I have an easier inclination to the dullness of the subconscious and a vibrancy to the conscious

Call me a normal human being, because that is all i am

The fruits of being i find are not in memory, not in dreams but in the lines woven by each reflex in our mortal physical forms

Our bodies responding to our thoughts and desires,

If our bodies can respond at all.

Some are not very lucky in that end but luckier than we all are in other senses.

Praise the gods for their diverse thinking.

It is only purer when it is not,

It is only holier when it is not.

We are demigods in a demigodly sort of way,

Bless us Father for we are all in all and in ourselves perfection.


DavidOne4-650x650.pngBeen a year and a half since I saw him,
I still hear his taunting voice in my head,
Urging me to jump,
Been a wild ride thus far,
O’er here I do what I think good,
Sometimes what I guess best.
I lost the starry view for a moment,
Then he urges me to jump,
Been a year and a half since I saw him,
I still see his mutilated face,
I still hear him telling me to jump.



I rose with the birds,
I slept with the animals,
The days were bright,
And the nights pitch dark.
I wrestled with the elephants,
I danced with gazelles,
I counseled with the owls,
I played with the chimpanzees,
But I never felt so cold.
I never missed the sun so.
How I wish to fly with the butterflies again,
I lie facing the rising sun,
Though I shall never feel it on my bare skin.


sun kid

When I will blink,
I shall see above me nothing but blue ink,
Perhaps a smudge of orange ink.
Then when I open my eyes,
There will be the blue skies,
Just like in the blink;
Then the orange smudge of orange ink.

une lettre pour mon trésor

I looked sadly upon the world as it burns with my lover right in the middle of it all.
There she is in her majesty burning right in the midst of it all.
Her curator not quick to save her as he swiftly drowns in the midst of that socialism that will doom us all.
How I wish I could be the one to save my lover, how I wish I was the one to save her from that terror of the oriental.

Dear Lumière, apple of mine eye, my sweet daughter of the sun, fear not the battering ram of the rogue.
Sweet chérie, beat of mine heart, my sweet reverie, dread not the sickle of the huntsman of Gog.
Mon trésor, fancy of mine existence, I shall summon all my forces and fight for you in that war started by Magog.
And I shall win, mon Coeur en sucre, then I shall come back into our arms and marvel at the crown of triumph and beauty atop your head.

Hearken ye ruffian prince of the east:
À partir d’aujourd’hui jusqu’à ce pour toujours, contre mon amant vous ne serez pas soulever votre épée,
Jamais plus mon amant cris que l’épave apportée par votre épée,
En face de la puissance d’une France unie et le monde vous ferez trembler avec un nouvel amour de la paix.

Nous sommes avec les Orientaux qui aiment la paix,
Nous nous tenons par la belle ville de Paris,
Nous ne serons pas faiblir, nous vaincrons.
Nous ne sommes pas peur de Gog et Magog.

Quoi ! Des cohortes estrangères
Feraient la loi dans nos foyers !
Tout est soldats pour vous combat
Aux armes citoyennes, Marchons ! Marchons ! pppppeace


I came to the crossroads yesterday at midnight,
In my heart of hearts I knew where I would find my loving knight,
In my heart of hearts I knew where I would find my quickening dust.
But still I pondered with the burden of choice registered in my thought.
The crossroads, which path with push me to an end without sight?

I walked along the road on the left having decided not to look back,
In my hand a charmed bracelet from the Hazel’s bark,
To keep my mind awake to the secrets of the track, on I walk.
The devil is resting on my shoulder and I without a care for the humming dark angel’s mark.
I trudge on from the cross road, inside of me my impulses ache.

I walked along the road on the right for the stars lead me so,
The devil resting on my shoulder whistles a long moan and the demons trailing us reply so,
Ahead of us an ominous light shines and an inn appears with a placard that reads ‘So and So’,
The devil urges me on but the angels bid me to stop and drink beer of fermented dough,
They tell me my knight is waiting nearby with apple strudels roasted doe.

The angels sing and the devils moan,
My heart aches a little more for a brighter moon,
I am still at the crossroads, where choice and doubt are all but burden,
I wish to move on to an unending story line,
But I am at the crossroads waiting for the sun to hearken.


The brown earth now an orange pit,

The hot afternoon air turned into mist,

And my modest cigarette lies invisibly in my empty hands

I look around,

Relaxed but not relaxed, new faces everyday

It’s like swimming in a research aquarium.

I don’t resent it, it’s cooling.

My modest cigarette blows a ring of smoke into the air,

I love how he does it, the wind blows it away though

You can’t catch it if you ain,t keen.

He speaks with a crude tremor, I aint listening to the wind no more.

My cigarette burns out,

I paint the dirt orange, i rise to leave.


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