ƒ¨ç˚

Our irretrievable love stemsfrom our (un)fortunate fate
that of never having
lived together. 

cat mews

The cat just got sick all over my rug.
No food for him today.
The devil overeats and eats and barfs it all out.
This changing weather is hard on all of us. 

•∞

Oh there's a dry storm, like cold heaves of a breath suddenly stuck in my throat when clad in white in a background bright, a face stares through a screen and at that moment I almost wish for a reverse 'Ring' to happen, wherein after a week I crawl through my screen into your lap, touching that cupid's bow of a lip, held in a hopeful vice-like grip.

welcome to tomorrow

Everything is forever perfect in Tomorrowland.

If you were to ever visit this most ancient megapolitan a sister city to Neverland you'd unearth the archaeological remains of everything ever said and never done, for each time that we make a dented promise to do something tomorrow, be sure it finds itself buried in Tomorrowland, waiting to be dug up tomorrow, one that never comes, one that always looks perfect today, one that is sincerely procrastinated to never be found.
How impeccably foolproofs are tomorrow, how unproductively nonfunctional do they always turn today.

drinks

Now's the time for a good cup of coffee or tea, but brave as I am during the caffeine purge, I shall only content myself with a super healthy soy shake with the goodness of bananas, apricots, figs, chia seeds and devil's fart.

sigh 

threading through death

A kiss to the sky bearing a most venomous streak, clad in apocalyptic chic, morning was dead the evening looks bleak.
Waiting to explode in a thousand little curses, here in a sanguine grotto of wintery leisure. Contemplating semi hibernation, for what good are dead days when one can't play at being lifeless?

Here in my handy little book of excuses part 3, expressly stated under seasonal laws: article rainy days 'immoderation, indulgence, idleness is the key to surviving rainy blues'  and thus I rest my case.

As the sole tomb resident knocking about loneliness strewn carelessly around, I hereby proclaim this day to be officially defunct.
Cadaverous really, in wisps of metaphorical breaths. laying prostrate on anatomical chair anticipating dissection into minutes, seconds and moments.

Abundant this sepulcher cave with intact thought bubbles that'd need a two factor authorization to break in, and even then a key to creak in.. and a key there isn't, save a secret chant my darling.. for today is dead, and the winds rustles with sighs, moans and apathetic cries; that mean little yet live as a mandatory.

Whopeedoo word doodle

And just what was I thinking, oh I had not a moment to figure out, for galaxies didn't rise nor budge any higher from their little universal truths. 

Some hard love with a sleeve of pain on the write side, right through my soul window, speaking in tongues of nebulae past and perhaps there'd be some writings on the wall..A garble of unacknowledged words of alien lands in unintelligent nonindigenous scribble. 

A tunnel on fire paved with flowers, they said all, or maybe nothing at all; blooms and blooms and lilies of doom. 

Hang on, a painting that lingers on, jaded mildewed. 

But hello, your words make me wanna artsurbate

Whip yerself

When you feel like a masochist

Tell yourself that you are 

Life barter

I asked my brother what he'd like for his birthday present

"a new life" he replied. Where the hell am I supposed to get that now? 

If I did find one however, I'd probably buy two. 

Perhaps get a good bargain out of it; two for the price of one. 

Is there a destiny bazaar out there, perhaps a fate flea market, where I could find new lives perched on old moulding hangers, and pay in barter. 

 How about a kilo of past or a dozen regrets, eighty four kelvin sighs, six foot ache, eleven amperes of ecstasy, five thousand minutes of delirium; complementary thirty two degrees of orgasm, if only I could get a new life, two for that matter..one to gift, one to replace my tatter. 

Morosity et la métaphysique

Ah, the despondent void that seems to follow one around like Mary's Lamb..except that this void isn't nearly as edible not prone to being fleeced. 

Fact: this weird sense of sadness is a perennial hanger on, and much like a ghost, it manifests itself most malevolently when acknowledged..though however I must confess, it feels awful kind of warm and sweetly miserable to step inside this gaping void, which exists for reason so well known. 

Rains don't help neither. (How decidedly Victorian lame with eww inducing romantic overtures)  

--

There's a tachyon paced 

continuous loop of infinite movie 

lining the innermost caves of my synapses, 

ceaselessly whirring 

a photo luminescent reel 

of secret delights that're endlessly 

and eternally emitted and absorbed in gasps and ganglia. 

Soon..

mental post its

Of all the idiotic things one could be persuaded to do, this would be the last/least..ugh I stepped out and was gone for longer that I'd wanted in this hellish heat.

