mardi 30 décembre 2008

ceratopogonidae bites.



It sounds a little silly, but this showed me where I needed to go.

dimanche 21 décembre 2008




Without mental mutilation, our world will always be distraught and vulnerable to those who choose stones over pebbles, and the sea's moss over evergreen courses.
I said good-bye to the sea tonight while crying with the comfort of another whom I was comforting.

lundi 8 décembre 2008

Us as of late




Lately I've been drying Florida like its been drying me.




And pasta Sundays.

lundi 24 novembre 2008

Last night I had a dream I committed suicide in the most famously known way.

I closed my eyes and almost immediately found myself in the path of a bright, golden yellow wheat field in a country a million miles away from home. Nothing else could be seen beside the gold, except for a few complimenting trees that extended in a deep green. The sun was just about to fall and it respectively casted an additional glow, bouncing off the spikelets. The air here was fresh and aged; it wasn't touched with the stench of modern day city sewage. The trees in the distance had lived their life effortlessly, and swayed with natural gusts of wind.

In all the beauty, I was suddenly hit with the most traumatic shift of hate and torture towards the outer world. People's faces that I've seen on the street floated on the inside of my eyelids and I wanted to scratch at them and force them away from me. The gold spun around me, and I could no longer make out the individual stems of the wheat.

I seemed to be undergoing my own Nausea, and it was pulling every limb of my body in separate directions. I continued to twirl around, breathing the clean air through my nose and trying to free myself from the hate and break-through towards this clean air, the pure.
It had become too much now and I pulled out a revolver from my overall pocket. I cried. I wanted to be here. I brought the revolver to my chest and faintly heard the echo of the oncoming shot.

I closed my eyes as I hit the ground, but I did not see a bright light. Instead, I felt the cool, damp dirt on my cheek and the familiar gentle brushing of the wind. I had failed at what should have been the simplest task, and cried furthermore. I rosed slightly and shifted my weight onto the palms of my hands. The dirt sank with my weight as I looked over a hill in an attempt to see someone near by. There wasn't. With a head hanging low, I then pulled myself back towards home and lied down until my time was finally up.


dimanche 9 novembre 2008

i want to chew on you like pomegrante seeds



i bought too much clothes today that i can't afford; i can't smell, either.







I've lost it.



dimanche 2 novembre 2008

73 degrees all week.



"I thought I could handle it but I fell on my knees near Sydney. Who is Sydney?"

"For them that looked for the way out and found it:
This.
There were holes that grew as doors with looking for
them,
And for those that walked through with their heads
high as kites,
This.
Where were the holes?
In man, in woman, in bottles, in the tattered book
picked up from the mud on the rainy day by the
railway junction.
But the whole of wholes, the holy of holies, where was,
where is
This?"


"I do not want to work here any longer. The people are crude, and the grease slips around their lips as they complain. They'll always complain."

"Florida may have it's palms, and its tropical aurora, but it cannot give me the satisfying warmth of another when the world feels cold."

"Do you think they accept cats in here?"

"I smelled cinnamon brooms today, and wished for snow and the bodily warmth I would feel in layers of cloth. The air is dry and humid, and I'm lonely in my skin exposing clothes. Everything is a dull green that hasn't changed in years, upon years. Everything, that is, except the sea. The sea will always remain as beautiful in colors of blue, green, and beige. blue, green and beige. blue, green and beige."

"I'm alone Florida, and I'm in yellow."

lundi 20 octobre 2008

We didn't do anything we said we would.



Stayed in bed all day.
I thought about all sorts of beautiful things, in my dreams.

samedi 11 octobre 2008

it's too hot.


my fingers feel smooth, wet and grainy today.

but here are some 'i loves' to bring my mood back:
i love it when i'm held longer than a hug.
i love how you say cabaret - 'caw-ber-ay'
i love seeing the sun behind the blinds when they fall on my cat and i when i open my fogged eyes.
i love when someone realizes the need to pull my hand into their conversation trio.
i love when they ask, "is there an image for this?" and i say "it's behind my eyes.." and how they smile so kinky.
i love anthony burgess' vocabulary and writing style... and the way he uses the word 'kinky'.
i love that my wrists are smaller than any other part of my body.

