December 2011
7 posts
4 tags
Batto-Man.
Batto-man, Batto-man. Does whatever A batto can. Flies around Darkest nights He don’t need Fucking lights…
Look out! Here comes the Batto-man!
Batto-man, Batto man. Does whatever A batto can. Batto here, Batto there, Batto in Everywhere…
Hey, there, There goes the Batto-man.
[*to the tune of Ispaido-Manno]
1 tag
Dharma.
The scant remains of blood On an ashtray by the turnpike warns Of trailing crests of June: That bride wants some.
The holding fluff of heathen stir Had tried to claw the meager silt Through what defines a tragic build Of heightening-less suspense. I must search for you, I must. The gravity of things had changed us, thus, I Must search for this, I must Have the tryst in vain aside.
There is...
2 tags
Downtempo.
I’ve been listening to Radiohead for hours now, and I’m in a completely elated mood.
I’m still nursing a hangover, and as I’ve nothing better to do, I decided to listen to one of the greatest albums ever made: Radiohead’s “OK Computer.” I found out about the album just months ago when I was browsing through several music websites (including...
breakdown
…to leave me i have never wanted you to love me as much i have never wanted anything but the sweet color of sin and through my kneeling you always told me carpe diem and i did and i did i even tried to jump and i even tried to fly and i even tried to steal the sunlight from the sun and make it mine but i always fail i always fail and you were there like some cliched romantic comedy that...
also, this “blog” is dead
3 tags
Flesh / Is / Selfish.
Draft my trinkets on a napkin
Bleeding more paper on a travesty out of
Necessity. Instance on
The fly; I still croon in the absence of your
Throat, though not with much
Lines as before because I want you to
Miss it.
It never works,
It shall not work for the
Draining reciprocities of
Invented phrases and words.
I had never failed
To mention I
In my lines I have
Never failed to...
2 tags
Lemon Cart in Dripping Mauve.
Grating, Saying You cannot be too much Of drum if you can’t be Beaten to a pulp by a stick held By a slave in her high heels and Million-dollar shirt. I wouldn’t even mind if You were tripping all allong the Dated page but no, you were On nothing more than like A glorified calendar to reckon Seconds. I am not at ease; I need Finality and a noose to Kill something not me and live With...