my favorite two walls in Vancouver:

my trampa mortal

static of the broken tango record breaks the air
as the dust flows through the silence of forgotten memories

old wax candle flame as if drawn - motionless
torn are the seams of my broken expectations of our love

cold gray sunset - my hand stripped of your touch
pair of unwashed wine glasses on the place where we made love

half burnt photo of our smiles in the ashes
eyes bleeding tears - lips burning in flames of empty kisses

you were but the hiding behind the image of my love
you were but the weakness of my blindness
you were but the beast that fed on the pureness of my touch

you were my trampa mortal

and more doodles...

YOU OBVIOUSLY DON'T DRIVE

You think it is easy.
You think it can be avoided and supressed.
You think life drives in one lane.
You don’t know what it feels like to feel this way.
To aim what you never thought you would.
For your mind to go one way and your heart beat the other.
You think you know.
You think you know me.
You think it is easy to learn your own you is not what you thought.
To feel the tingles looking in the wrong washroom sign.
To have to forget what they told you in order to find yourself.
To disown your own thought of who you think you were.
You think you know how cold it can be to find yourself alone,
stripped of not only people around you but people within you.
Of your own self. To have to walk the baby steps.
To have to learn what you were and are.
To worry of what ‘s to become of you.
You think it is comfortable being uncomfortable.
In your life. To your closest ones.
You think you know how hard it is to weigh.
Weight your friendships. Weight the people around you.
You think it is easy.
Knowing whatever you are might be worth nothing.
You think it is easy.
You think you know.
You don’t.
You don’t even dare.

design porn: http://men.style.com/features/big_story/article/060906
* pic taken from www.style.com

// this is an old entry - year and half ago //

lost or found in nowhere?



You wake up opening your eyes, clearing the fuzzy image of your room... How ironic - for whole your life you have your eyes wide open, and yet you fail to see so many things. Many will now debate on this statement - but it is true. This world is not made by us, we are here and we are using it, and what we do has melted to a simple defintion of ruining it. I cannot stop but repeat the sentence I have heard - " I am so disgusted with human race". Yes call me hypocrate, hypocrate for insulting my very own being. Well - tell me you did not feel that disgust so far and not once but so many times. I am sick of "embalaged" people asking me how I can be so rude and so blunt - what do You want me to be - a perfect pink image of your barbie world that u like now but will not like later and then you will want me to be something else. Exactly - something else - not someone else.
I walked downtown - to rush Robson street. I came on busiest "piece of asphalt" and stopped. I observed. Besides seeing two Starbucks coffee shops on each corner of street and endless iterative sequence of shops, endless iterative drops of rain falling on my glasses, I saw people. Lots of them. Rushing, walking, stepping, swearing, screaming, yelling, crying, begging, priding, bitching, .... Some female some male... Some easy to spot some not... And yet - all I saw was nothing. I saw stupid group of animals obeying the rules they themselves cannot follow but ruin the very basic of their decisions. I saw animals driven by instinct and yet declaring themsleves as higher beings - guided by reason. I saw hypocrate vegeterians, doublefaced religious freaks, and those grey personalities able to shift whichever way u bent them. I am lost. I can already hear the words coming to a mind of someone reading this - coming from this group - " God - look at this garbage - who is he to judge... what is he to judge... " I am not judging. I am observing. For I do not feel part of it - the image i observe, the image i create with lense of my poor eyes. I am not a "follower"... I am not just a new iteration in a sequence of endless clones... I am someone to evolve - I want to evolve. But you donnot let me.

SHAME ON YOU.

Ab Initio with Monserrat

I can never write this story. The story of two emotional misfits trying love. Or should I say one?

Broken december night. You cute. Sharing nothing but sweetest of words. Hearts broken, warmth wanted. My lines crudely drawn. Took you months to see the lips u craved during our slightly indecent phone conversations. So many nights you kept me warm with your persistancee and sweetness. I slowly sunk in beauty of the freedom you gave me. Everything seemed right.
Cold February night and my eyes nervously glancing over your hands. First time I see the most beautiful brown eyes shimmering under stale yellow streetlights. Your boy-like steps and a smile that creeped straight down to my heart. My hand wrapped in yours, my body feeding on the warmth of your blazer pocket. Our breaths preceeding our rushed steps down the key. Not so distant rigid industrial noises and something romantic in the unbearable chill of your fingers on my back. Scent irresistable and glancing looks. Irresistable silence - shimmer of your eyes slinking down my lips. Sticky tasty kiss full of colors in that boring black chilly night.

