:: 2005 1 November :: 8.52 pm

The rumors are starting to rub away the skin on your tongue. Sandpaperlies.

Oh come on

you can come up with something better than that. At least exaggerate a little.

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:: 2005 27 October :: 10.35 pm

Something that should have been written a long time ago, and has now faded in clarity in the back of my mind from lack of use; atrophy.

Burning
and
Aching


-like a thousand snakes slithering, slipping, and sliding through my muscles, tasting me with serrated tongues.
-like a thousand beatles skittering, scratching, and slashing through my nerves, sticking me with lacerating teeth.

And yet the shovel strikes the pile once more, lifts an unbearable weight, and empties itself into the mouth of the dragon. Must keep feeding. Must keep the fire alive.


A thousand shovels pierce the piles of coal to the beating of wings and the rhythm of the hungry growls.

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:: 2005 27 October :: 10.25 pm

Rough Love

I have some suggestions that you should follow:

[1.] Dam up those lakes, or just stop filling them.
[2.] Bandage those cuts, or just stop picking them.

Something is stuck in the gears and all of these mechanical injuries are adding up to nuts and bolts and cuts and bruises. (Note:Rhyme followed by Alliteration.) All you get in return are scars and callouses. Reminders and Memories; Etched into skin with claw or fist or maybe something that started as a kiss. (Tough love.)

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:: 2005 24 October :: 9.33 pm

Defining these contraints;

like bars on cages
and
locks on doors
and
norms on society.

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:: 2005 19 October :: 9.45 pm

Madana

You are more than written words.
You are more than shapes of clay.
You are more than paint on canvas.
You are more than sown threads.
You are more than carved wood or stone.


You are a work of art.

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:: 2005 19 October :: 9.14 pm

Wage War

Caught on beartrapteeth in the territories of our own maps. It seems we've got a traitor in our own falling numbers. Must have been hiding in the basements so clandestine (we thought). Keep your eyes peeled. Backs to the trees and bellys to the dirt and leaves.

Counting.
Counting.
Counting them as they fall.

Turning green to red to orange to yellow and finally brown, decaying on the ground. Curling and withering and shriveling.


Plucking toenails and teeth like petals off of flowers. Necklaces of claw and fang; show your pride. Leave the bullets in our stomachs and the knives in our backs. Face down in the mud and ash and swamps and grass.

We never saw the shadows,
as hard as we tried.
We never saw the shadows,
even as we died.

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:: 2005 19 October :: 9.01 pm
:: Music: Nine Inch Nails

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:: 2005 15 October :: 12.24 pm

Eyes blurred and closed.

Hit pause, rewind.

Back was the first thing to rise. Brain soaked up blood from matted hair and tile like a sponge, and pieces of bone worked themselves back into position in the skull. Skin stitched itself together. Head followed a crooked neck followed a broken back off of the floor. With torso in the air, thighs and arms followed and drug feet and hands across the tile. Body spun and unwrapped itself from the shower curtain. Hooks snapped back around the metal rod which unbent itself straight and fixed itself back into the wall. Shampoo flowed back into the bottles leapt back onto the shelves and arms and hands followed them. Knees unbuckled and body untwisted. Water flew up out of the drain back into the shower head as feet hit the bottom of the bathtub. Body, waist, and neck straightened. Head turned toward the window.

Eyes opened and refocused.


What was that? What did I see out of that window?

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:: 2005 15 October :: 11.08 am

X-ray and scalpel

Push me drag me pull me open. (These are only thoughts.)

[1.]What happens when the knot Loosens; the pulley Snaps; the lock Breaks; the flood gates Open? What happens when it all comes crashing down?

[2.]What happens when the dimes and nickles Land on their edges? Would you lay back down, would you stop fighting me?

[3.]What happens when the windows Turn into mirrors; the television screens Mutate into cameras? Would you finally see yourself?

What happens||what happens||what happens\\what if [I'm already falling apart; I'm already done fighting; I'm already staring at my reflection?]

Would you let your [2.]fist [1.]fall and take a [3.]look at yourself?

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:: 2005 13 October :: 9.12 pm
:: Music: The Mars Volta - The Widow

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