Just give me another kick unlike the one i used to wear as a cloth give me a flag and a soul a name with no shame and no ancestors give me a history with no mystery give me weeks open for everybody to visit not only on Sundays between 3-4 in the evening.
It feels so cold inside the deserts of my soul. Spare me a song and a filter for the mouth a pare of boots, laced and bruised like the bodies of the witches anxiously hunting action. I got to meet every boy that fell at your feet.
Keep me clean in all my stains and let me loose. Always keep for me an excuse and a wish for i'll live forever through the winters and keep in mind to feel. I only steal to stay real.
that keeps pushing me forward. We're injecting chaos so, there's enough guilt to the walls slowly pushing them down and there's dust panic tar and a withering sense questioning if age is the trouble or the trouble is age.
It's not Easter, but i know a couple that crossed itself with darts that reverse I can tell by the flat tires in your eyes and the dead expressions your unstoppable moaning your incontrollable talking i ask you to shut up Roads run faster the presence detach from the carseat and rain starts pouring This is June. See, i'm fond of gold you're cold like the that sailor drowned in your tears You get influenced and your limbs get fond of me and we return to separate beds untouched this is Allen but, you're no Annie Hall. Waking up to understand you were just dreaming backwards.
The torches light and allure the city lights with them Breaths dissolve from the venetian blinds at war I'm staring at them from the outside lusting to get inside, where the opportunists give birth to ideas. We chase the ephemeral and it's the people that get in front of us, the mountains oh' the mountains bent
You see brothers in the streets with their greasy hair laughing I know twins that met eachother by luck not at birth, but, at concerts. On days like these, we would wish them "Happy Birthday" even if it's not today.
May you find the devil between walls of cement steel concrete debris and cotton May the devil find you between the hearts that revolt and burn after reading
Lies corrupt your system of duotone communication The air blazes through your veins and dances with your guts to the sound of your blood pressure You wrote a suicide note in Braille left in the gutter to be collected by harvesters
There are times that i wish i was blind or could just face the ceiling and fall asleep for a lifetime
Slowly i dress my eyes in gauzes and you excruciate the fear i read your suicide note with my fingers says you left to the oceans because you couldn't stand the soil anymore. Years after i understood The waiting mended the pain
You couldn't face the steadiness of the soil so you traded it for the sea I couldn't face the ceiling so i started sleeping sideways.
medium lighting inside a brown room but through my eyes it looks as blue as the sea can get. i'm lying on my bed pretending that i'm swimming moving my hands and feet with convalsive movements to the sound that noone hears but me, and i'm smiling i'm full i'm happy the happiest i've been in weeks i'm gold like a goldfish swimming around, inside my notional self made aquarium that i call bedroom (my bedroo-oo-oo-m) not really understanding that in 10 seconds i will forget it all all the happiness, joy and completion but i'll still happen to be in this same aquarium *This is included in my first zine. Contact me if you want one.
See how gallant the lighthouse stands like time never touches it or it's a classic design the older it grows the more beautiful it gets We're used to watch it getting beaten by the waves Yet the lighthouse remains silent and disciplined Remains there forever A blind guide for the ships
My heart is a lighthouse covered in bubblewrap destined to be given as a gift to young girls in ballet classes dreaming to be ballerinas to young boys in the choir singing about the war.
Roman holidays lasted longer this year for the rats of the town We might not remember the great show but we remember the aftermath of bright lights and the screams of the ecstatic crowd
Nothing's more sensual than scars I colour you intrigued for creation you vote for Catastrophe Ascending like an idea descending like god
The berries you saw on the back of your hand are now spoiled stains on the collar of your shirt They might look like lipstick as well
It all comes down to believing your sight and choose what you want to see Is it lipstick? Is it berries? These goods are not available anymore
A cheap lipstick acquired from a fashion magazine, Revlon sample kiss left by anonymous source A bunch of conservatory made grapes of wild taste, Prince's "Purple Rain" playing in the background to enhance the motion
Lately i'm getting my coffee addiction back and i feel happy getting to see my brother getting older a boy turns to a man and he got livers for lovers and lovers for livers and a spirit full of hell, still cannibalizing festivals thrifting with such naivity and such levity. how are you doing lately?
I got my name written on a tall grave I got my fate working on every jinx I got a fork and a spoon to eat misery and the summer's round the corner playing ball with my old classmates that used to call me a bore other spaces older times
I feel light as a feather as i write.
