Gatto katolla

Leech

Nights, ah the nights

Streets of 'ome

What's your stream?

the moist roads lead through dark valleys to high hills that breath in and out a haze that forms a maze in the ether as we roll in the hays of the lands where nothing never dries up. nowadays we break and bend in a whole new way. we sizzle ourselves dizzy like we were as intangible hues before condensing to bodies feeling the blues. 

rate your synchs, someone said in the dim corner of a room lit by the globe. I had my eyes closed and just kept on dancing with my hands, beating the ethereal rhythm through air. scents lingered around me and I had no idea whether they were there or where I was, standing one foot in the grave. you know, bordering the real.

we were born and raised as wholesome kids but still grew askew. diamond bones shine in solitude under warm flesh. we mix ourselves into each others like beats, experiencing life as if we were all one and the same. that sense of communion is odd only as it is perceived by the eyes of the matrix. trix are for kids - and sometimes for tricky rabbits. doing the work of those who can dance with more than two hands, leading the way down to the maze forming from the intangible haze. we know the drill. 

if only I could read what's written in my mind, I said when I opened my eyes to the dim room where we were. I have a tendency to be a bit melodramatic. I can pledge until I'm blue in the face. words carry a weight too heavy for any shoulders, even those above a crystalline rib cage. 

Miss Divet

Goatsemestari

Tiny death

a slight squint

            gaze between

     here and nowhere

side with the good

  gasses condensed

             to warriors

lay down

         safe and sound

                 of a moan

      dance with thy hands

                   said someone

                       beyond the veil

            of time 

 that we know

         and love 

  as the barrier

                holding us in place 

            in this time and space

an opening between the lines

                 of scattered words

            see what I hear

        tap into the back of my mind
    glass bottles for water and wine

                                we meet again

                                 the same eyes

                   behind a hundred eyes

         follow your lead

Pekka Siitoin & Love

Nights of kbnhv

Vesterbro

Cope in hagen

5th

Cybershit

Talmud

Will Smart

Hail and Hale

rain is the sign of fall

we take from solemn

heights, holy heights

of the skies you can't

see but merely feel in

the faint throbbing of

your precarious heart 

laughter and lies go hand in hand

in the nights, the nights that have

become long and wet and there's

this sense of longing I haled into

me from the scent of a stranger's

body sleeping on my floor a few

days ago, though I am not sure if

I should use the word stranger to

describe him because there is got

to be something I don't quite get

about him nor myself because as 

I asked him to light my spliff on

the rainy street I saw behind his 

eyes a familiar flare greeting me 

from the distant past, a flare that 

turned my being into a flickering

sign of total and acute lunacy in
kissing a face never seen before

you see it had been just that morning that I stood

in the elevator staring at my eyes from the mirror

and thinking, too bad I never talk about the time

I spent in italy, too bad I never talk italian these

days, too bad, too bad... a sigh, and I left the lift 

and vanished into the rhythm of commuting with

my thoughts anew, completely oblivious of there

being someone behind the veils of time pulling a

trigger or two in order to get my mind scrambled

there should not be a possibility

for two men to have scents that

alike, like there should not be a

possibility for such resemblance
between the face of an irishman

who briefed a sex scene from a

novel of hemingway's, to a face
of someone I saw last over two

years ago in the marble hallway

of the house on via dandolo 24

Unflung

Linna