk..

99.9 percent of
all living things
that lived/ever )
on earth are
extinct

Gambling Ve o
nest- spiderwebs,

Ostryges don’t
fly

They are Ratites
Group of birds that
can’t fly

 ---------

I feel like i have to write something here. ... No Words. The End.

MS MR - Hurricane (Official video)

Oktapodi (2007) - Oscar 2009 Animated Short Film

Jessica Rabbit - Why don't you do right

***RUT***

I am standing in front of this blue pulsating penis of a CN Tower. Waiting for the hot dog man to cook my hot dog in the cold, when all of a sudden I realize this man is burning my hot dog on purpose, as he is enjoying watching me shiver in the cold, as he pocks and prods my poor hot dog, with his toothless smile. “You have Facebook>?” ...The hot dog man...did not just ask me for my Facebook...” No...I don’t use, unfortunately..” “ Ahh, okay, where you from?” He continues.....I really want snatch my hot dog and leave. “Far away i reply.” Where you from, I am from Trakajakistan! I come here 12 years ago!” And really, still half a word of english, I think to myself. ”I live right here”...he point to some distant point beyond a garbage can. I loose the desire to look further. “Oh wow....it’s getting quite Krisspy!” I say. He finally picks the poor meat up, and hands it to me, smoldered in a nice thick layer of greasy ash. Faaaaa....

Okay. I am starving after my tango class, and eat in anyway. My subway is jammed for like 15 minutes. As if finally roles around, a heavenly light erupts from the tunnel. The doors open, I walk in to find some of the strangest assortment of people i have seen in my life. A group of black girls, who claimed they were from Eglington, where rapping into their “Kamera Fonees Biatch!” video recording Everyone, including my pretty pissed off face, and their poor friend who seemed confused by her friends, cuddled up in the corner beside me. When i got off at St. George to switch lines, the next group of enjoyable voyagers I got stuck with was 4 fresh off the boat, Spanish women....and this is when i thought...there are really some matters, that are not so important becoming upset about, when speeding through underground in a subway cart....like weather Robert should marry Maria, or let Lucita’s “hijo” Pedrito...do the job! Grrr...... They got off an Lansdowne, and the rest of the ride was quite enjoyable....it truly was a beautiful night. Climbing the last stairs out of the subway, i see a man standing with a notebook up to his face, bags fallen at his feet, possibly scribbling down the greatest epiphany of his life, with such vigor. What a turn on!

Pushing my way through the metallic exit. I see 2 prostitutes squeeze in with one coin...successfully. Ass to ass, fishnet tights....that was quite entertaining.... and the last but not least event i experienced of course my fathers first question when I walked in that car....” Where were you all this time? You don’t tell me where you go! ” First of all- False! Tango Tuesdays! Second of all.....you really have No Idea!”

For Ali- a 45 minute snippet of my day.

Dripping *Black *Toenails

"Black toe nails and tarot cards, cigars, cigarettes and water. And that clock hanging upside down on your bathroom wall, stuck forever at half past nine. Scribbled design ideas, paintings of woman with werewolf heads, special edition collected books, large keys and white lace curtains.... i look around and think- my room would be trying to be like your’s, if it could start all over. “I’ve never said that out loud, that she’s actually my muse, a woman who had an unfortunate life”- the glass doll. The gladstone- red glass- double shot of Anejo on the rocks and Purple Cranberry Juice , with havana memories under the title A Painting Unfinished- and spooky adventures- this song is freedom- Celia Cruz- You’re The Cosmic Dancer!!! I used to have this blue wave in my hair. You did it yourself? Yea. Paint me nude, with that Blue. Life is wonderful, I totally catch that in you sometimes! See i love that! lets peel some beets, I watch her smoke her pot, I drink her wine, then we get to the onions. Cooking a black meal, us 4 artist. do more tarot, 3 woman raising cups in celebration around us. we’re in your cards! Mine was sudden strike of insight, the high priestess- and the blond blue eye woman in my life, who knows more about me, then she will tell. i didn't realize i shot a man walking into lake ontario until he disappeared underneath the surface, water engulfed him. The sun didn't blink. sun spots and cups, nets, fading into vertical rectangles of graduating darkness. Darkness that graduates, until we sink beneath the sheets in skin, that harbour our mind, with silly dripping ideas. Kind of like hard rock concerts, and ice cubes. The jagger keep on flowing from our mouths, as the waitress, keeps on pressing her lips against me ear, ordering me things, that were never on the menu, speaking of songs that i was never meant to hear. Endless series, of forbidden disasters. In me, a home, they always safely find.

