smoke diminished.

and so i bring the last black to these lips, looking back through the crackle, covering it all with the smoke screened in from this mourning.

what happens on the wake up, when the room comes in view? realizations, castrations, matches made life cycle like flying those kites never were. lick it eee split it eee kick it eee i thought about the fallout. savoured the sojourn, replicated stillborn and my prison gave me the keys long ago. glow went gray and the lines blurred, cords were cut and soul songs burned, made it nice and cozy - a bottle built for two, pull the string, erect a set, masts and fans contain no hope for the wicked wonderland that ash built.

The half night hop along holds hand to breast and sigh to silk. the full moon pulls on these fingertips and compels them to sin again, again, again. motivated, concentrated, feverish fantasies dripped into life. no one to stop me from the spin cycle shut down, the fluidity gone now, in favour of the slow burn.

trust comes in steps away from, trust digs in to the day from, blind eyes not wanting to see the reflection in the mirror ball dance trap. the call came loud, the call came bright, the call came cool like water spilling over shoulders, washing away the vitriolic spittle strings singing to the small space. was this grace pulling us under, proof of what's gone miss iss isssing coming back full on. i pause where i should stop. dabbled in dutiful pen pricks, it's something new this time, true this time, though it didn't know it was playing in the false words. ignorance is no excuse to loose the diminished upon the heavy heart strings. always too late.

I keep checking for that pulse.
I keep looking over that shoulder.
I keep holding back the night in favour of a flight of stares.

kill me with eye kisses, undress this obligation let it all out for show, grow, know that it does change us - 64 colours in a bonus box, peer beyond primary and perhaps the slit will slow..

here i am

Taking a break from the onslaught of midterm examinations and i plug in a random portable harddrive full of music.
music that themed random notes in open diary, music that held my hand when i cropped photographs and dug through paints and sketch books, music helped me through thoughts and nights and pull apart drag down fight it out with the hair colour genies of eras past and I can't quite sort why the bass is so loud and refuses to adjust to equalizer requests and i'm left with the last polka pushing a tiny dancer through my zurichian thoughts.
i miss singing in front of a crowd. i miss the piano playing. i think i may go back out west, the east has sucked all it can from me and there are canisters, not labeled, in a back lot somewhere with biohazard warnings that contain all the insides that i insisted go outsides.
in a few moments i'm to feed them feeshes.. the boys all went out to play at the rainbow gathering and i'm left with a house key and flakes for dem feeshes.
i'm sighing now.
thinking about how much it hurts to grow up.

but i'm still fighting it.

scattered parts make chococat and i switch off corporate lampposts and sing along to art history questions..
tomorrow is my first slow pitch game.

i lost my mit.

wish me luck ....x....

green pickle dance inspiration

look left. look right. thumb through coloured pages and hope to find an artist refined. someone to finish the pin pricks on the left side, a secondary cover up; clover felt in nature. no such luck.
i could go, would go, back to ...tim... but that would mean making amends with ghosts and begging for sketchbook reprisals, and i'm not digging that potato today.

just as well i'm going to slug it out all american style, with a ball and a bat and a glove to feel the sun smack me right between the eyelids for a chance, a change, something that doesn't involve breaking and rebreaking my foot on rollerskates.

too much homework. my head is sleepy at two pee em. low caffeine, no caffeine. i'll pedal off to the inlet instead.

magnets make me think, and kitties need a drink...x...

saran wrap vs. hand dryer

Feet propped, grades reviewed from the eighth floor view and it's all eh's from here. wait on roomed service and i'm settling in from a no rental car business trip from beyond. fly in. two hour meeting. fly out. huzzah to the hustle and bustle and flow.

john edwards blows hilary a kiss of death while obama scowls and grows grey hairs. debate debacle vs. my nano kitty and art history. i'm cold. wrapped up in a scarf, in blankets, in socks, in slippers with skulls, but i won't turn the heat on... i don't get this kind of chill down south, i'll trade you a biting for the sun scratch any day...

I understand the corporate laptops now. I can't type without randomly losing the page, and my thoughts keep going back to my too full mailbox and those damnable reminders that i need to lose some file space and wouldn't you know it there's a cob web dancing above my light bulb. it's illuminated only when i light up, pretending there is a choice in the matter really when a secret smile slips in and it's all about those memories, and yeah... i'll embrace a shrink up in the time between and when the green comes will you play footie? will you ride faster? will you look for the birds to come back from the southern climes?

have new colours to paint with to paint on.. to skin slip?

knock knock it says...time for minature bottles and cloth napkins...

i loved the orange and there are koi by the glass elevator..

home away from.. for now..

backup universe

backup universe

long fitted absence of mine.
finding that fitting space between new job, old job, new space, old space, look me up in graceland or shout out from dollywood.
forward
in
time.
there is a pair of black adidas by the guestroom door frame and a box marked with martini & rossi and all i can think is of porco and a studio somewhere in japan. smooth things slip in my head.. too much decaf with no ice, no whip, low fat and gash my stomach hurts with the recent betrayal of lips to greasy cheese laden with "god my liver hates me" so i flow. so i go. so i walk along with the heartbeats of this evenings just in.
too much to go from when the natural spring up and i've all this time to tell you what i really mean. what it is i really think, what it is when it is what it is, and how does this cookie crumble? down in the valley down in the hole, archive of ours hours folded origami style...whispers of something else made from nothing else, pretty paper, pretty memories almost tasting the sky on my skin that night.
thursday night disco comes in so slow, finding paperclips on the memory of your face, side scribbled and not much that is still legible.. that book, that story is somewhere in birmingham, sitting on a shelf with a friend who keeps it all safe when i go missing..
all in all
things are well.
i found my pen.

leave it all to me, i'll do the right thing.

i don't have much more than that to say these days.

living lyrics, living in lines,
shock me shock me with that deviant behaviour...

up from C

i'm waking up from a grey day induced corporate coma.
comma- separate two like minded half witted thought patterns, still though this thing is stuck on a window sill.

MAGNIFiCATION times twenty seven and all good monkeys go to heaven.

I always hit the stop button on saturn day nights, when the booze comes flowing and the smoke starts smoking and the girls start purring something gutteral between the breast tucks. i've got my own private table next to the stage, fill me up with synth. I'll drink it all in till they tell me i should be blind and goodness me where did the time go? Fell down, not in a gutter- too much trapped in doors for that kind of a shenanigan, fell down in Down. Drown out the pixelated axe chops and my pawns click click bang away the night.

chicken taquitos and an sore thumb.

my car creaks when i turn corners.
my oil needs changing.
i've got a great life staring down the barrell of my gun and all i can do is wish that the clouds would clear up so i could spin the stars and find my lost palm print again.

they say success comes. they say it goes. i don't really know- they want me to move cheese. patent Vee Bee scripts and fuckwitted me didn't cling to the it film when it came round. Now playing in corporate logons and Vee Pee Ends.

Some one kick me.

I need to wake up.