Iam here, wearing clouds that kiss, where it's easy to imagine little girls with moths for legs, new reptilian snowfalls, fingers dirty with synapse as a retreat into obscure arguments with bemused saxophones. Palaces lost on the continent of silver butterflies, an aversion to shoulders that dance them blues like they mean them, aircraft that managed to hide from the authorities for over a thousand years. Yellow latencies, everything's favourite UFO, tanned women carry magnificent twilight far beyond fascination, flasks of red wine uncoiling their tongues in tribute to the soft cathedrals of hair, thick and pre-Socratic. A revelation, jewelled swords, whipped by the crystal afternoon to the point of lunacy, awaken suddenly in the future, only to find themselves commodified by the singularity's brilliant sky. This symbol for melting eyes and rivers of nihilism barely remembers which platinum loop goes where in the alphabet of the night. Some semblance of conspiracy, its icy crags laughing maniacally at the wooden tables being stripped naked to the waist, forms one immense word, a sigh that captains invading Martian fleets. There, in the pale torrent, opium dreams transform dolphin-headed necessity, an endless line of black waxen claws, pangs of Siam despite believing in cubism. The bone of days will waltz in blithely, eat the heart of the diamond and still be ironically arcane, metaphoric footprints tested directly by the star spangled banner, phallic nomadologies of mercy and light. Inexorably, islands the colour of tired voices return to the dark tower and resume their former lives as silhouettes trembling in blind throats.
- Waters from the Moon
- What the hell is wrong with me these days? I feel ...
- The Face in the Fire
- The Mouth Of Mother Reposing in Sultry Forms
- Mafalda's Choices
- It is increasingly obvious to us that your pre-tri...
- For Robert - Happy Birthday!
- Under my umbrella... ("You don't need eyes to see...
- Duck The Weaving Hammer
- uneasy action (two)
- the statement of alex
- holy weak
- the writing on the wall
- Headwise Takwin -- video by DMAH
- Waiting for the Man
- Graham, Yesterday in the bedroom I didn’t understa...
- 666 shots of dope dope dope dope dope dope dope...
- Fishy Smells in Leather Pants
- Hey! Rolf! WTF! Pt I
- The Rot and The Festering
- ...an angel playing...
- In one of the benches near the pulpit
- Under Recurring Con(De)struction
- In Dreams
- The Boy at Play
- Eraserhead Beat Symphony
- ever since august 2006 theres been five occassions...
- nene considers athiestic materialism
- not even trying to look ashamed
- hack thy way to power
- Look! Up in the Sky! It's a Bird... It's a Plane.....
- In a Style of...
- used to be a decent place in comparison to some of...
- Suddenly late... ...all alone
- Saturday and eyes so drifty... drifty...
- you/who would?
- A Few Hours, Dragon Quartz
- WHO WROTE THE BOOK OF LOVE? ...
- The end...........
- Litany to the Moon
- office offall
- My Cholostemy Bag
- I SLEEP WITH BASTARDS
- My eyes were often full of tears from the strain o...
- Deep Green
- he pokes holes in plastic bags
- sTICkY aS MoThEr
- TEN REASONS FOR CLEAR THOUGHT PARAMETERS UNSPOK...
- Hypno.reprogram.Subconscious.programs. Staurophile...
- The Origin of N and R
- Amid the silence he took off his hat
- ▼ November (90)