Scheherazade85

I dread having to have found the words for this. I wanna do other things. I wanna go to places. I wanna write about other things—miserable country travels, inferior accommodations in some substandard shelter (calling it an inn would be too charming), wearying and exhausting bus rides where you find yourself all sticky ...

(Listening/watching: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jgmgE-QDzA)

I am a sucker for anything that stimulates the tiny innumerable cubicles of my mind. Gladly, it doesn't stop there. The stimulation is only a beginning, as it is meant to be.

I have just discovered what it is in stories, in songs, in movies, or in crap that urges me to light a cigarette like it's the last one (just like what I'm doing now), to sometimes cry unstoppably without warning like

...

(written on a Monday)

Only one incident brightened my blue Monday.

I visited my ex's mom and when I got there, a kid greeted me. It was his six-year old niece that I was very fond of and haven't seen for quite a long time. Eyes widened, she paused to examine me carefully and when I raised my arms to hug her, she unhesitatingly embraced me, looked me in the eye, smiled and said, "You look like my Ate Maf2x (That's me!)."

That just killed ...

So you said, lightly and laughingly, just like that, that—


So long as yours gets stiff

and rigid

and so long as mine

pulsates and throbs

in a liquefied, flowing

contradictorily blithe

unstoppable, forceful

unique rhythm

that is born

in this damned

eternal moist,

this

will not cease

from taking place.

He appeared as a robber

I caught him in the arm

And disarmed him

He suddenly became my brother

The boy that I barely ever speak of

The boy was tall, so not like him

He's short and robust, my brother

At least the last time I saw him

I looked him in the eye

And saw that he was afraid

The cops came and was about to take him

We embraced ...