Sealluminated

Fingers dancing on my caged chest,

Eyes shifting, blackened lips chewed.

Wet whispers on my collarbones,

The sun, the orange skull.

I collect the scabs of scars that once lay there,

They shined like hues riding down her pigtail.

Take me,

Take me inside the maze of your thighs,

And lead me,

Lead me like red rivers on the white of your eyes.

Hurrah! Scarlet moans, my iron skeleton,

Terrifying voices that hurls in pale circle.

Paint them sins, my crystal knuckles!

With melodies, only ghosts could hear.

Hear me! Hear me!

Hear my bloods tired for a reasoning,

As they curse for all creations.

I have seen you sodden with water!

Dead-drunk and washed,

O' you mysterious navel.

Thundering drums of a million sailor,

I clench my heart toward her opened sturgeon,

As she's calling my name,

Like she took the temple.

She took the temple.

YOU CANNOT TAKE MY TEMPLE!

You, cannot take, my temple.

Fever

Was going for 'When I Grow Up' by Fever Ray,

and woooh! Karin Dreijer herself found it and put it on her tumblr!

check it out!

▼

fuckyeahkarindreijer

Surf's Up, Spicoli!

Delusions

Wake up, Clementine.

Smear those lips across your fingers till you find,

To a shiny necklace of clear frost-covered hollow drips,

And killings of your favorite flowers.

Foul.

Sudden.

And rabble-rousing.

Turns a rollercoaster dive into an ocean's rye.

Howling daffodils for it is high.

As it crackles your head for it is dry.

Dehydrating.

I took a giant hit under your bathwatering fictions.

With no raincoats nor a single conceal.

Like a bloody porcupine shielded in its purest quills.

Oh my dear Clementine,

Your time, it is over.

I see you slip away through your very bladder.

A million claps, yet they don't even matter.

You are just another flavour.

One Flowery Sabbath

Another session with The Balletcats.

This time with my old buddy, the one and only Lena.

Tees for sale, check them out!

www.theballetcats.com

Piggybank Heist

Great session with The Balletcats.

With the mastermind himself Mr. Jordan Marzuki.

Tees for sale, check them out!

www.theballetcats.com

A Monologue On Top

I believe it was the first night of June.
Heavy mist mantled and Jakarta was blazingly hot.
I was in room 34, somewhere around the second floor.

Sprawled across the chenille spread, as I watched the whole city slid by below its wings.
Ah, what is this all about?
The ground moving doesn't really alter my perspective up here.
Each and every occurrences, cavalcade of high poles towering on sidewalks,
and those tree shadows like nudes dancing on the hillside.
They're all whistling sixty-nines to the city lines.
It just seemed so beautiful here in the rearview.
All that surrounded me, seeing people's faces, snapshots.
A motionless barrel, quarrel, silent statues, changing phases, places, and isolations,
I hear them all talking in mute conversations.
Disquieting.
The words that contained stored-up images and thousands of overpowering feelings of a year old.
How much easier if I forgot it all?
How much easier if I just jumped off and went into a black hole?

There were laughter, for ten minutes.
Before soon I realized, it would take 2, 10, 25 whole years to regret it.
Suzie's lying on the bed.
Like an acid trip to the park where everything was all hazy and the grass was bleached out green.
An eyesight of a thin girl smiling, stood nearby the broken television set.
Kissing Corey in the dark, Victoria's smile in that photograph, Jodie's tiny footsteps,
They left pygmy prints all over the wooden-tiled floor.
Spoiled Mary, the delinquent girl.
Dashing Dorothy and alcoholic Ann, the violent ones.
I wished I was on top of Tony's red pick up truck where I could just lay down and gaze the glorious sun.