Triple Thread.

- Days under the sun. avec. Psychic Monkey.

Mishkutenok & Dmitriev (RUS) - 1994 Goodwill Games, Figure Skating, Pair...

September

I cannot not write about this day. From the beginning of september, the blue shirts upon tan skin in white sand, cupping lake water with beer on my lips and satisfaction at life's clips I had it all. i really did.

And now, Past new chapters novels of lessons gaining clarity of mind september needs to be written about it was a lovely petal that peeled and cupped me, where it fell

all season like leaves bring new warmth to the songs of listeners that spring, and raise you a little higher through your legs in your body

I gave you all the love i had what a beautiful song that drifts you back towards something soft and sensual about time that brings you forward towards a new awakening a reason you, yes you dreamed it. what i had hoped in you all along.

The twinkle in your eyes melts, upon bread like cheese or sugar in dying stars that bread elements of all we are the cleansing matter, of joy, we fall upon, and laugh we are happiness

The History Of One Tough Motherfucker by Charles Bukowski

he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and terrorized a white cross-eyed tailless cat I took him in and fed him and he stayed grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway and ran him over I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much chance...give him these pills...his backbone is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody cut it off..." I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any- where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to him and gently touched him and he looked back at me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went by he made his first move dragging himself forward by his front legs (the rear ones wouldn't work) he made it to the litter box crawled over and in, it was like the trumpet of possible victory blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that bad but bad enough one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and just looked at me. "you can make it," I said to him. he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested, then got up. you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in his eyes never left... and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by Celine?" "no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!" I shake the cat, hold him up in the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows... it's then that the interviews end although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo- graphed together. he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

Loreena McKennitt Marrakesh Night Market

Sensations stem from the heart of all places, the seed, the eye, the inspiration.
To remember this day.

Something I felt long ago, became something relevant once more.

So what do I really do? I was a gymnast who stopped being a gymnast and became a full time student. But all that creativity I was generating non stop from 10 years of my life, suddenly became clogged up. The massive outlet had disappeared. I was unplugged. I lost myself.

I didn’t understand how much gymnastics had influenced me until I began looking for different forms of expression again. The obvious one was dance. I found myself a nice dance studio in Downtown and continued taking ballet classes. But that wasn’t enough. I went to the gym, that wasn’t enough. I started playing the piano, that also wasn’t enough. I read a lot, shopped a lot, partied a lot, studied different languages a lot, traveled a lot, listened to music a lot....but nothing was enough! What’s happening? I was thinking to myself. Is my life over?

That is when I discovered...a completely untouched, precious....I’m a writer and don’t have the ability to describe how quietly, how gently, and how discreetly and not invasively this creature crept upon me. This creature, this love, this gift.....was the ability to write!

I didn’t know it right away, I didn’t feel it right away. But it became the focus, the cove of my existence. The cove where I brought my daily treasures to at the end of the day. Where I collected precious memories, adventures, and gems of thoughts. Filling up notebook with poems, longer poems, longer longer poems, eventually short stories, longer stories, all kinds of dreams and fantasies that amplified the beauty of my reality. When I reached the point of craving feedback, I opened up my own Blog under the pseudonym Roxalana, called Cafe de ChiChi.

There I started recording some of my oddest works, letting my closest friends and furthest relatives read it. One thing that I found is when you start working with one talent like writing, you are creating and energy bubble of creativity and many other art forms come to your attention. Just of recently I’ve also become interested in voice recordings, and finally edited my first hypersonic video from scratch! Being a human being is all about managing conflict. External conflict starts with internal conflict not being diagnosed at the sight of it’s first symptoms. If we could all find something that heals and helps us be more happy positive knowing people, and think writing can be that one thing for everyone.

