"I am patient at the waiting yet impatient to see her again..."
What is patience? In the context from which I am typing, it relates to the fact of something changing for nothing can remain the same everlastingly & I holding hope in some sort of spatial & mental calm without opening my mouth to whine about time & its at times somewhat inconveniences while I have a cigarette.
I dare await without any further expectation but a warm encounter [not the devouring type since I have already trapped myself by using her help, then giving myself to her] Either tonight or tomorrow, either in the open or indoors, either with caffeine or nicotine...
An empty screen haunts me. Clear stubborness taunts me. I ought to linger without thinking.
"I know by now that you'll arrive by the time I stop waiting..."


C-I've jumped into the river...

so I could hold the one who's shown nothing but trust & love in spite of the cunt-taunt at times life could shower one with. One might wonder what I saw when I finally dove in [more deeply than I thought I might add] Nothing...Believe! Can you? The amount of beauty in my life has gone up on the ladder inasmuch as, as I have closed them, I have actually opened my eyes. I bounce up+down or up then down without any sort of clumsy control. She laughterises. Would you buy my bullshit when I say I can fearlessly ignore yet acknowledge all the filth in the river by being? I stutter, I stare, I start then stop, I sting her & she does so back...Keen on smoke. I have trapped myself by using her help. So, I gave myself to her. Can one be afraid of such prey? You may feel deceived after I tell you this forementioned river is one but the sea itself...I did not mean to lie! Nose of scars which upset my gastrointestinal spirit. I swear I am a whale [The purple one, who has by the way left a sprout of her in my mind, can confirm my story] What about this essence in my bed? Coward affirmation: IFLH...Hahaha! [I wonder if one can guess that] Coward for I dare not type it whole. Au revoir...Time to see a movie.



I lost this being which was given to me as a proof of trust...Whether it jumped out of my pocket or I was quite uncareful, I ought to run into him once more.



A sweet sweaty sworn swollen swarmed purple-red-orange-blue-and-green grumpy fuckfuckingtuesdayesque tulip-like marshmallowy-chocolate pwd field of grass sunshowering tiltheendoftheworldish wine+chips poem-for-all-battle purpleletter U+I kiss for you.


I have happened to have written:

I shan't give up on anyone. Especially her.

There's no reason to tell nobody but myself what I am about to state. Nonetheless, there is one who'll understand why I shall move into typing such proposition.
I haven't given up on anybody present. I shan't give up on any of them.
Needless to say that I who has found a purple piece of sea will not give up on her.
I like that.
I hope she likes that.



I terminate before the ashtray takes down til the time I wonder where I have left the hyperreaction I used to exude at the time of getting out of the bed I ignore due to my fear or flying on an apparatus full of faulty mechanic mechanisms unlike my defective bodily mechanisms which swell in spite of all the will I burgle out of nowheres in the mind of nobodies who dare look at my face since they cannot hear the voice somebody-someone holds dear inasmuch as tones can make the soul tremble.



-There is nothing to fear & nothing to doubt.
-Here I'm allowed, everything all of the time.
-No matter what happens now, I shouldn't be afraid because I know today has been one of the most perfect days I've ever seen.

It has been like that, all like that...




I hover through the skies, which resemble fucking life.



I slide. I slide. I attempt to glide. This transparent tar won't let me gain momentum. No trees to climb up & jump off. 7808 nights have I tried. I start running at the white sunset. As fast as I can. Til the white sunrise. I rest on the floor wondering what has gone wrong. I hear birds chirp, but I cannot see them. The heat dries me. My piece of sky does always seem white. I ignore if such sight fits into what life is like. I feel muddy. The world wobbles. I dream about twisting food. I should be able to sense the bed of twigs I can smell. I at times think worst. I call my own name. I must be mute to have never heard nothing. I at times think right. I dream up green skies. I think up purple tar. I badly fear some cracking. My cozy universe. I endlessly slide, only attempting to glide.


Fucking Tuesday. People removing non-existent hats. Words of stench. Impossibly yahooable introductions. Fruity fingers ponting at what no one might have done. Remembering previous 11/4's. Counting them. Onion taste. No-smoking schools. Defective grammar. Unwined. Triple meals. The unfeasibility of neat transport. 3's & 6's. From beginning to end. Fucking Tuesdays.



Can someone who has never existed vanish? Can I erase somebody who never was? This exiguous thought I have embraced for such a long time happens to have slowly turned unjustified & tiresome. At the lack of faith, I encounter a vision full of excuses & lame purposes to feel alive. Life itself ought to be enough [Not that any justification might be needed, you understand] Purgatory & Heaven have always seemed puerile. Nihilism appears distant & unfeasible. & Hell is not what you are thinking of...I wonder where I will go after what I am about to state [I have abandoned expectation in a bag of dirty ideas, but I can still try to forsee] I am who I am. I can ackowledge I am here. I can acknowledge He is not. The alleged omnipotence & omnipresence, traits created to add value to any given deity, make it tougher to digest. The benevolence, which seldom takes place, has long ago gone far from sight. The consideration of a great architect, suitable for a theory full of holes, fails to belong. I think I am real, & I believe He is not...


