[28 May 2004|11:47pm] Sitting in a scarlet haze When the world doesn't make any sense, I will rise again And drop beneath your wind. Ten new streams will flow On the ivory unknown land. Smooth ripples of evil flesh, Burning walls and waves. You seek the change in the seasons, Timid winter crawling fire, A boiling threat growing into A blast of stars and purple skies. The universe expands to the Pores of the pale skin. You breath deeply in and sigh, You are still alive. Written at 6.45am yesterday morning. High latitudes and splendour. Snapshot.

[20 May 2004|02:33am] Hidden bottles in closed pantries. Sneak, sneak, sneak and give in. You are but a tempted failure. You die by purple suns. You live by startling moons. You fly on paper airplanes. You borrow the trees' shadows. You build walls with rain. The horizon-reaching white lined path. Eternal dreams rolling from beneath you. Quivering on the border of sight. Under all this utopia of longing. Ill-bred illustrations of lost landscapes. Lituany of a runaway with no feet. Aesthetic perception of what should be. Vice of sinful disapointment. Over those searched for seas it remains. Days pass by with no ticking sound. Karmas falter and disbalance somehow. Another monster has thus appeared. Look at what does not appear directly. Look at the first letters under and see. Snapshot.

[30 Apr 2004|02:19am] I run through this city of black and grey. Buildings threaten to fall and bridges lead to nowhere. One eternal cul-de-sac you can't get out of. This is my no man's land, pay attention, take care. A spark of red slithers up my body, exploding into anger. Green on its way down, swamping my cells with nausea. Walls crawl from the earth, jagged bricks cut in my skin. Pale art, pale form, pale hands, pale breath. The acoustic version of an agonising scream. Which rings and is swallowed by the shadows. Flickering lights dance in the empty eyes. Raindrops cry and hum in the lonely souls. Stop talking. Stop yelling. Stop the pills. Start seeing. Start believing. 1 In Black & White.| Snapshot.

[13 Apr 2004|09:37pm] ( My Brother's Favourite Children's Book. ) "Love You Forever." -Robert Munsch. Faithfully transcribed. I love this book.. I hope you enjoyed. Snapshot.

[28 Mar 2004|08:23pm] The sun is like a big round advertisment for neon soda pop pop. It has the shade of falls altho it is climbing in the trees. And my lips are burnt by too many cigarettes which mask the absence of kisses. I walk on the bridge of fountains and collect the coins like stars for my eyes. People dance at New Year's like they do at funerals for this new kind of joyous death. You thought you were special so you wrote with bright coloured magic markers and rhymes. Thin hands and thin veins hold you together -hush hush those footsteps in the staircase. The soundtrack of your life is playing -Oh! So loudly in your head. It graces your every mouvement, your every breath. When your heart forgets to beat. When you just go on and on. And they whisper in your ear and pull the other at the same Time. While solitude crumbles down in houses of cards at your feet. You can blow them away like a candle flame. As you cast spells with dim eyes. And shut those Thought boxes with their lids. Written at 8.10am. The sun has gone down and the hours have passed. Time doesn't exist. Snapshot.

[16 Mar 2004|06:23pm] Awe-inspiring music that filters in your mind. Heavy heat which rises from the ground. Fires on FLCL, fires on Donnie Darko. Cellar doors are being burnt down! Portals of mini-sections of medications. Minute masks get swiped from faces and they grow. Fucking leaking faucets, fucking flowers are glowing in the dark. And imaginary friends walk hand in hand and you are the only one who can see them. The skies speak.. They whisper songs. In grey, in pink, in fucking shit-brown. Reflecting tiny little mirrors that rock to and fro because of the old woman in her rocking chair kilometres below. Invisible drops of sweat: there is no touch but there is feeling. I can feel! Brisk footsteps and bare-naked sidewalks. Who will catch you when you fall? Rhythmic melody, I know who you are. Thud, thud, thud. Pitter-pat on the window walls. Abstract aesthetics, you only see what there is. Where it is. Fucking blinds you with pain in the eyes. And in the chest. Destroying light, destroying darkness. The cellar doors are closed on your inconscience. On your ignorance. I switch the blue neons on and fucking dance. Purple kisses on pale cheeks. Sanguine love on the bedsheets. The world revolves around the Sun And the sickly Moon weeps. Written at 5.07am. It's not what you think. Think. I knew what I watched. Do you..? You. Snapshot.

[16 Mar 2004|06:22pm] Candlelit rooms, Red bubble baths, Slutty actresses, Life goes fast. A thousand and two mosquitos Spinning around on the floor In circles, they turn and swirl, Curl and twirl inside my soul. Breaking mirrors on the walls, Counting footprints on the door, Dying in a car crash or hair pink, Sketching skin art in too deep. Human chess games, Music falls heavy, Swimming waves, We're just insane. Written around 2.30am. Easy rhymes. But it means. Snapshot.