I decided to include it as part of my PCDP for managing conflict. What I didn’t know was that October was not going to be a good month for me. And the harder I tried the harder it became. So I let go, and it turns out that’s exactly what I need at the moment. Once November rolled around. My fingers were typing away again, and I felt the force of sense behind my life return to me once more.

Wonderfull Chill Out Music Love Session on Amazing HD Video

*The speaking was done for me, while I was... *

I sat on my chair and thought to myself. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to dance? My sitting bum didn’t find this offensive. There is some wild unity that comes from movement. ImaGine if each body part had a mind of it’s own. The hands clapped as long as they wanted to clap, the feet stomped, the tongue blabbed, and well....no need to image any further...u get the point. ;) You’d be like a wild hungry disordered machine! But miraculously, we are given only one brain, and somehow every cell in our body is in on the secret in every moment, we want to do an abrupt move, or learn a sultry new tango routine. The connection between our hands to match, and our both our feet to attend to the same amount of strength. We must be phenomenal. I always forget the moment before I dance...but it’s okay....It makes me strive to remember.

Alexander the Great.....to some. : o

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-18803290

*Sameness*

Today I took a path through Irwin Ave to Bay street and there was this one tree. Branched out into a peace sign, and an air plane very far away looking as if almost going vertically just to the left of it. and the sun to the right. I vowed to alway remember that moment resting between two fingers, knowing the intelligence of the universe thinking something up in the distance, and the hot sun lighting up my face and body in the present. Then I made it to the subway. I spent most of the ride listening to music, though i couldn’t take any more samba. I was thinking how a literary career i put soo high up above myself that I make it seem impossible to reach. When I should lower the platform. Allow myself to work on it. Success of not, the very process would already be an astronomical accomplishment that at this moment I need to shrink to something like that of a love for a flower plant, that i can take care of, and nourish in the present.

Then 3 stops before mine, I caught the outlines of 2 mens faces looking out the window at the same angle and for the first time realized they were probably father and son. For they look quite identical! The first thing i noticed was the size of their ears being identical, as the shadows of the caves and outlines, if i were to draw them. They had the same shoulders and the same minor slouch. Wearing the same mid leg boxer khakis, just different color and a plain tea shirt. Their eyes had the same expression, and their smiles the same recognition of each other. They look as if they were speaking to the same person. Themselves. What happiness they could find in this i had a pleasant thought. To be so close to someone who values you.Because they innately understand you. Then I thought. If the caves in their ears, match in symmetry and shade, what about the dimensions of their souls! how similar is it all! They looked purely identical. There were a few more hair on that head then the other, but then again, both white again and fizzy already.

I only say two minor difference that gave away the fear, but also the brevity of time. The older man was wearing a watch, while his son beside him wasn’t. It spoke to me that the older gentleman already organizes his days with more precision, and more zest. Is more aware of the hours and the days, then the younger lookalike beside him. The two men really looked like brothers though. They smiled and spoke and pointed things out to one another. Then there was a moment when they both got lost in thought. The younger one look straight at the floor as he was thinking, while the elder gentleman looked at the window, with his head raised a little bit higher, trying to take in more of the ride and scenery. These little subtleties were so beautiful, because they exposed how the men treated their lives, and their relationship towards it. They were lucky to be so close. I didn’t have a chance to observe them for more than three stops. But when I got off at my stop, I looked to my right one more time, and saw they were discussing me also. I smiled, they smiled, for them the train kept on rolling, for me, it was the memory of them in my mind. Sameness is sometimes more beautiful and comforting than the constant difficulty of being difficultly different.

9 Crimes - Visuals

Famous Geeks Who Changed The World

Alan Turing

Famous Geekiness: The Turing Machine in second place. His effect on the outcome of The Second World War in the first. (Wikipedia) The day I wrote this article was Alan Turing’s birthday and Google honored him with a special doodle. Why? Because the famous cipher breaker is regarded as the Father of Computer Science. He also made a lasting contribution to the ideas about artificial intelligence. The Turing Machine was the forefather of the modern computer algorithm. It is a hypothetical model that explains the logic of computational logic or can be even used to explain a CPU. Think of it as the simplest computer of its kind. Interesting fact: He was criminally prosecuted for homosexuality in 1952. He committed suicide in 1954. Gordon Brown issued a public apology in 2009.

