"Once upon a sweeter time, I went for a walk but was felled by an evil breeze. I languished in a fetid puddle by the cruel marketplace until a kindly fishwife took pity on my shivering form and nursed me back to health in her small but warm hovel. Unfortunately, the debilitating fever I survived managed to rob me of the use of my right hand, and my ( Read more... )

Cleaned up a Google translation of Rafael Perez Estrada's Rostul Visarii from Romanian. Funny, though, I'm sure he's Spanish. I wonder how close I got to the original.

The Purpose of Dreaming:Rafael Perez Estrada ( Read more... )

An amiable and amoral agreement about arousal appropriately arranged amidst accomplices, but bearing brutally backbreaking boundaries because caring creates confusion, counterfeit conflation, conjured connection-cum-confessions destroying desire despite distances dwindling deliciously everyday.

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Unrelated: I don't really like the new Death Cab for Cutie single. I'm putting this on here because I feel like I am fast running out of spaces in which I can speak. Not that anyone on my Twitter feed would kill themselves if I said that "You Are a Tourist" is a droll piece of air decorated with one vaguely-interesting guitar riff, but ( Read more... )

I just wrote a thousand five hundred words describing in detail a condominium building that I will never see! How's that for poetic imagination? Yuck feah conducive environments and good coffee and the occasional brooding cigarette ( Read more... )

Realized that Tumblr would be excellent copywriting practice. It would be a matter of reblogging all those popular interior design photos and, well, writing copy for each.

Realized this a little too late, actually. What I'm saying is that I'm a little lost.

I know that "I met someone who is a lot like you" is not what you want to hear, because you pride yourself on your autobiography and unique diction but there are children running down the corridors of the building where I live, and there are more stars here than are possible in Manila, and when I curl my toes into the sand on the beach there is a ( Read more... )

Swing

All poems to ex-lovers begin, one way or another, with
I should not be thinking of you. Or, if you’re lucky,
I am glad you are dead. This one begins by pointing ( Read more... )

"excuse me, do you have any raisins? oh. what about a date?"

this ain't a turf war / no one gets threatened by a mixture of dirt poor hipster and nerdcore