fatigues

Watching me while I walked back
There was only one
Then, turning around
I take a step back and
The thousand guns of empire
Go off
They all ask the same thing
Why you scared.
The patriots of the monsoons
Have dug trenches
And wait in arms
They would rather
The blood stained their shirts
But woe be to passion when
It’s colour is overpowered by
The slime from mud slinging

cosmic relief

I’m guilty myself of
All that I blame you with
And in a way
This story will go like
Revenge of the sith
Six chapters
With all the takes
And retakes that means
A story that has to end
Each time before it begins


When the curtain rises
For the last time
For the cast to take a bow
The leading pair
Is nowhere to be seen
the couple dead
in their last act
had left the building
the critics scoffed
at the timing
of this sequel without a script

In shiny pants
Move legs that
Frequently insist
We time our steps
On stairs and streets

explanation follows

The troughs seem to get wider
Physically this time there is a strait between
And straits ahead period
But thats a different thing
Now the head is swollen and heavy
Lifeless a mast without the sail
Mocked by an annoying weathercock
That with every wind turns its tail


In the bay
There is calm
Out on the shores
There are lights
Under nights blanket
Up creeps the day
Like a snake through the grass
And stings the eyes

i alone love you

From the guru I expect
Time, a headstart
And a demeanour
Deserving of friendship
While he leaves me alone to pursue
My understanding of all things
And the above


i don't like the twilight girl because she looks drugged against her will and anyway i don't like twilight because i think its too gimmicky. maybe them two going around too is a gimmick. though robert pattinson looks believable enough to be the boy that could use some bullying with if i was cast villain opposite him. homeboys got weak jaws for a vampire.

an arm and a leg

There is a moment in the heroic saga which cinema has captured very well. That particular moment when the storm breaks and the audience knows that, very melodramatically, the end has begun. But since in the real world all outcomes are not so unequivocally preordained as the climax in movies, I reckon, that albeit in the short term, the World Cup has kicked off a bad time for me.
Suddenly I am doing one thing and one thing only, the one thing it is all about. Back end staff to the World Cup fever; good in itself, my trouble is that I cannot describe the symptoms all that well when that is what I’m supposed to do.
It is a feeling well-known to me, when all the balls fly over your head and you can reach none.
The football metaphor is very strong with my circumstance right now so much so that when El Diego spoke of this 30 days being nothing in the life of a man who wants to kiss the World Cup, I cried and felt there was football in my veins. A true son of Argentina.
But since my metaphor is not as literal as Maradona’s in that in it there are shifting goalposts and no balls, it figures that I cannot get my hand to it and claim God on my side.
Moons come and go, and this will wane too, 90 minutes at a time. While it does, more than once will I think how, when it was high tide for him, he had the gumption to reach for it with his hand whereas I take too many touches and end up shooting wide.

ales like teen spirit

Dirty slithering snakes
Sticky chattering apes
Surrounded by such
A bird in a cage
What a pure thought.
The cheat hath
Touched the flame
And having styled himself a painter
Went back to cheating all the same



Having lost her mane
She is the lioness she never was
Now that the lion chooses the kill