Lost in Thoughts: An Acid Afternoon Trip to the Wild

Midsummer afternoon, 1969.

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 40 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.

Myth of the Cosmonaut's Daughter

Shriek of a Servant

We are tiny speckles of golden dust,

Enunciating, dissipating,

Soaked in sync,

Mocking tangerine dream.

We hell-bent and run,

Like an unwanted shadow,

And yes we strived, we thrived!

Elegant blossoms on a desert glow.

Can we climb? Let us!

Let us climb through space,

Ride the solar wave!

Let us kiss! The hookah's hiss!

Let us kiss the parhelion siren!

You King Jocular tyrant.

He opens our door,

And he fucks our whore!

With his calumnious skins,

His pretentious roar.

As he grins to a mirror,

The way he decieved us all.

Orgasmic Acid Transmigration

Make love, spiders from Mars.

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,

got featured on Karin Dreijer personal 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.

Decapitating.
Babbling constantly on my mind.

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..

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!