June rays spell days, only to be pronounced by July.

Barriers

Rays & Surrealism

Spots

Jose * Manuel * Ciria

Palate

Chagall Exhibit

Oval+Cuts

Yellow November

Zeds Dead Baby- BBC Radio1 Mix Rob Da Bank's Show (Free)

Green Wrapped Condition

Sketch Colour

April 1504 BC.

Feedback

Window of Another Time

DESPINA VANDI - H MELODIA TIS MONAKSIAS

Logic* & Options*

Consider another example: Suppose I believe that atheists are bad people, and that all my friends are good people. But Mr. Pheeper, my long-time friend, decides that he is an atheist. I am now faced with accepting the following list of statements: (a) Mr. Pheeper is my friend (b) All my friends are good people. (c) Mr. Pheeper is an atheist. (d) All atheists are bad people. These four statements are logically contradictory, because they jointly imply that Mr. Pheeper is both a good person and a bad person. Logic requires some sort of revision to my set of beliefs, but logic does not demand one particular revision. I could (a) decide that Mr. Pheeper is no longer my friend, (b) decide that atheists aren't necessarily bad people, (c) decide that not all my friends are good people, or (d) decide Mr. Pheeper is not an atheist even though he say that he is. The point is that these are all possible solutions, each of which must be examined on their own merits.

1906 - Air - La Femme D'Argent

Thoughts For The Day

Voz * y *quebranto

Una casa en el cielo
Un jardin en el mar
Una alondra en tu pecho
Un volver a empezar

Un deseo de estrellas
Un latir de gorrion
Una isla en tu cama
Una puesta de sol

Tiempo y silencio
Gritos y cantos
Cielos y besos
Voz y quebranto

Nacer en tu risa
Crecer en tu llanto
Vivir en tu espalda
Morir en tus brazos


*****


TIME AND SILENCE


A house in the sky
A garden in the sea.
A lark on your chest
A start all over again

A wish of stars
A sparrow's heartbeat
An island in your bed
A sunset

Time and silence
Screams and songs
Skies and kisses
Voice and grief

To be born in your laughter
To grow in your weeping
To live on your back
To die in your arms

My Dream*My Wine*My Night

“She too had found the experience transforming. How could she not? A demon had been exorcised. Several. And just when she felt more capable of love than she had ever been, she found herself alone.” - Carl Sagan


She came home and felt herself alone once more. All the things she’s bought with the sacrifice of money: sitting, standing, bending, to the last position she left them in. The pages motionless, and crumpled and thoughts underlined with the same color as she had scribbled onto them with last. Nothing had changed. All remained as her tools, for distraction in her existence. She stood in the doorway with bags still hanging off her shoulders and took in this whole epiphany. The suffocation of the scarf around her neck brought her back, and she let all the bags collapse onto the floor by her feet, hung her jacket, and walked to the kitchen to unpack the produce. Looking it over in her hands she sullenly realized she didn’t want to cook for herself tonight. She wanted to taste a dish she wasn’t prepared for. Simply a choice of attempt or not. Layered with different spices grown and collected by hands of man grazing lands on forgotten continents. She caught her reflection in the balcony window, and noticed a new sensation arise in her. She might be alone, but she could transform through choice of mind into..... 0

She tucked the rest of her veggies and fruits into her fridge, uncorked the nearest wine, and took a wild swig back, letting the hot purple liquid enter her body, through her mouth, pulsating with a furious heat, awaking, and walking her over the threshold, into the world of pots, jewels and caves of emotions, narrowing the proximity to the attainment of her desires, which rested patiently, against the cheek of night.

She brought her head back, full hot lips swollen from the purple kiss of Dionysus, with eyes drifting down rivers of history’s painted faces, smiling fiercely back at her behind the drapes of her lids. Spinning off on a drunken carousel before her eyes, blurring all time, perception, lesson and light. She chose one woman whose theatrical nature gave directors after directors of theaters, circuses, and films something to do with their lives, coming and going in waves of incompatible complexities each time inflicting the ocean with such pain that is would convulse! withdrawing into itself, in a harsh enigmatic orgasm, revealing all confusion of muggy waters simplified, smiling and lying bare, in the eyes peaking out of orange sands of time.

