the gory mansion

it's not everyday that you wake up wit the sun digging through the holes of your skin. sometimes it's late, sometimes it never shows up. sometimes you counts days and weeks sometimes the minutes are endless. i have learned to take pleasure in the details. tin when it's empty clang like bells, alcohol when it escapes like vinegar on crispy leaves and the canals when it breaks make your skin breathe like flower petal meat. the bedroom window is a comrade sometimes, for when it plays wit light it becomes an absolute snob. some days you wake up at wrong hours of the day. it slaps you in the face i don't know why yet somehow i think i understand.

the central chamber

mercury when you think about it never loses its light. but it's selfish and it hides at broad daylight perhaps even at night. its ball cast you cannot hold its god flees wit light. so i take pleasure in the details. the nights of iris when iris summoned the moon i know somewhere i shouldn't let it pass all the pretexts at the coffee stand it's underway. am crossing the havoc and someday we all get paid. jef would agree to this and he would go about his round of his merry-mind plantation. benjo finds it better to sleep over something philosophicaly void. now celeste wouldn't care, she wouldn't mind playing russian roulette wit the alter ego. someday we all grow old and we countin territories on our skin and start defining no more missing done with. never over.

the irish dropout

there's an iron bar standing in the middle of the horsies and it's really not spinning. i did one full flight early today and it's been grasshopping since. that's just about it i guess. so i take pleasure in the details. frank has gone back and forth. i would sit on the bedside and watch frank go pack go back and forth. i would stand by the doorway and watch miki go navigate the pacific and by the time she returns i would still find myself standing by the doorway. so i take pleasure in the details, pick up a good book but i could never get myself to finish one. then frank and miki and everyone else would return with trinkets and valuables from plane tickets to credit card receipts and the traces of sugar sand and crushed corals in in the soles of their feet. and i. with my metal quencher, had a very good sleep.

the fire trails

then i disappeared. now this won't be the first in the chronology of random events for hillel disappeared when he fell in love. he is your best friend you hit it off together, he falls in love, see you next year. and the last thing i remember mos was saying, "you get the pressure, you deliver, then you're better off, til it's over, then you slug off again." so the next day i died. so i take pleasure in the details and the tender white lily of the northern hills turned deep red. little did i know it's tragic. never less beautiful. and the following morning was the invation of roswell the steel badge of phoney. so the tea leaf is no longer a safe place for sunscreen and it would take a while to hail max with his bald cult to become my dirty kitchen and anywher i go, the places i hide, is Dublin.

that red demi god hand

the philic admiration that one gets from the little demons no matter the crooked evolution of one's fierce phragmatic stream of existence is something that i do not understand. all the weekends of abandon and burping whiskies up their little nostrils on the contrary proved rather hypnotic to cloud their eyes for the sunday afternoon departure. i gave up so i take pleasure in the details. tha night i threw up lots slowly peeled me off. i pee on the bowl and the toilet floor got all flooded that's my piss. the day the faucet knob broke fell on the sink sprayed spit up my face when i go chasing dead roaches at 3AM slipped on the bathroom floor my head hit the wall stripped myself of any responsibility. it's a statutory preference to slowly strip myself off of any and all the responsibilites of a keeper to be in the position of a tucker now. the legions and the nymphs the salingers the bull pack the medlocs and the argonauts should be on their own now. there's no more telling the whip cream from the shaving cream when it sits on your coffee enjoying a sip sitting on the toilet bowl good night hercules.

postcards from olympus

heard of it from red after bumping into shawshank penal for the hundreth time since indictment. hope is good and if it's the only thing you have left you should hold on to it. some days i scoot over at the little store in the corner counting bottles and packs wit oscar and mark. some days i run away. some days i play hide and seek with the building guard since that time i got spotted at the fire exit on the 5th. so i take pleasure in the details. i still believe in God. and i got me kate dragging me off my sunday afternoon bed to take me to church. i take pleasure in my own little company of weedics at daylight on weekdays, got people embarassed at my obvious lack of fashion swagger making me wait for an eternal 60 minutes on a leash outside clothes and shoe shops, what medicines i take, what food i eat duct taping a fork on one hand a spoon on the other a steak knife pointed up ma throat. eat! got me worried gang of smartans tracking me whereabouts whatching in case i lose my way again. and again. making sure i don't fall in love. bonker disappeared. they always sure to kill me first before i think suicide. am blessed of all men.

we there yet?

this is bound to be a season of tides and baller tags.
and the nominees...
what's the big idea duke?!