Strangers are only strange when they're strangers Embrace the anonimity I stay silent cause i have a lot to say
Sigh and seek secondhand salvation we bought the guns from the grocery store where you use to buy candy for the infants
A moral eclipsis of a bipolar syndrome refugee i pass out in the store the store lady kisses me and i feel seven years old again
We progress like bread necessity drives us and we feel guilty like the bread and the rice and the hand in your plate. and the head? The world watches me now unveil my travels of misconnections and objectivity so thoughtlessly sounding like a girl moaning for never managing to walk on high heels.
you hire a guy to get the job done it's all about facial trust and a handshake like love, but, here you can sign a paper like army, but, there's no fear of getting killed it's not about getting into the river now matter how cold the water is but if you are finally getting to the other side
loyal tramp trap for knaves doing business well sleeping in hostile beds now the soil stares at me like a cloud (when i'm looking in the ground feels like looking in the sky)
cause the soil is safe and the stars oh' the stars are all shiny, but, they're far away
hello, my lover i feel the convenience of being away or being silent am i like this? i've always been living life like a movie
the band is connected through cables the beat passes through veins the soul intrigued and vast and now the soil feels unsafe the eyes become electric lightning bolts enhance the feeling and it all becomes mutual.
peculiar answers launch from even more peculiar mouths we're left with moths in the month of spring no remorse for hungry beats and misty eyes i'm a task addict post-it freak
there are boys in the corner throwing bones to hungry dogs ball and chains bound my fate fear flushing through my eyes "life will continue for everyone", evidently and i understand once again, the more torturing something is, the more you enjoy it
there's a hidden grace in a drunk driver's touch all those things you know he has seen all those things he might be seeing now halucinating in reveries of witches and black cats you are lost and you are here
all the beautiful girls come to town for spring and all the boys with tattoos flirting with paranoia like a sponge serve drinks to the darkness
i drew with a marker on my shoulders two horse pedals to exorcise bad luck, i'm the one anyways my heart is safe like a grave
they say they kill the horses when they grow old killing beauty before decadence consciously, so fascinating
they say they kill the horses when they grow old i think i just found my ideal job
I can't compromise with the fact that the kids are not the same anymore. The kids are not what they used to be. A rebellion left to decay. No hopeless dreamers, no fuckers sleeping under bridge. Now outcasts hide their second hand youth behind second head suits and tie their compromise round their neck as a collar. We are shoplifting and we are 21 like our heroes did until the last of their days. So divine and such hopelessness disapproved and misclassified like broken empty bottles on the floor of the Town Hall. No Marilyn Monroe's where praised for this fact and no swans were slaughtered for this nuclear experiment. You get a prize out of this; a microwave love reheated and shallow as your heart is. No painfull lovers just the abandonment blues. My haircut was ruined from the wind of change, from the nervous modern citizens and the politicians that paid fortunes to have our names first act on Google. I got a couple of guns my father left me and a hidden camera on a third class hotel that tapes me fuck retired whores. You can know experience the crash of libido messing with vains and pumps and livers. My 15 seconds of fame is all the hopes i'm left with. My mother just snored when she understood i was the one on the evening news.
Our coins are wasted on the arcades and we waste the rest of our days lying on wet pavements screaming and name calling pedestrians. Shoplifting pays well and we keep a twenty percent of stuff for the difficult years in the cellar. In its front entrance we've placed a set of antlers bought from an antique store to keep away the unwelcome. Inside the cellar we keep our stuff and 3 bird cages. Two of them accomodate two yellowish canaries and one bares the weight of our dead mice's skeleton. We have patched the sockets with plasticine and the speakers are leaky. The dull buzz coming out of them makes the neighbours sleep a real torment as we choose the night hours for our silly basement parties. At dawn, this place is even more of a mess than how it used to be and we lay or shake on the floor blue. We use the salt our mothers threw behind our backs for good luck to wash every new scratch. It's all vain, but, it's the only thing we have besides the arcades that pays off a bit. Every new morning is a new plague. As our teardrops land on wet soil we understand that the place you're standing on doesn't really make a difference when you are crying.
Statically you spin the bottle one more time as the door bangs unorthodox movements brace your skin and you kiss the girl with the glasses pointed by the bottom of the bottle a teenage feeling comes in your minds pills and demons cry with every television personality the see on the neighborhood. If we kiss hands you are holy if we kiss lips, you are a drug One feels like the discovery of the century wrapped in paper sheets and dirty blankets forever untouched protected from the public eye. Bastard remember, we got your back as you scream "Fuck You" to the walls.
i bought a poster today for my wall dead cheap from a guy who came selling it to buy his fix the poster shows all races of dogs in a luxurious living room carpets, cartains and a fireplace and all the dogs snuggle around it
what the artist couldn't portray remains now outside of the piece of art; me, the junky, our fair trade and the place in my wall where all of us now seem to hang from
Now that the windows are crackling now that the cats are meowing the phonebooth stays unvisited only brochures of hookers and trash inhabit its ever exchanging square we are stilted behind our windowshields like these low payed prostitutes of the brochures visionless eyes waiting for the wind to blow our hair and tear down these walls where our fears breed in
Afraid to leave our place in case the electricity might cut off the television might close our empty lives we'll turn black and white again and the only friends we ever had visionless eyes interrupted only by the commercials will get more things to do rather than staring at the ceiling waiting for it to fall on our heads.
