Tore

connectivity. divulge all your hidden secrets and show me through the hightened catastrophe. wake. the absolute soon meet the intention. running on butterfly wings. heartbreak atrophy. solidify the unpresidented moment into crystaline fevor. i can hear the strings in my mind. and of talk easy flashing in garish neon lights.

Cotton Candy, Pops, and Caramel Popcorn

Holiday pastures and moonlit brilliance. it seems that nothing ever stays the same. we all want to think that we've made a difference in life, in the world, in people. we all want to be remembered one way or the other. people who became infamous are just runner ups, never really, officially, making it to the big leagues. known but not loved. or is it more loved by few, hated by all? Im not leaving until rain stops knocking on my windows. cant let it in. cant let it take me. there's something too personal, being in the rain. i cant stand it when it touches my face, taking liberties with its cold caress. it feels like death. stealing all my warmth one centimeter at a time. I used to love rain. i remember i would run out in my shorts and overgrown shirt just to bathe in its warm waters. but that was another life, another continent. I remember trying that here, the first time i saw rain. i froze my ass off. nothing is ever quite the same as we remember it. I never understood why rain was cold here, until i was eight years old I never even thought of another alternative anywhere else in the world other than warm, no biting wind, rain. snow was a foreign word to me. I thought of it as clouds drifting down like softly padded shooting stars. snow was for the children in Disney movies making snow angels and morbidly obese snowmen and women with snow children, sticks, buttons, scarves, hats and carrots and bits of clouds- seemed easy enough for me.

Strawberry Avalance.

holes in the wall
lets all peel back that white-
plastic paint
feeling whole and sweet like suede .
bite into that pretty pink, pale peach
and tell me its secrets.

ive gone insane.
picking at little-little things
lets all sit and look up in the sky
and watch as clocks
fall to a stop.
lend me some time-
just a little bit more
and i'll prove lions do exist.

in this concrete jungle
where we swim through air,
avoiding collisions as we go
puffing bubbles as we go
jet on by.

lets swim in the ocean in the sky
watching pretty pink balloons
smoking pretty pink cigars
puff puff puffing as we fly

puff puffing, reaching high

Coy.

promissory notes
how early did we have to be
feel that hunger, thirst, that pain
That there's nothing at all to gain

Fluttering eyes and swaying hips
feel my warmth, watch move my lips

Barely Alive.

The sky is falling and i could care less
i found something good
and vaguely familiar
in such an unexpected place

cling to the floors to stop from falling
im falling up
upwards in the sky
while everything falls around me

he found something good
and hauntingly similar
so much for class
brought together by the thread
we chose to cling to

waste time, nothing like the end
to start some beginning
unknown from the start
we cling like parachutes
while we fall
up
up
up in the sky
while everything falls around us.

-ist.

ambiguous in everything but want. we deserve whats comming to us. transparency in every level, clicking glass feeling grass, sand, sticks, bushes and stones. unwarranted, unknown coheasion.

Oh the things we've become...

shining glorious nothingness
is this what we've always wanted?
I dont remember the time
when i thought it would
one day, come to this

Harlequin

Draw the awe and swivel from the undertones. ardour is the device to ascertain the unreliable, dread the undeserved. come to the parallax scheme and smile at your dissidence. love that gourd, that challis, that cup. and feel the sand coming away. Does it always feel like this? true to word, dye that sheath and see whats that to come. fangs and claws we come out crying. flying lying. dying. deriving the rocks from the jewels while we confuse our mouths for our feet. we lie on our backs and watch the stream dry. living in existence- where we grab and grasp that supposed inheritance. where does it all end. in prose, where we see those pro's and con's and con's becomes what we all uphold. deduce the truth and open your mind's eye.

preach that sermon and cast out those lines
and see whats the day's catch.

Didn't you know that the world dances on harlequin floors.
Indulgent in that paradigm shift

Starstruck.

Apparently the stars we look to are the physical manifestation of the past. So that when ever we look up into the stars -- it is as if the immediate future (us) is directly interacting with the past. hence the past and the future existing in one moment. with that, i wonder-- how can it not but render our meanings of what is the past, and what is the future-- rendering words and its meanings- ultimately useless. if that were true, then the past is not really the past, and the present not the present-- then is the only thing definite, the future? But even then, the future is not given...

The Number Juice.

A garrish display, finite till the end. Still left in the stillness of things undone-what then will become of us all. filters and delinquent cove, what right do we have? Estranged in unraveling demeanor, how can we not but blame ourselves? Do that dance, and lift that drink. preening feathers as we go. tight lipped till the end, who could but guess our names. Start your engines and race to the abyss where excess take new meaning.

Grandeur in Cages.

Harrowing stability, the feel of languid innocence. support the burning beams and hope for the sirens to sing. hold up those hands-- wishing for something more. learn the unbelievable. surrogate from the start, we all become proxies mind and body till the end. a moment too soon, we realize it all but too late. the microcosms of cavernous conclaves of delinquency and folly. soon to be nothing- we praise what light cannot give us. the need and desperation caused by gaping aristocracy-- we laugh in the midst of it all. hoping our next steps aren't our lasts. abstraction and the theory of its religion. short circuit the unbelievable. this habitual facade. save us nothing. harrowing truth. out of sight, out of mind' best describes negligence. how then would you wish such a fate on anyone. fate cannot be so cruel as to create for you something and have chance take it away. subdued we receive what is finally given. spit back the lie, and tell her you love her. sordid in deed, still we dance the good dance. escape to your prison and hope you've hid your heart. stagnant in your prayers you shiver from your words. let it roll from your tongue that fevored testament of love, lust, lost and detatch. in the midst of grandeur we become. hard shells and sheered sheep we continue our arduous condemnation. harking the great divine in worthy soliloquy, you kneel. and face your hunter.

Interlude.

I dont know

if I'm being strong

or weak....

but I tear up

in the thought of death.

Though not out of fear,

but of understanding.

See You At The End of The Tunnel.

Living from moment to moment

will leave you starving in between

becomming like a living husk of a thing.

I don't know how anyone can do it,

this partial existence

watching everyone else live

their mediocre lives.

While you, you live more than
any will in their entire lives.

only living in intervals.

Not knowing to envy or pity them.

them and their mediocre lives.

Never knowing neither extremes.

I think I finally know what your talking about...

And I don’t know whether I should be happy or sad that I do,

but one thing for sure, I've never lived more in my life.

Sanguin Aberration.

The decision of Languid fervor has long past, as sentiments soon dissipate in wintry mists. A colloquial affair with much ostentation and pedantry. I no longer hold that veil of splendor, of that a tortuous panorama. Of such a beloved spectacle I would care not soon forget.But all together cannot resist the inevitable.