oh it is a surprise indeed

Hey, this is a sneak peek of a birthday present for my dearest friend. I would show you the rest, but I can’t risk it! (I’ll post the entire deal once I give it to him). Also, I don’t think I’ll be posting for a while, at least not every day. Instead, I would like to return to a long term project and invest my love and hate into that. Wish me bon voyage!

Click to enlarge; Adieus :)

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du uh oon

I’m tired, maybe I’ll elaborate on this, but I need sleep. I’ve been very tired, very dizzy lately.

“What is trust?”
“Trust is when he tells me not to do something, I don’t do it.”
Moments later she realized that this boy wasn’t just being sly. He wasn’t questioning trust like she questioned trust. He didn’t have one lie after another up his sleeve, like she did. When he asked, what is trust, it was because he didn’t understand the English word. It wasn’t because he was coy. He was pure, she could tell by the smile on his face. Suddenly the conversation became so much harder, because what other word could he not understand? There was no way to be herself, not when he could hardly understand her. When he said, I love you I love you I love you, she said, you do not know what that means. And he would smile, but she couldn’t tell if he was butchering the english language, or playing her for a fool.

don’t move
I want to move
don’t move
I think I will
I will not scream
I think I will
I will I’ll scream
scream
speak
scream

poem uno & dos

I have been reading a lot of shakespeare, and watching good movies, and reading good books. Maybe someday I’ll be a contributor? Ah, but who am I to care about other’s entertainment. I’d rather be selfish and keep worry and happiness upon myself.

————
1

there is a boy who is rich with watermelon
the juice drips down his face as he takes another bite
the pink juice drips off his chin
and into the river
his hands are sweet and cool with the watermelon
he reaches into the bowl and takes another slice
where the pieces are cut in large proportions
so no one is left in want

———–
2

I am used to it
never able to ate my fill
always wanting more for less
giving green paper instead of money
because I don’t understand the difference
if my fingers are tired
then I have earned my sleep

the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had

dreaming
what are dreams
hearing music outside my window
believing that dreams are the only thing that will make me happy
dreaming is living in your own world
living for your subconscious

A dream is a dream, something sweet, no matter how sour. I dream about dreaming, I live to dream. Sleep is an escape from that eternal reality, always calling me back, always beckoning and demanding my attention. Reality demands for me to think, to act, to make decisions and live even when I want to die. Maybe that’s why I can dream about dying. I dream because it’s the only time where I’m truly happy. I fall asleep with a smile, because I know what dreams do to me. They awake my subconscious, my inner self, calling out like a wild animal, waiting to be let out. This life is a cage. I am inhibited by my body, by my own mind, and by gravity. But in dreams, I fly, I transform. Yes, dreams often are a reflection on reality. Sometimes dreams are too real to be true. Sometimes I must go through the same exact formalities of the real world in the dream word, of saying hello, of being embarrassed, of being normal. But sometimes…no, all the time, my dreams are too good to be true. They are indescribable, a mess of images jumbled together into one beautiful story unattainable by my natural mind. These dreams stimulate in me a happiness and freedom unattainable by any activity of body or mind. Sometimes real is too real. But a dream can never be too fantastic.

funny thing (the dark look continued)

continued from: the dark look 1
(Go back and read yesterday’s post, this is a continuation of the story I started. )

I’m a wanted man. And I don’t mean by the police. The police don’t even know who I am. If I said I was wanted by the police, that would just be boasting my ego which I’m not very fond of doing, because it’s quite large already.

I’m awake and still on the floor. My neck is craned against the leg of a bench, my cheek pushed up against the wall. My hands are numb from lying on top of them. There are footsteps and voices from far away, coming nearer, and there is a cough near me, and some guy starts yelling about five feet away, he’s yelling about indecency or something. The footsteps grow louder, then stop, then the heavy metal door opens and I’m being dragged to my feet by the chain around my neck. I’m gasping for breath, leaning against the wall, because my neck is all bruised from when I was almost choked to death. Just about now I’m wondering why I wasn’t choked to death, why I’m still alive. I’m led out the door and down a hallway by the chain around my neck. Our footsteps are echoing and there are two sets of boots and one pair of bare feet, mine. The ground is dusty and cold, we are underground. I’m pulled through door after door by the chain around my neck, like an animal, and the noise gets louder and louder through each doorway. It’s the noise of men yelling and hollering and cheering. I’m right in the room now, where all of them are yelling, I’m standing in the midst of a crowd of sweat and blood, being pushed and shoved, and from the center of the room I hear a dull thud like the sound of fist hitting flesh.

I knew before they took off the black sack where I was, what was happening. I knew because I had been here before, but I was part of the crowd back then, watching the man with the black sack pushed into the ring, the gate closing behind him, ripping the thing from his head as soon as they unlocked the chain, looking wild eyed into the light, blinded. I rubbed the skin around my neck, and my wrists, where the chains had dug in. I chewed on the side of my cheek, raised my chin, and looked across the ring at my opponent. He had the wild eyed look, just like I had seen so many times, and now he was looking at me, too. I shook my head like a dog, and the sweat was already flying from my hair. My bare chest was caved in with the thought of it, my feet were digging into the red dirt of the pit, and somehow I knew, even ten years ago, when I was part of the screaming crowd, I knew I would be in this position. I could see the man across from me was coming to the realization as the bets were being passed behind him. He knew as well as I did, it was kill or be killed.

I don’t think he had a problem with that.