Chatzoth504

I crave the sound of many fabrics as they shield my skin from the air. To dress with such elaboration and to go absolutely no where is just some small and fleeting feeling to be treasured. In the distance there stand three buildings and a lamp post. Many follow the lights of the tallest, craving appreciation for their grandiose effort and their appealing, self-afacement. The two that stand at the same height, taller than the lamp post, shorter than the first, are still respectable landmarks that blink unflinchingly from sunset to sunrise. People follow them And all these people drown, washed away in the inky whirlings of the

 My brain has the regrettable habit of sitting in my skull, resting his chin on some plates of bone over my eyes and mouth, and dozing dimly off.  When he ought be firing some chemical weaponry to combat a restless well of anxiety or the inky clouds of despair, he drools out the corner of his mouth and leaves me helpless.   I have a friend inside my head, but she's the kind of friend you hate being around when she gets too drunk and starts hugging strangers.  The kind of friend you happily anticipate dancing on tables, but who curls up under the kitchen table and gets dust and toast crumbs in her hair.  You like her company when things are

 "You know how on Mondays like these you sometimes can't get out of bed?"
 "Yeah, I don't sleep well over weekends.  Too much time out drinking," I grumbled.  A cafe at 6AM made for a strange place for a date.  Aside from us, there were a bunch of salarymen lined up out the door for their morning pick me up.  Everyone around us speaking in hurried Japanese was starting to give me a headache.  A band of iron wrapped around my head, pulling and pushing behind my eyes.  The pain was radiating towards my neck and all I wanted to do was take a nap, but time with Aya was too precious a commodity to refuse any of her invitations; even bizarre

I have penned thousands of living, breathing cells and built fantastic creatures with them. I know the weight of my mind, the lightness of my heart like a breeze in March, scented with grass and sun. Every fresh page horrifies me. I gingerly take it, scratch the small, sharp bones of my fingers against it until my blood-ink runs smoothly, and still that the paper accepts me sets my head spinning, some large and distant planet from Earth. The paper is silent. My scratching fades to a gentle caress and even my broken characters are embraced like wonderful seeds sown into fertile ground, blossoming in spring into jasmine and  lilly

The Priestess, laughing, took me by the hand and led me deep into her labyrinth, down stairs and through alleys until the belly of the earth grew warm and shadows flickered on the walls. Around us danced noises strange and terrible. She sat me at a table and looking of a box of flaming charcoal, gazed at me, bemused. She put a grill over the charcoal and with tongs carefully placed flesh on the grill, teaching me the name of each piece: Tongue of cow, heart of pig, liver of chicken. The meats crackled, popped, and dripping oil and blood as offerings, drew the fire from its box eager to lap at the bars and offer secret wisdoms

From my island I rage and opene graves, rousd the seeping, blacken the sky. Of bridges burned I have only charred posts and ghostly ashes of ropes, blowing steadily away like snow into the outraged, frothing and boiling sea. In my anguish I bring the winds to howl and waves to crash so loudly against the scarred cliffs my own bellowing is silent. I dare the lightning to strike me, mock the thunder that imagines itself louder than I, and summoning all the Martian wrath in my blood I burst into flames. My robes thrash in the gale and the sand rises in great pillars, grinding all that stands about me to a glowing, black ring gle

If you dream of the ocean I'll meet you there, and we can lay in the sand listening to the waves dance. There's cicadas somewhere in the background and a hazy, wood-smoke scented horizon rises and falls, rises and falls before us.   There's sand between our sweating palms, microscopic worlds thriving on our bond and if I ever let you go, those worlds would fall crashing to the ground. This water is crisp, it is cold against my throat and I remember when you fought yourself. You lost and bought boots, the left with a giraffe and the right with a palm tree patched in felt up the side. Walking up this staircase in the dark, too

Tonight I had bitter melon, savoring the ascetic shock on my tongue. Fried with pork, it was sublime and embraced with salt and fat. I have heard that it's good for blood pressure, and surely that wrinkled, arm-length, green plant debuted in ancient scrolls as healthy or at least as magical. In my life, I have not eaten enough bitter things. The sweet and its artificial laughter, the salty and its associated discontent I know. Spice and sexual fervor, sour and invigorating surprise I know. But bitter and gratefulness, penitence, restrained rapture, I am only just discovering. To carefully craft flavors to feed the soul, no w

I found myself surrounded by bipedal primates fiddling with this or that, coughing or displaying their teeth. A sneaking suspicion sunk in me: that I too had become an ape when I had stopped paying attention. Perhaps on a summer evening when I fell to dozing in a field with the thrumming of insects all around and an incomparable lightness filling my being. But I was there and I was helpless. Rattling through space at a clip the ape-body thought was fast, but I knew to be soul-crushingly slow. Rain was falling and the air was heavy, the inky sky crawling down to the Earth. On the sidewalk I saw a small patch of feathers a

Today I saw the magicians. They met me at the gates and guided me through their street-lamp lit world. At the temple they donned their robes and I fell silent before their ritual. They spoke in strange tongues and their hands controlled the flow of the world. First they rejoiced and fed me their laughter as cake. Next they lamented and bade me drink their tears from a bowl. From the sky they drew the rain and directed the movements of the hidden stars. From the Earth, they conjured spirits and a bygone era surrounded us. Before I knew it I was their assistant, playing instruments and preparing the altar. The sun rose and