Coming back with a splitting headache, what else did I expect? It was so superbly white outside. The sun was a diamond of spiky shards zealously bellowing solar flares.
I came back looking like a rotisserie chicken. My only consolation was that I wasn't impaled on a skewer, though, judging by the decalescent dysentery that the sun seemed devoted to, I wouldn't have been surprised had a passing javelin done the deed.

Almost half way done with 'salvation of a saint', and man oh man, is this getting twisted with every turn.
I'm wracking my head along with the detectives, and there are a couple of theories that I've come up with as well..and I'm just waiting to see if my line of thought is possible/plausible, or if it even exists as of one of the possibilities.

---
Started watching a new series called 'Aquarius' . Real nice. Set in the late 60's..of flower power era and Manson murders. It involves fictitious accounts of the latter, and is a sort of crime investigation drama series. Not bad at all.

---
A sudden urge to eat a particular orange chocolate..a thing of incidental choice and shared fondness.
--

Thinking about what to make for dinner is probably one of my least favourite things to dwell upon, and one that occupies a lot of my dwelling upon time. sigh. 

Night night

On the menu, this week's book du jour.

Another highlight in detective Galileo series. Kusanagi and Yukawa team up once again to investigate some well meaning murder, and make lives miserable. 

Physics to the rescue. Sigh..whodathunkit?—for what is physics, if not applied mathematics, except it has less numericals and more alphabets and signs and enigma to the untrained eye. 

So this book..yes mon ami, I shall read it with all the greediness of a juvenile glutton. 

Tonight however, I feel like I should pay heed to my eyes, gently coaxing me to give myself up to abstractions—getting lost in my mind. Revelling in thoughts that only I'm privy to.

One of those nights, when my grey cells feel rather pink, saturated with sappy chimerical thoughts. It's my intention to imbue each part of my brain, no matter how unused with some images, voices, noises..soon. 

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A titter that leaves my lips
followed by loud guffaw sometimes
when the screen I've glued my face to blinks
with dreams, poems, enchanting lines

they can emphasize infinite melancholy
voluptuous scenarios meant to last eternities
casting a salacious spell
of fierce words
thrown in my trajectory

I could scroll down to the end of universe
breathing still, patience perverse
till this world shrunk down
to the size of fist
I'd transfuse into the scent of mists

Cat cryptogram

This cat knows of vacuous blanks left from the sudden absence of ephemeral moments; thoughts of which, imprinted in indelible ink, stay forever imperishable.

Physically unsustainable, but mentally illimitable..these thoughts that scab over congnizant wounds offer such sweet pain, when constantly agitated. 

I digress..talking of this cat, who knows when exactly to come over and keep me company, is a mystery to me, and currently my only friend in this city. 

Sprawled on a bed, eagerly listening, while I read out aloud. 

Distracted by cicada music

Saw a bird perched on the window. 

Just my luck..to lose the cat to natural instincts. 

Dreams

A large part of my dream was in comic panels. there was rorschach and the comedian in my room and they were staring at their feet? perhaps we were in an elevator?

Next scene, I was staring into a mirror, and a woman standing behind me asked me for a lipstick and specified if I had the particular shade called 'Goaest Goa' which surprisingly I did. A Deep Crimson colour. 

A man can running towards me cuz I was embroiled in a fight with some people, on the edge of a roof. All I had were kitchen knives which I'd sharpened the previous night before, and I kept flinging them at those men. They'd catch them in the chest vertically, the sharp edge slicing into their flesh and stayed attached there, a man slashed at my wrist, and the skin tore apart to reveal no blood but a black and white design. 

I stretched the opposite ends of the skin till it was a big gash, and there was a drawing of a building inside. I was bewildered just wondering where all the blood went. 

Showed this wound to a man who had a pretentious tattoo on his chest, and he said I'd made it on my own. 

That upset me and I complained to my mom, but she only told me to get along with him, cuz he was my new dad? Wtf? My brother didn't like him much either. 

I went to the balcony that had red roses and the entire floor was strewn with white petals, and I thought it was a mosque. 

Suddenly I was told to stand clear because this huge board that contained dangerous pellets had been fired and that I was in the way. 

I stood to one side on the edge of the terrace and the pellets that it started shooting were actually marbles used in Chinese chequers. 

----

Blessed was my morning, many times over. Repeatedly, until each little story, intonation and sentence was a part of me.
How about a poem?