vendredi 26 septembre 2008




In the yellow kitchen of my mother’s home, something that would change my view on the animal-involved world sat lifelessly on my kitchen table. I've never heard the term vegetarian then, nor had I a meal that didn't consist of some sort of meat product. My kitchen was always filled with such products: bologna packages in the refrigerator, frozen bags of steak and seafood in the freezer. We even had a plastic figurine man sit on the window sill, holding sausages with a jolly smile on his chubby face. The pastel wallpaper behind this sickly man had a delicate floral pattern that became worn and started to peel. A past time of mine used to encourage its peeling with my index finger, pulling small strips down the wall until it reached the floor. The sky outside was a deep dense gray, and water began to trickle on the window overlooking the sink. My mom was in front of me talking on the phone to an old friend, while chopping off heads of dark green frozen vegetables. I was present in the background, sitting on a pale beige stool, all 4’8 of me. Dangling my legs, I looked downwards, counting the number of tiles on the kitchen floor.

“Asia, go and wash the chicken in the sink for me. It should be ready now.” Eerie at the thought of touching the cold, flesh colored ‘thing’, I walked over giving her a distinct winced look. I wasn’t much of a
picky eater, I even liked the taste then, but handling meat was never a chore I liked. Peering over the counter, while placing my hands on the counter top for stability, I took the leg bone with the tips of my fingers and dragged the corpse into the sink, producing a dull thud on the metallic material. I turned the faucet on, and let the chilled water cleanse the skin, giving it a glossy appearance. My cat Astra jumped on the table then, smelling potential food. She purred as she stalked around the sink, leg crossing over the other, as to carefully make sure not to make the slightest sound to scare the lifeless prey. Her whiskers twitched, and her pupils widened, engulfing the yellow sclera as she drew closer. "Off! Get outta here before I give you one to remember!” my mom spat, scooting Astra off the edge as she growled with flat ears, and a diabolical face.

With the phone against her cheek, using her shoulder as a third hand, she opened the drawer and brought out the Cleaver knife. I stepped backwards as she maneuvered to the spot where I previously stood, making sure I could still get a glimpse of the bizarre action. Turning the faucet off, she picked up the chicken and placed it on top of a navy blue hand towel. It seemed slightly humorous to me now, how she talked about the Minnesota homicides as she drew the knife up to her chin and slashed down sharply to split the thigh bone from its torso. My widened eyes were quickly drawn back when I heard the crisp cracks of bone and tendon as she pulled the remaining muscle and tissue away. She looked like a dominant lioness as she did this; an expression almost neutral towards the morgue-like procedure. She continued to move to her right, carefully slicing each following section, until she hit something that seemed unfamiliarly tough. My mom was a good cook, and she knew all the body parts of the chicken; but she just couldn't put her finger on this peculiar 'organ'. She decided it would be best to cut it away from what she knew was safe. Lining the knife carefully, she made sure she could get all of the foreign meat, and produced a clean cut. Blood then streamed out in an unnatural gush, soaking the towel underneath. "God damn it.", she cursed, moving the chicken back into the sink.

Never had I ever seen anything more stomach turning and disturbing. My insides were queasy, and my face became pale as I motioned the facial gestures of throwing up, though I didn't. Instead, I began to cry and realize how wrong consuming meat was. I have always held an indefinite compassion for animals, and I never knew how hypocritical I truly was. It made no difference if I had eaten that chicken tonight, or if I eaten Astra. It was a personal awakening for me, and within the same week, I declared my decision to my less than surprised parents. A few weeks following such decision, it was visually clear to see my health, as well as my internal being change dramatically. I have since then vowed this decision for the rest of my life, for I was full of positive energy and internally felt as if I were a
quintessence of purity.


vendredi 29 août 2008

I wake up at 6 a.m, my blood burning moist heat. It's still dark out, even when i turn on the lights; and i scrunch my eyes closed, wrinkling the nose and knitting the brows . I step in the shower, and i see bugs on the wall. Three different species of bugs, and the arachnid trio cringe and distort their bodies while the shower head spits. I stand still in the shower, allowing the spit to cogently pull my hair over my eyes, my nose, and shoulders.