The muses eyes outlined in dark charcoal, flung, thin lips moving in spiraling promiscuity to invented words, making their way into the ears, and past the walled city’s of things you wish not to show in yourself for others. Like a whip of wind, escaping through your gate’s key.

Her arms long and white, like dusted in milky copper gold, engulfed in pending desire of life resting within the times nonsense melting into one flame , expanding into the volume of candles, giving birth to the preparation of ritual upon the descent of light.

Her spirit roams free through the temples, protector of day setting and caressing his last glow along her ankles, moving quickly in a sheet of opal silk through the columns of Greek temples. She, carrying a sail in need of no water, no wind, no flame, she is self-sufficient. One could think divinity itself is trying to keep up with her.

Opening her lids, and feeling the life she has just been...... created through herself. Her vehicle, her body, universal lighthouse, in which the soul dwells, thrives, and learns through life, is able to life exponentially through imagination.

This is time travel! and it’s personalized....

She let her soft curled hair fall to her shoulders, standing in front of the mirror, she stripped off her dire jeans and the tights underneath, feeling air moving up along her lanky pale legs for the first time all day. Taking of her turtle neck, followed by her colorful bra, and finally her last garment feeling an immense release in the agitated energy preserved in the unnecessary tightness and overwhelming warmth of her winter attire.





Barefooted she lightly skipped over to her closet, and unwrapped a razor red velvet dress, once belonging to her mother, playing an important part in the most important romance of her life, taking part in the calibre of memories and romance of the Soviet Era, with her father. A whole love affair apparently revolving around this garment of immense sexual revolution.

But then why has she put it on and put it away just as quickly so many times, each more confused, never feeling the right time to wear it. Zipping the dress up completely and turning around, she caught herself half way in the mirror, knowing now that half of her was always hidden from her.

To appear to us, through fantasy of self, matched with reality, attracted all the love in the world, and bent the light towards her finding. Finding the secret to this dress, she knew she would never be lonely again, with or without it. Silence wouldn’t feel like “ non-existence” but would be searched for as an opportunity for space and creation. She put on the classic dress lost in time, found on this night, & gold bangles that reflected the self created legend behind her smile.

She left her hair and her face, clean and complete, only wetting her lips and nails with rouge ink. Slipping on her shoes, jolting up on her feet and immediately falling down into the mirror. Catching her balance she see’s a greedy crimson moving around the circumference of her eye, as if spilt on the black dish of night, bird and ink. All taking flight as one.

She throws the soft fabric of a luxurious soft coat over her shoulders, feeling skin react in a warm blush. Barely covering her mid thigh length dress, revealing long black stocking legs perked up by black stilettos. She puts only keys in her pocket and shut the door behind her.

The room descends into silence once more. The spirits of bubbles of light from her wavering thoughts drift along her apartment like a large group of friends meeting on the street, trying to figure out which party to go to, or like lost clouds of golden smoke moving along the terrains of unmarked red velvet galaxy’s of space.

Thoughts she had in the kitchen, searching past bags in her closet, smearing on lipstick, doing her nails on top of a script she’s been working on, all gather and roam towards the center of the apartment, which happens to be right above the coffee table in the living room. From a distance you can stand and watch, different particles interacting with each other, at first trying to orient themselves and figure out their energy levels and groups according to their vibrations. But eventually forming into the rotation of a galaxy with two tails, to hemispheres of mind, matter and vibration compounded into a message, recorded and registered in radio signals through the four chambers of the heart.

Many minutes upon statues of hours have collapsed, while your standing there, watching this interaction between second of light unfold.

She comes home, feeling herself alone no more.

The door opens and she struts in. He begins to hover towards her bedroom. She sits on the bed knocking off her heels one by one, then her bangles, slipping out of her black stockings, just as he’s rounding the corner of her bedroom, she leaves the dress on for whatever reason, and falls back into the physical appearance of what we call sleep. He has arrived at his destination hovers above her whole body, collecting her night, draining her experience into himself. He who is Her genderless life force.