[11 Mar 2004|04:19pm] And the world was fucking significant. It made halos in your mind. Ashtrays lay full of shrines. To the dark angels above who smile. And I forgot the things I used to know. Fucking epileptic cancer of the brain. Go Go Go. It kills. Sinking in like pasted strawberries. It tastes like fucking abstract painting. Eyes grow wider but the sight is smaller. Grander. Big cathedral-high landscapes. Imagine the tales you made out Of the puzzles in your head. It creeps in slowly instead. Stomach hurls but it's like the ocean at nite. Masquerades and puppets. Three million hands and no legs. Written at 4.41am. They seemed stuck in lumps of lead. My eyes are dilated. 2 In Black & White.| Snapshot.

[03 Mar 2004|01:39pm] I'm feeling so cold from the inside. I could radiate. Smoke and alcohol don't elevate. My moods all have names and they control me. Sink, sink, sink into the bathtub. I'm full of blood but it's grey. I'm feeling agitated. I've lost myself. I'm dying, I'm dying! And you all thought you could be God. But God is just a reflection of who you are. Snapshot.

[02 Mar 2004|10:16pm] The boy has hair falling in his eyes full of abyss. He dances instead of walking and blue smoke chases after him. He tramples the bottom of his dark clothes and paints his nails in black. Incomprehensible bracelets adorn his thin wrists filled with blood. And the purple marks on his arm.. He is so lean he could break. His eyes are darkened with kohl and his eyelashes cut into his flesh. He lives in another world. A world of thunder and stars where you will never go. He shakes you off each Time he runs away. Each Time you try to follow.. He doesn't talk a lot, he sucks on the ring in an exclamation mark placed on his lips. Two tiny globes sit on a slender brow and the boy seems patched up with his safety pins. Girl, guy, they love him and desire him. They want to free him from his silence because his words are beauty. His head should be converted in a huge aquarium so they can contemplate the colourful fish of his fluid thoughts. And rain slips on his pale skin, he wanders and disappears without warning. He carries a scribbled notebook like a crown and hides in the staircases. He acts by strength and power with a shy will. He fights his daemons in the cemetaries at nite. He hunts the light and she glows at the bottom of his pockets. His eyes must be illuminated and his lungs, purified. He stays clearly innocent while being virgin of Nothing. This boy is me but he is a prisoner of my body. He isn't worth anything while a girl. A portrait of the Inside. Snapshot.

[02 Mar 2004|09:51pm] London is a haven. I will go the opposite way of my reflection. I run. See.. Apocalypse. Mortality. The eyebrow of the surreal. Power.. Deep roads.. Die.. Do you see that sun? Dissatisfaction of a desastrous infamy.. I don't believe in it. And the gaping mouths and the bent fingers.. There he is! I've died a million deaths, I've lived a million years. My disillusion comes from my spleen and my 'jaded-ness'. I'm filled with insomnia and I sometimes sing absinthe. And the fairy is flighty and fickle. Written in French at 3.51am a long Time ago. Two, three nites? Inserted in a drawing and etched in purple ink. Snapshot.

[25 Feb 2004|10:06pm] The rapture of the moment should be ripped off like a bandaid. Inclination is close. Everything is criss-crossing itself: there's no end to the beginning. Tears of sleep cloud the skies and it pours. Who would've thought? I'm not a poet, I'm not the pope. I'm something in between. I'd like to forget all my humanity and drown in surreal. Jump cliffs, climb mountains and have a frozen breath to show. Painting war paints on everyone's transparent skin, finally letting it all go. Black rings and purple fountains. I am beyond. And mirrors. And walls. And filthy public restrooms with corpses lying everywhere, needles stuck in their arms. And water flows, submerging the face of Death laughing incontrollably at you. And you hold your head in your hands and you shake. Where are you? Pound pound pound. Why has a heartbeat become a foreign currency? I can't remember where we left off but I've taken that train out to nowhere and you can't find me. Far, far, far away. Running on the milky way, leaving tracks of powder behind. Memories slowly grow and wither. Buildings are high and let you fall down. Windows confused for doors. I've had pills. I've had alcohol. I've had pot. I've had dreams. I've had wishes. I've had hope. One set is played tonite. The other was lost in the gutter. I just can't remember. Written at 4.32am one day. Cross-posted with my main journal. It's the age of the artists Who splash-paint life on the canvas. Fall from tall sidewalks, Drunk on dreams which will pass. Snapshot.

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