we wrote the songs that you hear on the radio during the spring we hijacked on trains in the back of the locomotives we washed our livers with booze left the parliaments to the ones that already had them we felt the fresh air hitting our face and we passed through the sunflowers we crossed the cornfields we hit on stranger's doors and on the floors that we slept, we pissed never wanting to go back again always chasing something new amongst the ripped shirts and the silences as the bats waltzed around the electricity pillars and the abandoned trucks mourned their merciless fate we wrote the songs that make you cry on the day our fathers died
My mind has reached the vanishing point hidden between the berry bushes i hold a basket smaller than the size of a cup i eat a champion's breakfast to get through my day ninetofive mental push ups fivetonine mental letdowns hopelessness defines what remains unhanded crying eyes portray the puberty days my adolescent years have become a businessman's routine sale lost in the maze of modern trashcans we call cities a life bought from ikea i will give it away to the first beggar on the street then if the opposites attract each other Midas gold will turn to dirt beggars will never die again from thirst.
Today i woke up at 11.11 by myself. I smiled. I had my usual breakfast, the exact same breakfast that i'm having for a year now. I found a lot of new music and listened to some old vinyl records. The view of records spinning makes my happy. I checked my facebook and someone i don't know in person linked my blog. I felt so great. I sent her a message telling her i love her. I don't know when was the last time i told this to someone. I had lunch with my brother and mother. My father wasn't at home and i'm always relieved when he's not. Then i slept again, i slept for 6 hours. I took some good rest and as soon as i woke up my parents were no longer at home and i was alone. I made no plans although it's a Saturday night. I listened to more music and talked with some people on the phone and then went out running.It's a long time since i went out running and i really enjoyed that. Sweat makes me realize i'm alive. I took decisions for some things and then came back home and i was alone. I took a picture of myself sweaty and dirty as i use to do lately. I had a warm shower, i had a warmer milk. I sat alone in the living room, lights out, and watched "7 Years In Tibet". I haven't seen that movie since i was 12 that was on the television. I don't really remember when was the last time i opened the television and i'm glad it was open and that movie played. Brad Pitt looks so handsome. I remembered how it feels to be afraid of war. I used to be afraid of war and the possibilities of a potential war, as i was younger. Now i type this and the only certain things are that i will update my journal and brush my teeth and go to bed. I don't know what else will happen in the meantime. I'm happy today. The city sky is full of dust, but, my soul is clean. I'm lost inside these small things and i'm happy. This is not my usual kind of posts, but, noone cares anyway and i'm full right now.
sweat makes me realize i'm alive i don't need a lot i can't afford less than what i need i'm not an artist cause noone is i'm nobody and noone i'm somebody and something something small compared to the size of the earth something big compared to the size of the man sweat makes me realize i'm alive i only take pictures of myself when i'm ugly to keep in mind that real beauty can be captured only when you want it to
Dear friends, lovers and strangers, I ruin my expensive vocal chords shouting for a band called RUINED FAMILIES. We play our first show on 21/2 at AN Club with Belgium's Rise And Fall. Come see me there. This is my big exit. This is the visualization of negative space. There are no excuses. Thank you in reverse.
I consider myself lucky for quitting drinking. She's got strong luck and a mind of absence constantly telling her what to do. My will is strong, but, her perfume is stronger so i layered all my insecurities on the butcher's table, on her crazy crazy heart, and this obscene scene can see no rivals.
When it's party time there's no stop sign There's a tear on her face and a phrase tattooed on her right hand, surrounded by veins mapping my slow comeback the word says" i have me to offer". I consider myself lucky for quitting drinking i'm not jealous at all of post party tattoos or what they call the morning after blues.
Remove regret from past voyages. Futures are made with hard work and my feet are stuck on the ground. The snake smiles at the blade withought thinking about it's future. Barcelona i miss you although i never met you.
You like like a girl. You look like a girl; he said and his eyes closed and the rain was falling right upon them. On his eyelids waterfalls were created and his lips curled. The loss of words betrayed his instability. I might look like a girl, but, you're the one who gets wet; i said. His mouth didn't open for the next three months.
