smells like teen vomit huh? with my great growing feeding spree of literature this days i came across a rather controversial term – ‘fuck normality’ fuck normality, huh, i though to myself.
It was fog crippled autumn when his mothers cramps became unbearable. Crimson red and brilliant orange leaves crunched beneath his fathers speeding car. Diving to the hospital, praying - their Smart car does not get swamped with sweet water, such was the pedestrian seat - the wet promise of life. Bellowing until the shrieking windows caved in, his raw-scented mother poured red on baby-blue sheets. His cranky - speeding- father, betrays his personality he holds so high: by clutching on to Mariams mary hand. The doctors hands lost in the sea of red, turned to ask the cold nurse - have you cum yet? An eerie air of confusion - chokes the four corner room to a deaf-mans hearing, a deafening silence; "e, e"croaked the infant, before heaven touched his lungs to astonishing legibility...'I'm Cumming!' was his first goo goo cry - his father stood a proud man, his mother knicknamed him 'dont forget the S at the end' for the rest of his life. Haunted by this mispelling, the skill of writing was sympathized upon him by the trees Spiritual ghosts.
Disdain spring. Open the huge bathtub every soul wakes up, in to live they day to midnight lives.
Tranquil clamping of ambient music and stainless steel fork scraping on a pale white plate, screeching and gaping a magnificent scrawny prisoners asshole in an day old baby infants ear hole.
This is life young one. And because I’m the mediator I choose to plug the music from the cheering plate and jeers of the ghosts in the stands of the Colosseum to the world’s most powerful loudspeaker to make sure they get it.
I am the corporate suit – who you are, in your darkest hour.
I thrive off benevolence and find awe in blissful destruction. The spirit from the snake in Eden never died with the snake – it hovered.
For centuries after good triumphed it hovered, and shared the success of the most prolific man of their era. It did not sour and grace the skies like an eagle before tunneling down for its much-anticipated prey.
It did not go under the earth to build a home, wash its skin before drying it in its garden – a meter above her lake of fire. It did not go under earth because roots, the foundation of trees suffocated, stifled and threatened its survival. The interwoven things are its demise, finding a way back is merely impossible. And so, it didn’t go down. In fact it was afraid of the dark, and quickly decided against it.
It stayed abroad and shared the success of all prolific men in the world’s timeline ever since its physical forms demise. Manifesting in the sole of their cloud 9’s, skipping – continent-to-continent to stay on the good side of the sun (because it was afraid of the dark, you see.)
It did this until the day I was born.
31 March 1989.
It found a worthy capsule to grow and die in. Hitler was not the one because he did not understand the prospect of a rainbow the Jews gloated within them. Gloating the teachings of Jesus, Hitler loved the dark. And that was a contradiction.
I thrive in the night; stand naked in the cold of the winter. Excruciatingly visible bumpy Goosebumps on my skin, mirroring the stars in the night sky. Shriveled up penis to show the power of woman.
I thrive in the day, learning off traveling souls putting together their futures to be like those them most admire/ to not be like those they most envy.
I thrive in the day, too, as that is where the birds chirp overpowers the croaking from a family of frogs in a slimy-slippery lazy next-door moth bounded pool.
24 years I have existed. And decide to live, as slitting my wrists would be futile, because all hippies bleed rainbows.
I’m a ‘Hippie’ who believes in albinos and that a bird is sours free until it becomes munched.
Conscience, love and money are what breathe sense to my life.
Money, being that of the world, is my flesh and represents the typical life of a student.
Love, that I find in my family and girlfriend.
Art, being conscience, hence I am conscious and yet asleep.
Even when asleep
I don’t remember my dreams because in my bodies sleep, the spirit of the ancient serpent feeds from – my dreams.