I make myself a cup and recline with the 'Palm Beach Post'. Water droplets seeped through gray words I've just read. I thought about art then, and what the color gray does for me. I thought about the sea's shore at night, the fog in St. Augustine, the buckets at work, the sidewalks in your city; and I couldn't find more reason to support my love and appreciation. I thought about literature then, and wanted to write about it.

I wanted to write everything down that my lateral holes couldn't take in from the outside. I wanted to cramp my wrist, and hurt the tender spot on the pinkie where the pen lays. Something so descriptive and vivid; something beautifully important to the past, present and future. I could live underneath this world, if so.

mercredi 20 août 2008

it's during this monotonous tick when
a face floats around my inner eyelids, glowing red and blending purple.
my hands are cracking like the hands of a middle aged, blue collared worker;
and my eyes are dreary, my cheeks and mouth slid southbound.
i look in the mirror, and i see nothing that looks more similar to a basset hound.



mardi 19 août 2008

the study of the human body and medical assistance is a nightmare. to sit on your side in a pale, dream-like room, while a plump, virginal nurse injects ripe colored fluids in all areas violating. she stands watching you, pretending to glance to the nearby counter, checking her wrist for the time. you wait until you hear a slight click in her tongue; and she pets you, docile and plastic.

'The inverted human face is horrible: too many holes, far more monstrous than any monster from outer space.'





mardi 12 août 2008

i will when i stop thinking thoughts that provoke existing thoughts within themselves.

dimanche 10 août 2008



we'll be coming home
coming, coming home.
some day soon,
january or june
evening, morning or afternoon

so you just stand and wait
by the garden gate
till my ship comes bouncing o'er the foam.
we'll be together
for ever and ever,
never more to roam
he'll be coming
we'll be coming
i'll be coming home.

dimanche 3 août 2008

what am i doing wrong?

there was a deer's head hanging from the wall in my hotel room, last night.
not hanging,
but standing as firmly as he would have on his own legs,
watching me change, wash, brush, and sleep.
his shoulders were strong; and he had a thick, perfectly morphed skull.
those sorrowful eyes glared at me, followed my path throughout the room.
it felt like a security light on the back of my neck, in the corners of my own eyes.
and in the dark
in the dark, antlers stretched themselves across the ceiling, and those same eyes stared profoundly into mine; the slightest gloss left shone from the parking lot's dim lighting.
and there was a point, around 2:30, where we had stared at eachother without shoulders to hold our heads.
and i saw
we weren't very different from eachother at all.

lundi 28 juillet 2008






I've recently spent the last four days in a fast moving, insomnia diagnosed city. A city that has brought a northern glow to me; with back alleys that smelled sweet, and the troubled who were comfortable. Nothing reminded me of home there, in contrast to how chicago, or new york would. Everyone's thighs were toned from the streets, and the walls were colored to each individual taste. My pace had quickened with this short stay, and my eyes dilated a few centimeters larger at the sights of green and gray whom each have held their separate quarters.

you should be mentioned, as well.
The reason behind my curtains hasn't been entirely sinless, but you've been a great addition. I'll admit to a slight tenderness about the outcome, but i can't deny the impressed opinion i have received upon meeting you. You walk just how i used to envision you on those dull days at work, pulling buckets of water back towards the heated kitchen with my clumsy backtracking. you've been a much needed help on this trip and it was lovely to do the things we've always talked about doing. i'm terrible to realize i've had oranges and sand filled to the rim of my mouth the majority of the time, and that's not my full stomach. i thought i could close my mouth on the two and get away with it, but you still noticed the dripping of the orange around my mouth. if given a few more days, i would spit out the peels and the shells so you can explore my voice. that's it.

(writer's block.)

samedi 12 juillet 2008

i woke up at 11:30
the cat's sleeping at my feet, not my head
i make a fast breakfast and use the computer
my shoulders and neck bearing dust
made a cup of coffee
missed how much sugar always went in yours
i drove to work
dumped buckets of water, and wished everyone a great day
got off at 9 and went home
i greet myself back
and walk in the shower
washed myself, glanced naked in the mirror
i scratch the water off my hair
waited for a "stop it, you're getting me wet!"
i sit in my chair
only i sit in this chair
i roll over to my bed
one side open

vendredi 11 juillet 2008