His large galactic body compresses into a smaller image, changing into the pattern of a halo, descending upon her frail frame, curls fanned out on her pillow, and breathe escaping through the smallest gap in her cherry crushed lips. Her eyes are beginning to move faster behind her lids. The effect is setting in motion. Her dreams are spinning into control. Fantasy’s spilling forth into cups of riches. And he there, within her and she within him...sacrificing all he is for her dreams, where he crowns her Queen.

You* Call* Not

Dark Rum -0- Red Roses
Cafe Cobble -0- Russian Dialect
Light skirts -0- Bare Thighs
Hot Summer -0- Night
White Chairs -0- Lazy Legs
Relaxed Conversations -0- Fueled Electric Flamenco Guitar
Red Lips -0- Thin Cigarettes
Blue Eyes Into Brown Eyes
This is where I am tonight.
With you
Once Again
In 20 year time.
I exhale my cigarette once more
It’s as if,
we all went back
we both never happened
and yet we’re here
and so is everyone else
what do we say to this?
How about another toast
To this crazy fool,
we call.....
but never do.

I * D * E

I had this thing
where i couldn’t say what was wrong
I’de stay optimistic
and only concentrate on the right
where there was none.

and wrong felt un welcomed
to foreshadow a contrast
in the minds of a me
...and of that strange oh U

I felt many things on one level.
the level that I thought was important
But none on the other
that I thought none of....

until one day, this void
sprang a light!
pierced through the abyss
like a clairvoyant stare
breaking the eyes of night
into pieces of ice
that were to melt in the dew of day

where have you been?
Where you always here?
have we already kissed?

I had this thing
where i couldn’t say what was right
I’de stay pessimistic
and only concentrate on not making that
dangerous left turn.
there was always one coming up.
you felt welcoming

I felt the flood of color and theatre
dance and mathematics
astrology, and hypothesis
surround your soul
like a vortex of hair
in magnetism
getting into your eyes
as you brushed it off in annoyance
like i criticized every thought of you
I believed wasn’t affecting me

Until I woke up one day
....and knew I was very wrong.

Unknowable* Familiar* Tomorrow

Ariosto holds that in the fickle moon
dwell dreams that slither through our fingers here
all time that’s lost, all things that might have been,
or might not have- no difference, it would appear

The moon....bot unknowable and familiar

My darling fails. How can I continue to thrust vain images in that pure face?
The moon, both unknowable and familiar,
disdains my claims to literary grace
The moon I know of the letters of its name
were created as a puzzle or a pun
for the human need to underscore in writing
our untold strangenesses, many or one.

Include it then with symbols that fate or chance
bestow on humankind against the day-
sublimely glorious or plain agonic-
when at last we write its name the one true way

....and goodbye’s only meant until tomorrow

Richard Vission ft. Luciana - I Like That Musikvideo

LACED WITH ACID LUCIANA

Grow* A* Pair

wooden guitar
absorbed tree
exhausted body
sweaty fingers
pealing skin
stings of eyes
caught on tears
of hanged men
over lost years
time the rhyme limousine
drive me to the founder
the heart of his obsession
disease over my interpretation
you spread like wild fire
inflaming lily's with wishes of roses
and confusing all nature
producing one of these mornings
red petals growing
white sails floating
down rampant streams
of birds dreams
trying to take to the sky....

tam za tumanimi
vechnimi pyanimi
tam za tumanami
Bereg nash radnoi

Janis vs. Lube

Marc Anthony & Jennifer Lopez American Idol Finale

WTF? This is fucking spectacular!

Your love should never be offered…(Hafez)

Your love should never be offered…(Hafez)

In poetry while searching for the impossible, the incomprehensible, blazing arduous tones so foreign to our senses we revert to personifying everything that moves as if it moves through us, whispering winds (sharing secrets of trysts under rustling tree branches, bickering clouds ( one made the other one cry, and soon the whole sky was howling in symphony), stubborn wood, stretching stones, and pornographic tree branches arching to protect strapless dolls, walking the earth of literature brushing their hair, and feeding each other honey, like nymphets in the forest of their psychedelic smiling narrator.