Down frightening paths in darkness that lead towards nowhere.
An end of all the terrible things, panic, and amazement.
Magical sounds and filthy frolics.
Leisure and let loose from any bondage, walks about, the pure people, as I looked deep down on the uninitiated.
Sacred words were passed.
It was wet.
Like walking midnight beneath the rain, where no one knows I was crying.
In dread, paralyzed, and powerless to stop.
As melancholia wove a web of hysteria around me, wrapping me ever tighter in its web.
The atrocity, the patricide, the misfortunes, and the unbearable vexation.
Reality just opened up its gaping maw and swallowed me whole as I tumble into another dimension.
Two pink frisbees on my cheeks.
We're free as a bee, yet it still all rapidly peaks, unspokenly speaks.
Decapitating.
Babbling constantly on my mind.

I am a writer. Writer of fiction.

Lost in Toughts: An Acid Afternoon Trip To The Wild.

Midsummer afternoon, 1970.

I hadn't been born then.
Nor was this baffling standpoint I have now towards life.
Flooded with beercans like an endless river,
Chuckling in air, like sniffing a fucking reefer.
To see things as though they were really what we saw at that time.

Oh, what a mint view.
This feeling of cherry blossoming daisies and evergreen meadows outside my window.
I wish it hadn't been so fast, made it seems like I've just missed a train knowing I am 30 years too late.
I guess we just have to revel those moments forever in our senses.
At least until the fat lady stops singing and starts to get high and wasted.

Ah.. If I could just get out and go make love to the gazing sky,
And tell her not to cry, for she has to witness all.
This surreal nonsense that is happening beneath her beauty..

Ah.. If only tonight I could gently rape the worried moon and make her moan.
Blow the tits off her sanity, only just so I can whisper her lovewords to make her calm.
So she would still talk to me at night, as she begins to turn her shine around against me,
Against the ground I'm living on..

Oh dear Mother of all the land,
Let me hold your hand and raise your head up slow since now is the time.
Now is when children create memories of their first sunrise,
Now is when Mother first sees her children's eyes.
Now is when the old are young while the young are still dumb as we are closer to lose our opposable thumbs.
Now is when I wake up to the fresh smell of brewed coffee in blonde rays of beautiful lights that burst through the haze where they land upon my face like a kiss.

So I say here and now, a solemn vow.
The land's gone cold, down gone by the down down shops in and out of a bound.
Half-truth lies I have told, an honest sound of a tiny cluster of little babies on a playground.
I suppose my mind's just riddling with chaos of whys and hows,
But I like it.

I am a writer. Writer of fiction.

Darla//Fjola

Revoir La Femme

Le baccalauréat, l'enterrement de vie d'une jeune fille.

The Wistful Whistles

In the hours that squelched towards dawn

He was smoking constantly

(which he found was a convenient one)

It was a very long day

A lost gradient in silver rocket motion

Beyond imagination-infatuation, they say

She has knockout noise on her chest,

Her velvet heart, velvet gloves

Hmm..

There's not much glam about the weather, nor the first

Time we grazed our hands, somewhere around the elevator-sized lawn

I guess all comes back to the first

Time I saw her near that marble sparkling pond,

Oh, her golden reflection..

And so I dove recklessly into the brightest sea

Where I met this chavy o' Mrs. Penny Lee,

In a Gabba Gabba Hey, gabba love story

No, nothing happened, o' really?

Just these massive amount of strucks on my entire body

But then something came up silly, mistaken

As I recognized that something was taken

By a baby with no sights of see

Well excuse me Mr. busybody, pour me another cup of whiskey

And rounds 'n rounds of Hennesey, with a muted, singing-Morrissey

So now I hide,

In a cave with bats of my own mind

Clinging on, her tiny veiled hand

From the bottomless grave,

Through her enigmatic plan

Ah, I just really miss you..

THAT GREAT LOVE SOUND!

The Winslow Boy

Flashing epiphany.

O' Thee devilish lure of gold!

Delusional speech,

as she descends her staircase to be arrested.

Gauging,

a grave robbery.

With swerving beauty of a Rose Lee.

Happy as a lark, without a cent.

