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Mon, Feb. 2nd, 2009, 01:12 pm

Threadless submission!!! please vote this week!


Wed, May. 28th, 2008, 01:15 pm
Green Porno

Thu, Apr. 24th, 2008, 02:23 pm

Mon, Mar. 31st, 2008, 08:16 pm
...so when i come back

long stories past gone.
a decadence full of decades in essence.
and a presence, oh poignant present.

i have not written the past because it aint' neccesary no more.
whether is that valuable ore, whore of deconditioned preachings. no gore.
i've been the one who has come back, back to back sore
and to the beginning again and again, like rabbits in the subway.

i dont rhyme just to make fun.
i dont believe in being hip.
i never learned to hop.
whether is because i pretend to be illiterate.
i came in thru the door. i said it before and again.
i speak with treacherous hands.
i saw the sun for tomorrow with bare hands.

miss the good'ol'days which i can even remember.
for now i give you my pencils.
my inks.

au revoir, monseur perdu.

Fri, Nov. 9th, 2007, 11:54 pm
...so when you come back


Mon, Jun. 4th, 2007, 01:06 am

"....I think we're just gonna to have to be secretly be in love with each other and leave it at that, Ritchie...."

Tue, Apr. 24th, 2007, 11:38 pm


Wed, Mar. 28th, 2007, 10:26 pm

my stories are rough and elitist

my stories don't age nor go bad

my stories don't have a first nor a last name

my stories don't remember where they came from.

Rags of illusion. Election. Climax.

Baby Bottles of poisoned liberty.

my stories walk in solitude, are blue and pretend to be deaf.

my stories compromise, bite and vandalize.

my stories are the only ones without entonations nor curses.

my stories silence.

letters without stamps, a leaf abused by autumm, and a little girl in a pink orchid dress.

my stories are empresses, vagabonds, crystalline.

my stories don't make mistakes and they are never close to be right.

my stories don't speak of epics, of manifestos, or fallen fruits.

my stories flourish in free fall.

emissary of a skin overflow, a goddess' cloak, smoke that tastes like sweet nostalgia.

within her eyes, I touch my ancestors and my descendents.

within her eyes I smell milkbread and tobacco from warm lands.

within her eyes I learn to fly low.

within her eyes I sleep.

my stories, your stories.

and her. always her

Thu, Feb. 22nd, 2007, 10:32 pm
there are true colors in my head...

"...She smiles...
...I bend over a rock to try to reach her...
...and my stomach compressed...hurts...
...'Stephanie, would you hold my hand?'..."

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