“Death.”
a motorcycle rides through the desert, the destination is a desolate hole in the map, and there someone is going to die.
2008 June
Concubine & the Three Fates.
three close friends have a run-in with the worst enemy that could come between best friends, love, and the woman confronted who presents each with their own version of the dream girl that they have been looking forward to being with.
intenses.
the princes of poverty danced upon my ears, and with a shallow grace, I leaped from cushion to counter to change the pace. I defined my luck as wittingly successful and satisfying as I switched off the stereo sounds of their collective instrumentation. noise it became when the empty mood of boredom struck my senses blind. I could stand not the rude awareness that I had suddenly come to, and needed the damn thing turned off at that point. I had not been to a decent concert in years, and I was bankrupting myself outright without even a prior mention of the notion to keep in mind, I was resolute to find a venue and the proper music to create his night somewhere. I needed the fix of some kind of ecstatic motions and clever repartee to keep the …
the first sane word.
there are total misnomers when it comes to communicating between human beings. the self-awareness seems to get in the way of a perfectly decent conversation. not just egos and feelings, but also versions of self that intrude upon thoughts already occurring for someone. the creative caption is the label which conforms to the sight of the ignorant and the truly innocent in equal measure. to choose this appearance is the supreme glory, and as the ages get younger to seek the detail of earthen matters, there is a certain level of disappointment that the youth need a frame beyond the soul-hatred of a new year’s rise to prominence. the thrill within memory is always rising to the awareness levels of the people around us. we all need a palatable sensation to get through the worst of times. shaking up …
“Peace in Boredom”
the world is a vicious place, and few inhabitants within in its vicious cycle realize this. not those of the new religion, nor the people looking for safety, and certainly not the political mad dogs sitting in their ivory towers bending the strings of humanity. all are prey.
memes on parade.
in light of her own wild spirit, a young woman begins to discover that her friends are not always keeping her interests in mind, and in fact are trying to twist her into unbelievable levels of neurosis through their covert acts to destroy her. but why?
absolute obsolete.
dealing with death and decay, our protagonist is lead though a rogue’s gallery of characters, and soon the tunnel narrows to a pinpoint where only facing fear can be the truth.
the real live among us.
wicked are the varying types and errors here…assumption the new consumption of the ailing forms…the description is the painful truth warped by the visual perceptions…queered and mistaken for wrong altogether…time tears at the flickering wounds of nerves on edge, licking with a tongue frustrating the ideal search for knowledge, and other jealous minds approach the same conclusions in synchronicity at those most opportune times…the screens shift when you photograph them properly, like ghosts in a cheap horror film, and the effects are very much similar to the over-the-edge way in which people seem to deal with their lives…dealing with the ghosts at-large within that demon shell…spirit worlds flicker in our mind’s eye, drifting deep and hard in the gloom, and the shades part to display the noonday sun…catching glimpses at the absolute worst moments there…when you see those daylight …
the post-13th.
the marriage of the ridiculous to the erroneous was in stark contrast that day of days…the sacrificial scapegoat scraping by on loose amounts of change and reason…an altered ego applied against the fascist status quo with onward fears of where to go next…the ulterior motive sways precariously from limb to limb, and my senses reel from the chaos that ensues therein…the drive is a creative one, but manifests in bold swatches and swathes over time’s collapsing rays of hope…seeking release deserves its period in the son…wordplay not so much a game as a means to express and digress throughout all progress Here…discoveries of the other parts of me are taking hold, and my mind defiles the kindness that forces itself upon the others…authority counts the moments until my demise, and my eyes can’t see what the point ever truly …
the pre-13th.
so another one is on the horizon again…how severe to be stuck in this space of confinement yet again…the motion turns it on tomorrow, but my eyes need not see, no ears to hear through static contemplations…the intriguing sustenance gained from positive flow is undeniable, and makes my feelings ring with a passionate pace, though the negative space filters in through like a radioactive drip that keeps lingering inside the instinct…an industrial strength flair for the impassioned plea to exceed…the goals from parents, the thoughts towards a desecrated future, and the delivery of pursuit into an even darker reality…what is this fear that resides in mind of the hatred that succeeds to pull the distracting muscle pushing backwards on the teeter-toter of realized experience and the nature of second-guessing?
….I speak of jealous things that well-up from the heart, eating …