The past has taken a peek onto the platform where I rest now. I feared its innate volatility might come on stage to reclaim its share. "What if such volatility comes back?" -someone asked me last week. I must admit I felt fright. I ought to admit I do not want it to come back since I dig where I am. I should not let it step foward because of her. I should not let it step foward because of myself.



A sweet sweaty sworn swollen swarmed kiss for you.



About to leave for the city, I pass by the dreaded place one last time. I can hear a cricket & the laughter of children playing at the field. Is it all in my head? Is it actually happening? The sky is clear & lots of sunlight falls upon the piece of land which used to be swarmed with grass. The Tarmac looks shiny & alive. I ask myself if such perception is a twisted vision created by my obtuse longing. I consider picking up turf to use as carpeting in my brand new apartment. My grandma is gone, the crickets silent, the grasshoppers still & my dreams lacking green. It will not be easy to move on. Silence. Grey piece of Tarmac. I can only close my eyes. Grey Tarmac. Grey piece of matter being tore by germs of grass. Grey bits of tar macadam going through the sky. Insects popping. Music in my head. The sight of clouds when lying on the ground looking upwards. I smile with a twitch. The grass field lives in my head...



The field of Tarmac is still there. I reckon I unconsciously wished to run into this specific point once more this morning, as if it could have been just a delusion [you know, the Tarmac] Silly memory. Silly me, longing for a dirty field of grass. The Tarmac is still there. Cold & grey, hard & quiet. I might move to a city where you can only find grass around a certainly almost dead tree trapped in cement. Obviously, there is no space to casually spot a grasshopper. Let alone lying down just to lose track of time. I wonder how come progress can be evoked to excuse dead matter. Grey concrete. Grey remembrances of previous thoughts. Grey acts & consequences. A million insects I might have counted. It is not going to disappear [you know, the impervious field of Tarmac] I will die one day, & the piece of land full of dirt & grass will not be there to preserve my occurrences. I should not have come to this sight again. I should keep walking...



The grass field where I used to play does not exist anymore. Instead, you can see a grey piece of Tarmac, which happens to be grey both literally & figuratively speaking. All the people who used to pass by, either going somewhere else or just admiring the soothing panorama, are gone too. I ignore what the purpose of this 'ex-field of dreams' is now. Not that someone has not tried to inform me, you understand. I shushed my neighbour when he vainly attempted to show off all the little gossip he knew about the matter. I cannot recall how I ran into this haven. I cannot remember how long I stayed there looking for grasshoppers to take to my grandma or lying on the ground hearing music in my head with my eyes closed either. The music, the memories of both the experienced sensations & the field are still in my head, whereas the actual phenomena are not. I never took a picture of it. I should keep walking...



Deity going like lost shit I just found rawness so damn fond of assimmetry wielding harsh causes bearing quirky acts & consequences.
Schizoid feeling like-a homeless hanging around the dwelling I did not choose to linger about holes within grey matter that dies & dries itself.
Sceptical abiding so strained suggest I be in rabidity quite swallowed by departure undergoing racking she avoids any try or hue & cry.
It's her relinquishment vexes vexatious vexations.
Envy the unlimited verve.
Hate the heretic jargon.
Feed on devil squares.



What, for heavens sake, is honour? Do I possess it? I have lied several times through life. So, can I still have honour? The definition of such word is not as absolute, linear & plain as lots of people believe it to be. If a straight definition is to be achieved, we might find that there's no honour left in this world, except for, I wish real hard, children. Ha! As usual, I might just be wrong...One occcupation never involving the aforementioned trait has to be the one of a politician. Is there anybody who would dare contradict me?! It is all about interests & the money, acquiring power, controlling people's will...It is damn clear that corporations have more power. Nevertheless, political parties & their ass-ociates occupy the bottom of the rotten scale if we were to rank people & the honour they possess. There's no honour in politics & what politicians do, & we ought to be ashamed of not doing shit about it.....


The anaxagoric permutation permutes permeably the idiosincratic gun god left under my pillow so I could murder this as-a-matter-of-fact gruesome wish I bore when I woke up after my own beliefs disgraced me to besmirch the sole mind trip I have kept to feel alive...



I shan't give up on anyone. Especially her.


Certain tune, tune which I have unexpectedly created, reverbs in my head after what I could have never thought I could have foreseen. In spite of the usual discomfort, I vainly + plainly embrace the verve I acquired a couple of weeks ago. Dreaming has never hurt anyone, right? The one who pushes me regards unfeasibility as possibility for my defective speech lacks the emotion + awkwardness I gushed that night. I wish I can bestow my peace of mind.
I must embrace hard pure unpredictability, you understand.