Couldn't * Not * Write

...the tone of a silent  ring
surrounds the breathe of an angels wing
which gives her speed for right of flight
along the blazing tones of light
that murmur orange subtleties 
of the known
like a carpet that rolls out to my feet
brushing up against the sands
of yet another night

sun show of melting into the sea
conspiring a poetic hope 
in the swaying of a lemon tree

the darkness better projects the silloughettes
of giddy souls 
that run like lost hopes
along the moving sea
discovery is what they are
direction not needed to be 

mystery lures, like the
ocean foam envelops the ankles
as you choke down 
the toxicity of a salty
floral breeze. 
You are a part of whatever is now
and what ever will ever be.

where hallucination conquers the drug
on the battle field of the instincts duel 
at intervals you appear in induced states
absorbed into a moment not yet lived
of an attention not yet given
its just great to be all livin'
between the spacey airs
of an apple vodka kiss
that is yours tonight

Waiting*At*The*Counter*Of*Life

You're* Like* My* Little* Star* Thing

Stars have personality's. Quite Strong Ones. Planets also have them. And govern the rest of us, magical compositions of dust particles, moving to some overturning symphony in the depths of the galaxy.

Skin * Of * Stars

Happen * To * Yourself

LOT'D - Lesson Of The Day

Frida * Kahlo

“I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best.”
― Frida Kahlo ―

*Blackfeel* Wite* Moonbeam*

A woman to become. You run away from. When the reflection between your eyes and hers transcends the meaning of time. Loosing yourself at the border between what you want, and what you still are. Knowing you must transform in order to continue...without knowing how. What you think you hate, you adore. The woman on the other side of the door. Reach for the Pandora’s key and unlock the mind. Unbind the hands of your shadow’s doll. I am you, she is I, two mirrors, one black one white, closing into the body of another suicidal bride of ballet, as a book, through her story, in her expression, the stage, time weaving a thread up the sequences of her last seconds, sparkling in a purple and blue stage light. Stretching her arms towards a face for one last kiss, before her knees give in, and weakness erupts through her body. Hitting the mattress, mimicking her death, she collapses into a blankness of thought. As the seconds trickle away, and first tear of blood, plummets to the floor, and the lights of the theatre, with glass of clouds moving before her very eyes, forever raise her soul into the limits of self induced perfection, as she chokes into her last breathe, reciting a broken doll of a life, of her absurdly needed immorality, for the attainment of selection. -----Theatre Begs For Blood & Sin. It Needs Drama To Fill Seats in The Heart of Theatre with Human Emotion. While the Absurdity Lasts For Only A Few Hours. Life Does Not Need Such Peaks Of Psychological Breakdowns. Life Needs Space. Sometimes To Shut All Black Doors Of Memory And Time and Centre Yourself In The Vast Room of Stillness, Where Nothing Can Touch Or Feel You, No Thoughts Penetrate You, Without Your Invitation, Into Their Unknown........Which Is You.

She* Lets* Herself* Go

The days pass by and all of the silence I stole
I leave buried
The white paper and ink bear witness,
The days
add +
add +
add +
and subtract -
again
as long as I find it
I - loose - myself

If fate doesn't let- me -rest
Because it doesn't know me
I'm confused by that mind
they tend to harm


Turbulent sex .....loses me
The sound of sound .....loses me
The sound of you coming!
The sound of me going!
The sound of your cadence!
The sound of how you
............................are,

When the hours - become
confused to the rhythm
marked by money
I come apart- from- my -soul
and just wait...
But when I wait....
I am
Desperate!!!
and travel
in entanglement....
giving me something to talk about


In conclusion:
loving you....
Isn't the same as having you
having you...isn't loving you
and losing myself
is my luck!

That I live in the present
And the present is suddenly
Composed by you know what

From
Life
Until
Death

What else is sold if its her body
*She gets carried away
What more untruths besides contempt
*She gets carried away
What more gifts besides an
"I love you"
more eternal than
"Silencio"
more sincere
than the act
of
getting
carried....away



Se Deja Llevar
Gracias Antonio Orozco