dr3amup

Heavy light bulbs burn my head: An antenna for each ego with a pocket. A chain in hand, a tag on the collar. A street concert at the speed of sound. Voices not heard through my ears: A girl adjusts her talking mask. A word of red gum repeats itself pink. A coin not spared for silence. Thinking gets me everywhere: A man's scorpion fingers kill vowels. A road is a row of dial tones. A city vibrates, does not answer. Novelty friendship tokens clip on spaces folded by fashion victims that tango with distance holding it tighter and tighter. Harmonic attempts at music hang on to the sidewalk and vomit invariable variations of st

My incidental friends, My only accident in life was one of fate and not, in fact, this fatal fall I freely chose to take - so, fear not for the soul of your former fellow slave, for I am now a Falcon of Pharaohs finally flying to my death after four years of burial in this land of sulphuric sand that salivates oil and sprouts steel under the sound of sleeping tourists. Some fault of it was mine, we all followed for too far this forgotten fantasy in which we would feed our families for a small working fee - how fooled we were by smiling snakes and their associates who step through spaces where freedom is frail and steal our faces

Fresh smell in the morning Of pumped up gasoline. Father let the engine running, His patience growing thin. Humming beasts of chrome-steel Shook my dreams away   - Took my bitch of a stepmother, I thank them everyday. We go stir up the dirt road, Father groans "we are late". Got me an old Chevy to love And the smell of booze to hate. Took a right on the wrong side, Sped up too fast, Hit the old roadside tree, The thing the bitch saw last. I saw ourselves through the windshield Hit the gravestone tree. Flying death crashed my body While my soul wrenched free. The throttle kept drumming, Gave a lonesome sound. I held the w

Kenkei Province of the Himura, Month of the Ox, year 1170 Rubbing the soles of his feet with a heavy sigh, Nyiden tried to quickly recover his breath after a steep climb. The sun was already retreating its warmest light and the old monk did not want to spend another night beneath a chilling sky. He sit up straight and looked around from the top of this hill. The land to the South was growing the tightly-knit shadows of Autumn's sharp bloom. Nyiden imagined that a few people loyal to the Himura family could still live here, but the ground held nothing to eat nor any tracks of animals. Still, he rose and walked again, hoping at last to find so

Gone from a world in its last breath of Winter This legend in runes is hereby remembered On the evergreen soul of old hunters and beasts By the song of winds and the mimicry of trees For sons and daughters of a thousand realms worthy In humble praise of divine lineage. Words be ready for the coming of miracles Kind spirits return to the family fire Merry meet, merry be in the darkest of nights May glory be done and never forgotten. This story be told of the hero Nicholas The warrior hunter among the wolves born Between the black forest by the frozen lake Under the crimson of an odd borealis. There, a hundred tribes would make hi