I am not lying on the floor of my apartment a cool breeze passing over me on a Summer’s day I am not thermoreceptors constricting blood flow in Mexican waves of excitatory response across skin dermis I am the wind
There are no oceans on the moon— that’s why I want to swim in them. Listening to a dead man's voice, willing to believe his lies. We are never where we think we are. I am eight years old... sand in my teeth... I hear laughing.
The streets are full, but all I see are the gaps. The streets are loud, but all I hear are the gaps. Surrounded by people, but moving through the gaps.
Heeey, it's been a lifetime! I almost didn't recognise you wearing that specific point of view formed by myriad environmental and genetic factors. Well, it looks good on you, I guess... if anyone could pull it off it'd be you. Say... why don't we drop these two wet blankets and get out of here? Bodies… Continue reading One millennia stand (it doesn’t have to mean anything)
Whether it's a guru's maze, a mandala – some inexplicable thing curving into itself; a complex of neural connections: just another ambivalent chemical highway; or a library full of French metaphors: a dusty vault of socio-political guff – every time I find myself moving through, I wind up arriving back here, at you.
Let life's residue breathe, decongesting clogged pores – gently exfoliate feelings. Let collagen seep from beneath rosy cheeks for pinching – dermal filler extract for pottles. Let minds' eyes release life's specters from bone sockets – bouncing retro looks. Let flesh fall, an old worn suit – discard sartorial desires. Rise from that seething, stinking mess: light and… Continue reading Extreme makeover