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
Updated 04-25-2010 at 12:24 PM by Scheherazade85
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
Updated 04-23-2010 at 12:29 AM by Scheherazade85
(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 so long as mine
pulsates and throbs
in a liquefied, flowing
that is born
in this damned
will not cease
from taking place.
Updated 04-24-2010 at 02:30 PM by Scheherazade85
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