El Castilla

by on April 26, 2009 :: 0 comments

she/I says fuck you, pay attention to me this, I am, we are standing before you invisible, the voices never loud enough to be heard above the tiny hole inside me filled with screaming, you, you are oblivious to the delicate flower of my trembling heart these frightened bloody clues I leave spell L-O-V-E. always for you.


by on April 17, 2009 :: 0 comments

Out of the storm, the little man emerges, searching the snow-covered park for a park bench or gazebo or any unoccupied spot to call home. Like a magus suddenly appearing out of nowhere, the stranger seems to come out of the eye of the storm, released from the womb of the blizzard, a child being born into his earthly existence. …


by on April 15, 2009 :: 0 comments

Obfuscate, obliterate; obscure the meaning with flowery phrases and reckless referrals then give them a shovel. They’ll dig it…

One For the Road

by on April 11, 2009 :: 0 comments

Trains provide both sleepers and coach seats to stowaways with dreams of roads that lead somewhere to anywhere but here. In the boisterous club car, a reborn born again recalls tales of Hell’s Angel days, war stories of death, mayhem passion, psycho-analysis and visions of a higher power and the end of all days. I listen without notice and seek …

Work Is Time that You Trade for Money

by on April 10, 2009 :: 0 comments

Work is time that you trade for money. Leisure is time for the sake of itself. What if you love work? Now we have a problem. So I sold mountains, waiving endless gold throwing purple pollen, forming bright stars from midnight beneath the ocean that rise together until they connect. (Do you remember the time you got a sleep-related injury? …


by on April 2, 2009 :: 0 comments

What is it? Who composes it? Undoubtedly someone or a cadre craft words, xxxrhythms, xxxxxxrhymes, xxxallowing us xxxand forcing xxxme to reconsider the images xxxbeyond the text xxxxxxthe graphic xxxand interpret the dark from the light xxxthe evil from the good xxxxxxthe mundane to the sublime whether it is written in old style feathered pens xxxor scrawled in blunted pencils …


by on April 1, 2009 :: 0 comments

Skittering across the kitchen floor; a Kafka dream come true. Was it something I’d said, or something I’d done in a sordid past life to be rudely made one of the hated majority of carapaced vermin? I had become just a bug on the wall a brown spot, un-noticed who sees more of humans than any would care to know; …


by on March 27, 2009 :: 0 comments

Sometimes it is best not to speak. Speaking could be overrated. Talking to voices isn’t all that it is cracked up to be either. I cannot get respect in this place. No one believes me that I have been selected by the voices to lead this world and save it. I would walk on water until I reach the other …


by on March 26, 2009 :: 0 comments

Looking out my high bedroom window, above the city, I watch a gold ball of light emerging and spreading and rising in the east. Wearing a celestial smile, I open my window of miracles, and let yellow-gold waves of light sail through, caressing the potted plants on the windowsill and blessing me in the mad swirl of dawn with its …