the unheard symphony of pain
goosebumps chills and shivers

frozen sillhouete blurring in my eyes
pair of emotional misfits trying love
love ungiven and untaken

echoes of my broken heartbeats
friction of my skin against yours
shiver of me

eye filling with tears
one slam you broke the silence
round round roundabout of memories

run run the speeding road tracks
tickle of a tear

Where is my magic
ray of sunshine against crisp morning linens
silence of my eyelids

why did you set me free

1:12 am
Sitting down under the full moon
in the garden of him of whom I sorrow.
Smell of freshly cut grass and sound of burning cigarette in the silence of chilly may night. I sit alone. Alone as lonesome I am in my broken expectations. Who am I kidding. Enough of this facade of one sided emotions. Enough of the blooming love charade and self hurting. Enough of nights painted with lonesome sadness.
Enough of unseen stars.
Enough of unhugged crys.
Enough of...
Unreturned love.

5:45 am
Peach blue sky.
Horizon annoyingly clear and sharp. Morning chill and my breath interchanging with the smoke of my disgusting Camel light. Sound of burning foollowed by the sound of my dried lips peeling off the filter as I puff away down the lane of my morning junkie routine. Chills are becoming uncomfortable and I am trying to unwelcome the morning breeze from my hoodie and sleeves. Frosted grass leaves crushing below my feet as I wander off the concrete pavement. Coffee cup rolling around on the road, pushed by the passing cars in both directions. Street lights still radiating sick yellow light as if trying so hard to hold that ugly stale feeling of dying night.
I am cold.
Saturday is slowly being born as the lonesome road becomes less lonesome and birds start calling each other. I wish you shared morning with me. I wish you understood. I wish you were decent enough to see my morning.
To feel my chill.
I wish you were warm.
For I am cold.
Very cold...

FACING THE MIRROR

Forgive me not. For I have hurt you. Forgive me not for I dragged you through the mudd. For everything I made you go through was worthless. Pointless. Meaningless. Forgive me not. For I made you suffer.
Forgive me not. For I am facing the mirror.

WHEN you BECAME You

Did it end? Did You finally manage to ruin everything we had?
I guess You did.
I thought I knew you.
Back then, when I just got used to your bed sheets. Back then when your scarce needs for affection still blurred my idea of your true self. I thought you were what you showed me, what you so perfectly presented to me every time we would be together. You fooled me well. Back then - you could.
Lie. Cheat. Pretend. Hide.
But you still didn’t hurt.
Until that night.
When you became You.
When You hurt like it did not hurt ever before. When You broke me to pieces. When You showed me how blind I was.
Was.
Am.
For I still love...
You.

HOW TO RECOVER FROM INVISIBILITY

7:41 PM.
Prado Coffee Shop. Commercial Drive. Sunset. Strong smell of esspresso shots and throbbing sunshine rays through the annoyingly clean windows overlooking busy street. “Beautiful day!”. A petite french girl with an oversized stroke of bright yellow rodhadendrones. Cute loud squeaky frenchly english breaking the calmness... The sounds of piano in the mist of capuccino machine.
Corner one. Girl with a funky hairdo and pink lotus flower tattoo. Papers of boring numbers in front of her. On her high shiny forehead - grim. Numbers don’t add up.
Corner two. Two girls. I guess. The “supersized combo” of american dream. Hertrige Style. “Love comes in many shapes”. At least sex does.
Corner three. Empty. Leftover white paper cup in the middle of the table. Leftover coffee still struggles to smoke out some heat. It says SINGLE americano on the cup. Someone once told me - you never notice single people unless attracted to them. Maybe she/he is still there... in the corner... waiting for the other half to paint her /his colors back to life...
Corner four. Washroom. Tiny pictograms of a girl and a boy. Squeak of the opening doors.

02:32 AM.
Rubbing my feet off the carpet in front of fireplace. My outside is cold. My nostrils still smell of him.

Him. The “single americano”.

Him, who just recovered from invisibility.

“Ooooh, lovely to seee youuuuu” Goldfrapp slowly echoing from the muted iBook speakers. My body slowly falling asleep.

of indulgence shadows dancing in the dark
her teeth clenching - on his neck of her inhibitions mark
closed is her heart but open is her body
this forbidden feeling craved long ago

in the corner crumbled - left alone to die
this dark room is no longer glowing - there isn't even a sigh
two bodies strange and dry - lying sledom here
here where even love is capable of dying

on his body fingertrails - still shivering of her
his hand away from hers - two plastic clueless dolls
in craving of denied - unaware of their hungry souls

like the branches of rotten trees crackling in the wind
bending are her thoughts towards space within
this distance apart makes him feel like dead
for last night, it seemed, it wasn't this cold

this cold, in this bed...