MERRY CHRISTMAS 2010!

perseus of the wind.

The joke is on me
The laughter is at me
The taunt is for me
The mocking is my clock

I am the pug parade
I hide behind my jeer
Your laughter is my mask
Your silence is my knife

Come by my sad parade
Come and see,
the man behind the disguise
Help me come to realize

That my broken laughter is still apiece tonight.



Available for purchase.

I am my own venom.

Bloodletting is the withdrawal of considerable quantities of blood from a patient to cure or prevent illness
and disease, believed to have sourced from the blood itself.
A purification method of cleansing
self-inflicted pain and misery.

feeling you are never enough
feeling like you've not done enough
to stay afloat
to stay sober

and keep from drowning into yourself again
in a convulsion of shadows and doubts
memories cutting like diamond glass
waiting under the bubbles of muffled scream

no one is looking for you
no one is trying to find you
no one even realizes you are gone
poor you, poor you.

st. valentine

Celebrant of all hearts. Broken or whole.

when sleeping 'till noon is not enough
when staying up late is not enough
when breathing fire is not enough
what else is left to make us feel alive?

medea.

Monstore exhibition

medusa

Just like seeing a stranger who is worthy of a second look
only to see that that they do not find you worthy to see too
and so you die a little death,
a little part of your heart petrified,
a little wound you thought would eventually heal
and so you go on with your life,
quietly praying someday you'll discover that someone
and realize that they are secretly looking at you too.

we are defined by what we wish for.
can't you see what you wish for, dream for is a protest to reality?

Dreams are like snowflakes,
each surreal, cold and solitary,
finding no match in one another
like light patterns on midnight walls.

Funny how even though it's ours,
it's never truly is ours to catch.
You played a part, found a life in dreams.
Just like an actor, living a life on a stage even though it's not his.

So what do we do when we want to live in one?
Just like a protest we march in dreams,
singing chants against real life
against reality that suits no one.

What do we do?

comfy.

I remember thinking how oblivious children can be to the chaos and mayhem around them,
finding simple pleasure from finding a mushroom, skipping a step or seeing a bubble float.
It's scary to think in a matter of years, they'll remember nothing of the feeling.

How easy it can be for a whole world, for a child, can be shattered in a blink of an eye.

people say the eyes are the window to the soul,
I believe the gate is the face.
Your journey is scratched onto it, your tears, your laughs,
frowns and all, it's all been there and most definitely,
they will come back. They made us, they made the world around us.
The gate reflects the whole demesne.

memento mori.

crystalline.

When the numbness is through with you,
You and all your hearts, swear to god you feel nothing, swear to graves you want nothing and
still the prick of the single thorn brought you back squealing to the ground screaming again and again.

Wail and cry and scream and shout you’ve covered all
only finding what you want gone is the start of it all

Open your closed eyes child, your wish is done your arms are cut. Sleep child without feeling,
sleep child in your rocky tomb of glass. Sleep and be gone.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” -Friedrich Nietzsche