Foreign desires

 Losing yourself inside your own flavor.
Your own preference and obsession.
Exhausting long days.
The world distracts you from fantasty.

You curse it under your breath.
Now you suck the milk of the fixation.
Sustaining that one untidy corner of your mind.
Practical advice makes your stomach turn.

You dive back into the limitless shadow world.
Where each monster turns you on.
Where each haunted place calms you.
Each one tailor made by your sharpened whim.

For the things you want in the real world you can't have.
So create them beyond on your screen and in your mind.
First littlle pieces of yourself that kept growing in the dark like fungi.
What do they look like now?

How do they tickle your psyche?
How long do you dare to resist them before they drag you under?
Into the depths that your pretend don't exist?
Such a foreign foreign place.

The angel's speech and the reality of the world

She saw us at the end of our purchase
She greeted us with wide smile and twinkling eyes
Her age showed yet vitality hid inside
She took our hands in hers

The awning eavesdropped
Heard every word she said to us
She spoke of the journey of life
The deadly shortcuts

She gestured with her hand 
About the circle around
About the impact of self deception
In simple words of course

I wanted to tell her If there was another existance beyond this one
I would heed it all and put it into practice
But in the meantime everything from a greeting
To building the house of my dreams...

is based on pure deceit.

Jeremias the gaunt with his parents

 They are just veins, his mother and father maneuvering their steps.
They hobble through the mall and end up at a table.
Early nineties, blood barely makes it through the arteries. 
The limbs and extemities struggle across the floor.

They are loose skin and one day I will be that.
Their curiosity is seen through their shy son.
Late forties, recent divorce dark clothes and depressive brow.
He looks up from the table and his parents who are just loose veins use him to see the world now.

He picks up the keys as if he is goping somwhere but instead he walks into the cafe.
He buys a slice of coffee cake for his parents who couldn't care less about his burdens.
He takes off his black shirt to expose his black tshirt beneath. 
His pale skin reflects disdain for a world that had forgotten him a long time ago.

Black rooster

 I was pulled away in a cart.
Nearing the top of winara hill.
I found myself drifting over the grass.
Being followed by curious black rooster.

Over an ocean of grass below.
And a sky dangerously blue and cloudless.
The only moving thing beside myself and my haycart,
was this black rooster.

It kept up with the cart.
It could have easily been the seed head on the hay.
But the animal wasn't pecking
It just kept walking toward me.

Keeping up with the pace of the donkey.
It's feathers were noble.
It's dimensions were regal.
I kept my eyes on that rooster.

Did it somehow belong to me?
What power did it represent?

Recording my voice in the rain

I walked through their etiquette corridor.
breaking the knees of the wardens.
Their well kept perfect looking women.
Their respectable conforming men.

Not one of them helped me.
They didn't want my words or stories.
I needed to exit the insane asylum.
So I took the back window and jumped four meters into the heavy rain.

Alone I walked through small houses of the nearby neighborhood.
Finding myself in water up to my knees.
Angry has beens leaned out of their windows.
Throwing casette tapes at me and telling me to record the rain.

I looked down into the clear water that was slowly rising.
I could see my infancy, the first years of myself.
The rain didn't stop so I took out a tape recorder.
Threw in an unmarked casette and listened to my own voice playing back from the future. 

The becoming of a rogue

 I had to make my own way.
Never fitting in.
I argued with the way they did things.
I was told to learn their ways.

I watched as I was put last in every scenario.
I was just given scraps at every feast.
So I took my own personal license.
And became the rogue you see.

I had to fight my way out alone.
Break their rules and leave their tables.
There was no place for me there.
I made my way through the wrecks and junkyards.

Through the odd jobs and invisible neighborhoods.
My words were all I had.
Beggers can't be choosers, father said.
But I became both.

There's no such thing as a free lunch, my mother said.
But I ate without paying on countless days.

Slick freeways

The suave bus ride shot through the city of want.

What do you want the sign said.
The silver bus hovered off the road like dragonfly.
the pollution haze dressed the city n a see through skirt.

The city humms but never speaks.
Pedestrians stay from the highways.
Keeping all of their jealousy and bustle.
Inside the overcrowded enclaves.

The freeway feels like a sweet elegant layer of mist.
But it is only a toxic dust a few feet off the tarmac.
The energy flies over the city and the bus itself soaks it in.
Boosts along at a happy speed...

Speed and aluminium.
A new century.
A new millenium,
commuting no questions.