WATERY BUBBLING INFECTION

DUDE, I’M DYING TO TAKE A SLASH

As I walk down the street, keys in my hand, firmly grasped, I try not to think. Pump up the volume a bit, planning my holidays in Cambodia. This morning the air has an unusual hue; smells just like genocide. Keep going down for a while:

“Need a handful of nails

And a tangle of neurons

I guess

Don’t wanna see

What’s before me”

Never underestimate the power of change. I ain’t precisely continous, so to speak; intermittent should say. Is there any evolution despite the fact that everything is determined from the very beginning? It might not though.

Got over my illness, no nails, no hammer, yet with that idea tucked in my big head. I’ll carry it out, that’s for sure, just gotta find a black canvas, crimson oil and a pair of shoe laces. I’ll put everything together, cast a spell on you, fresh, recently created unreality and then, no sooner, we’ll see.

Light a cigar, rings of smoke up through the trees, two sips from the nebulous tea, stirred with no hazy spoon. There it goes, wobbly acrobat, the clumsiest of them all.

DÉCOLLAGE

Black canvas lies half naked on the floor. The head of a nail shows up ashamed. Like collagen fibers under tension, my face contorted with pain, not able to stand such exhibition of beauty. I spinned around again and again, staring at the boiling red.

First time I saw those bubbles, they seemed to condense an endemic disease. Although motionless, surreptitiously I notice a subtle drift in the wrong direction. The brush escaped from my control.

BREW

“Society is a hole

it makes me lie to my friends

it’s running down my street

with white powers sneakers

the beautiful beat of black feat”

“when the phone rang, 3 in the morn, dead middle of night

there was nuthin on the line

i set back the silent receiver / tiny flames lit in my head

hey did any of you freaks here ever remember lenny?

i can’t remember his last name

he’s turned to dust now, one of the chosen few

left out in the rain, out of town again

left out in the rain, ocean bound i guess”

I NEETA FIND A BOG

The only way he knew at the time was to be destroyed. Fragments claimed their own entities. When set together they repulsed each other, as if they were magnets in a bad position. Present cultures living on contradiction, fueling anger, supplying themselves with irrational no-logic, shape a fragmented puzzle-like world.

Fortunately utopian considerations about art were gone….. long ago.