We have seated the lepers in the privileged chairs and for the rest of the crowd we've kept the back seats You seat 3 rows behind and your pop corn tastes sour and your ecstatic ego is bleeding now In the front row the human deluge feasts with your broken nerves and disappointment One bell rings Two bells ring Three bells ring The pale faces. The hateful metamorphosis. The crowd becomes the leper and the leper becomes the viewer. The play starts and the lepers smile cattily.
So here's the deal. I got a new zine. Xerox Photocopies, 30 Pages, Hardcover. Everything is hand assembled and limited to 40. Cheap poetry, lo-fi imaging, distortion and noise. If you want one of these just leave me a comment or contact me at email@example.com. I'll be glad to send those anywhere!
On the table we dished the shiny plates and cutlery forks, knives and napkins Medieval candles adorn the table and their spakles reflects to your greedy eyes The chairs are dressed in leather and my heart, my heart is on the pig's mouth waiting for you to mangle. And you can't even imagine what i've made for dessert.
Each word is a composition of feelings. Each feeling is a definition of living. Each drop of sweat is a vivid essence. Each step in this world is rented. Every breath i take now feels like putting my hands into some stranger's pants.
From where i stand i can see you kid cursing your fate for growing old dropping your shoulders and lowering your head you're beautiful but you're not aware that life is such a bad joke. See, being deaf is being relieved and going blind is what you seek you lost connection with this world and you deny everything you know the plot you played this role and know it all still how can you live without actually living. I can connect to your hunger. I haven't seen such grace in negative space. You know that mirror broke seven years ago, isn't this the time you've been looking for so long?
MAKEMEBELIEVEINTHIS I NEVER LEARNT HOW TO USE THIS WORLD OR I CAN'T REMEMBER MYSELF USING IT ANYTIME BACK THEN ALTHOUGH I LEARNT MORE WORDS LIKE LIPSTICKONMYCOLLAR YOUNGSEXONTHESTREETS AHOLETOBURYUSIN AND INEVERTOUCHEDSKINASADDICTIVEASYOURS NOTHING SOUNDS AS GOOD AS MAKEMEBELIEVEINTHIS THOUGH
no matter how fast you act the machines are faster than you no matter how fast you think the inferno is faster than you no matter how fast you run the twister is fast than you no matter how fast you cum there's always someone faster than you
Did you really understand what happened? I haven't seen you coward. I've never met you. Yet i felt you inside me haunting me like an aura. The twisted obsession you called love was slaughtered at my front door and it's head was left at the garbage can for the cats to feast and the ragmen to embalm. It was slaughtered and unfeathered, first vaporized in perfume and then the skull was dressed in leather. With the money from taxidermy we got 3 cab rides to nowhere and we met the bums of the town and rocked the fucking bridge till it was burnt down like our years of innocent youth. Can you remember what really happened? Virgins were slaughtered and we're not kids anymore yet we carry cellphones and portable televisions one step closer to the edge of the Great Cliff forward. Our hearts are hanging from our sleeves and tags are tied on our toes writing our names on them. Our names are "Young Lovers Burn Faster". Now the stereo mutes as our heartbeat grows cold. Flowers ascent from the bottom of our beds and form funeral wreaths where hearts alive used to strand.
endless tea and endless work i'm getting around better lately needles in my tea and needles in my work still i'm doing much better lately
i'm all outrageous and outgoing running around the city like a rat in a wheel first come first serve i doubt you'll make it to the show this year
i rock the ball and spill the wine on your dress but you don't really care cause it's all about "the inner beauty" and i know you have such an autonomous will a fist on the chin and a good one to the loins
you say you're a misanthrope but i can't spell a word there's a dirty beat going up and down the walls curling up your leopard print bra trick or treat and i'm your entrails now
i can tell you're a sucker for bad poetry and cheap wine i got a cellar were we can hide in for weeks curse your parents and regrets i'm soulless verses from your toes to your belly button
you believe in short dresses and acting like a movie star seems like this chair has your name on it "i've seen you've been here for 3 days now" and you replied "i can see you're a frequent goth here too"
we've been looking for the same things pop culture ruined the lust you're serving me with cheap perfume and red wine stains on your dress i'm now obsessed with this freightful mess
sinners take one on the chin and i already got mine saints get a couple more in the butt and you're one of a kind if you got a black list then i'd love to join in one more for the road and we're off to oblivion
you press the red button and a list of options unveils right in front of your eyes a list of potentials for a new life you can see the underbelly of the everyday disappear yet you continue to press the red button anxiously afraid of what change might take away from you
what would andy warhol's father have thought of his son's future at birth? what would he think of his marilyn monroe color patterned multi portraits? what would he think of cocaine infected anorexia and twiggy poses? what would he think of lo-fi artsy videos and a legacy badly spent?
i think of this as i watch drunk chicks on lsd dancing and their white shirts and white teeth glow under the strobe light.