Brusquely stark, with no consent.

And there he was,

The ol' poor chap.

Sole on the seas, time forth had sent him.

Like strolling ivies, an outgrowth redeems.

Oh, breastplate and blade, on his bosom lay.

So desperate and greyed, he's gone ashtray.

Jumping in, to a big girl's blouse.

Dries his skin, a Duchess's grouse.

Hologramic Gnomic

T E C H N I C O L O R BUNNIES!

Mind-numbing

I try to maintain that today's just another remorseful twenty-four hours, loaded, with some serious confusion, irritation, and people, with a lack of connection. These are the days when i just want to lie down, and think of nothing else besides this spacious, borderless, a whole new black image i enter as i shut my eyes. Forget about all the rage of trends, somebody's hots for nightclubs, mental disorders, and the traffic muddles on four. Yet these things appear, but somehow they run off like rain on my windshield, a fast car on a highway.

News headlines going around, you watch as they go, and hope some good comes. Like some spoiled girl on a bathroom mirror, paints her face green and mask-like, shall become beautiful one step ahead in the morning.

These constant daydreams, flirtatious moments, and self exposions, bursting bloodstreams in turmoil. A shadow across the parking lot, chasing leaves, cigarette butts, scratches in the head, a gorgeous sight of her gazing eyes as i lifted her up, up in the air, leg snatched, with both her hands tied on the nape of my neck, and all of these obnoxious adolescences that move like silly dances of the paralytic.

Neverending imitations, "sorry you're out of time" auditions, mind absences, unfinished sentences, and a whole lot of excuses for my own existentialism in this tired world.

Kill Me, Kill Me

Father, Bingo!

Adolescences

AUTUMN, AUTUMN!

O' honied yellow dripping gold,

Leaf of autumn in the cold.

Dancing on, in crisp despair,

Whirling on enchanted air.

Falling silently to earthen tomb,

Away from tree's rooted womb.

By hollow cries of an autumn grief,

Synchronized with the falling leaf.

Unreeling

Isobel

My name Isobel

Married to myself

My love Isobel

Living by herself.

Credits ; Michael Simon

She Is The New Thing

She's a special girl you know,

the kind i'd hope to see;

HANGING ON THE WALL!

Watching me cross the street.

i wonder,

how long it will be,

before i'm sick of her,

and i no longer care,

where she goes or been

because; she's the new thing,

she's a new thing,

she is a new thing!

she's the new thing!

Feel my stomach sink.

Whatever she brings,

i cast myself in.

It started so slight

then i flared into life,

attention again onto

another new thing!

Once

she had me on my knees

enamoured with disease

Now, she fails to impress

A different sickness.

A different kind of sickness,

lacking any interest

(haaaaaaaaaaaaa)

And i,

sunk in apathy,

totally absorbed in me.

Sitting vacant on my on,

my senses lying prone.

she was the new thing,

she was a new thing!

she was a new thing,

another new thing!

another new thing.

Feel my stomach sink

and i curse my slow limbs.

Staring at her, alterior girl,

I cast myself into; whatever she brings.

With sickness,

it ends how it begins;

First mine than hers,

and then the cycle blurs

as my actions reoccur

through no fault of my own.

Wonder-squander

I had a dream about Alice, in psycholand.

Sleepy Leslie

Everybody,

Meet Leslie,

Leslie, here's everybody.

Don't, don't worry,

She's just sleepy.

Spiderwebbs

Oh, i dont waste my time

on technicolor nightmares.

Uh-uh, please give me back

those days in black and white.

Saddie

Lil' Saddie Fall hanged, 

and swapped see-sawed 'round the womb.

Does she have a heart, no?

Not a single tear, nor a scoul.

As one wretched woman,

sunken her, down the covetous mouth.

With her sniveling face, and in unjibber,

she's no Hellen Keller.

O' poor lil' Saddie Fall,

if only you could hear me vow and all.