"but i come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
and i knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—"

e.e. cummings

fractured sunlight seeped through the fissures, sluggish as thickening blood of a soft fresh wound. damning me to wake amidst the fizzing of a festering dream. mirages sprouted out of two now cognizant slivers with weary pupils struggling to adjust aperture in the engulfing illumination. muscles offered no reach--interpretation entered easily. verifying all i’ve ever needed to vanish vexing visions.

phantoms II.
(flickr)

i've reached the depths of the deep. anchored amid the drifting bioluminescence. unable to relinquish the beating--a cursed onomatopoeia that grew vigorously. my soul lingered, above some swathed shadow of blue. have i, at last, parted my corpse? i remembered sinking. how i’d twist my neck in attempts to keep clutch of the hovering gaze which suspended itself at the surface. but submerging deeper, inexorably, it blurred and soon dissipated. there was only absence. terrifying tranquility. no evolutionary awakening to kiss the swollen stars. cold ocean’s sand slid along my spine. silence. though, sometimes it’d emerge again--the gaze. hitting me (there) in that tiny void found after a fallen pulse.

grandeur, gold n’ gritty.

 e

       a

   s

y

telepathy.
tapping temples,
tapping temples,
tapping temples;
(if only you knew)

new song up.
(also, excuse my bed hair and this awful still that youtube has unfortunately decided upon..)



lyrics:
do you feel like you’ve been had,
does it make you mad?
do you feel like you’ve been had,
gonna get sad?
(gonna get sad)

passion hit my heart.
repeated, repeated, repeatedly
like a moth lured by light--
desiring the orb,
though also desiring the obliteration.
trying to penetrate that epicenter of illumination.
and while my bulb of powdered glass is surely fragile,
it somehow proved victorious against the flutters
of such feeble wings.

do you feel like you’ve been had,
does it make you mad?
do you feel like you’ve been had,
gonna get sad?

then, i hit the heart of passion.
repeated, re…
only to shatter it all in a blinding flash.
the lure burnt out,
and now i’m left flapping, flapping, flapping aimlessly
into darkened abysses with broken wings
and the relic shards of an untimely death
wedged in me

do you feel like you’ve been had,
does it make you mad?
do you feel like you’ve been had,
gonna get sad?
(gonna get sad)

passion hit my heart
and i hit the heart of passion
so hard that
now it’s gone
it’s gone
it’s gone

(it’s all gone)

démolition d'un mur (interne)
utilizing various clips derived from influential artists, i've stitched together a compilation sequencing which has been arranged and edited in attempts to portray the struggles of demolishing an internal wall.
(and is accordingly how i've been feeling as of late)

solstice. characteristically, i'd celebrate. though i'm dispassionate and unstirred. it's too engulfing. the flourish of summer, the beating hearts, the hot embracing. leaving me discarded in an insipid furrow--equipped with a cruel craving for winter. aching for the ambiance. the frigidity that wrecks my bones. the phase when all is razed and recoils to perish--for once inducing me to sense how unexpectedly alive my own soul.

perhaps, at least, it will rain today.

between my neck
and collarbone, there
is a notch--
i have formed
a hollow. so
sometimes (when i
feel empty) i
rest my fingers
inside of it
and experience the
veins plunge, then
swell, endlessly, in
efforts to slyly
ensure i’m not
(entirely an illusion).

bound in night’s gown
how beautiful her body
wearing nothing
but starlight.

tell me your desires--what twists inside you? is there anything? is it void? veiled? tell me your desires--have you experienced ecstasy? complete lunacy? have you gone mad, yet? tell me your desires--who sleeps beside you? and who is sleeping beneath your eyes? in your heart? are they all the same? am i there? is he? or he? or she? tell me your desires--do you wear masks? do you hold within you a boutique to attain them? do i? tell me your desires--what's the tempo of your breathing? are your lungs full of smoke? are you holding them? why are you holding them? tell me your desires--are they active? have you any left? are you drugged? tell me your desires--am i in them? have you murdered me? or am i your hidden lover? or is he? or she? tell me your desires--would you float to me in slumber? would you tell them to me there? would you show me?

we spoke a lot of nonsense,
grew fluent in our dizzied sentiment and half-truths.

only ever sharing sincere visions with the flames
that flickered forth from the furtive shutting of eyelids—

little fences of fluorescent orange flesh,
so sweetly barbed with lashes.

anything gets heavy if you hold it long enough.

i met a woman.

i met a woman
whose fingers
held within them
the aroma
of aged books--

and all i wanted
was to read the pages
of her palms forever.

each
lonely
line

i clutched in captivity,
as stanzas struck
my soul spellbound

(i could’ve promised
she was the personification
of poetry.)

evaporation isn’t so easy. i cannot tell if i’m seeking to part, or to be taken. only i know, my excursions are leaving incisions. this time, three lines. drawing themselves from the tip of my left clavicle and descending in diagonal across my torso, perishing just past the hip. i woke, wearing it like some sort of sash i’d been bestowed. something wants out. though, even in such susceptible sleep, something stronger refuses to concede. these scarlet marks will soon fade--along with all else.

it hasn't ceased happening.

i recall
the moment
you forgot
the moon.
(or maybe,
it was,
the moon
forgot you)
i’ve memorized
the senses,
shed sanity
resembling ridded
snake’s skin.
from me
you slithered,
and i
linger motionless--
but an
irreversibly translucent
vacant hide,
awaiting the
sphere’s decision
to wax
or wane.