Friday, 27 August 2010


He tastes like you only sweeter.
hee hee

Thursday, 26 August 2010


I've lost two days somewhere, maybe down the drain.
where was I, whom with, what did i do?
I remember i kept dreaming of dead people.
They were sat up in the old bed where i used to lie on weekends when i was a kid.
They said stuff but not about life after death.
their eyes circled black and holding hands.
Dead people speak to me more than the alive ones.
maybe they said, don't worry.
Maybe they didn't.maybe they were just looking at me, so i won't forget what's coming.
My ghosts, vivid, sad, with huge black-rimmed eyes and a silence so huge it's like screaming.maybe that's how the dead scream; in silence.
Two fucking days.

Thursday, 19 August 2010


My new crush is a genius and i knew it. I could tell by how tall and lean he is, and from the eyes. A bit crazy a bit visionary.


Now I know what was wrong.

You'd never scratch, you'd never screech, you'd never make a peep, you'd just stand there with your vinyl pants clinging to the back of your shanks trying to spread, to accomodate, and you'd lick the wall thinking:


But humour me, poetic licence and all? Try to tell me to piss off little wanker, try to push me off ya.

You were born helpless.

Wednesday, 18 August 2010


Pride:can you read between the lines? Can u read between my lines?can you find the hidden text?can you find the lost subtext? would you like a photo of my ass with that? I promise i will let you rim me for hours, i will make all your fantasies come true, just say you like me words, just say you like me.

Tuesday, 17 August 2010


This is not a cry for help, btw.
When i was a teenager, when i was 14, 15 years old and even younger and then older, I never used to think about sex and fucking, i was too busy thinking about death.
Love, i've never acknowledged it so when i hear some stereotype crap about love, i tend to snort even if i try to suppress it, people just see my inward sneer, fuck!
anyway, yeah, death, i got a book THIS big where i worshipped death, i thought it was the only viable solution, or thing, or conclusion so why bother with anything.
death also meant cutting, like seeing how close i could get, or if i got stoned, i felt like this, like closing in on death, touching it, kissing it, making love to it, childish fantasies really,the blood spilling with each cut was a sort of consummation, i thought death was the best lover i ever had.
and maybe all the things i was doing started out like death, like the anonymous fucks in the park, or the onymous fucks behind the church or/and in my school's back yard where gangs of teenagers roamed and robbed rich kids of their shoes and cellphones, well, i was the second or maybe third wave of crime during the night.
and maybe all these little gestures were not about identity at all, not about love, not about sex, not about seeking attention or getting a reaction, not about provoking or forgetting, it was all about death.
but what was there for me at the end of each fuck, at the end of each ejaculation wasn't death but a lament, or maybe i was killing little things in me, but i was doing sth wrong, sex had nothing to do with Death, but maybe in those dark parks and those back of cars i was only killing what i loved. 

Friday, 13 August 2010


there is a fucking pattern here.
this is getting fucking embarrassing.
You know you can't trust even the closest to you.
oh fuck, the disappointment in the lack of inflection.
you know what?
why did i even...

Wednesday, 11 August 2010


In the shadows you can see-
but intentions, shady intentions and shadowed intentions, infections and erections, erections shady and erections shadowed, concealed-
By shadows, by darkness, by night falling, by tears not falling, by lust blurring, by danger blaring, by drugs blearing.

You prefer the dark, the absolute absence of light, you find it safe, kneeling in the absolute absence of light. You prefer it to the milkiness and murkiness of twilight, its thickness, its muted sadness.

Because in the shadows, you can see
but a flash reflecting off smeared glasses, off dirty glances, off stares and nods-
fat necks and fat bald heads, sweat glistening, eyes lurking.

“Be right back,” you say to this kid you know, sneering at the potentiality of the situation. And you shuffle your feet just a few inches behind Him, hunching and humming to yourself-
-a song,
a song to keep you warm-
hands shoved deep in deep pockets-
fleeting twinkle bouncing off the vinyl of your boots-
flash of filthy desire bouncing off His shoulder as he checks to see if you’re following, the Little Lost Lamb dressed in-
Wolf’s clothing-
nothing but-
“Business as usual.”

And in the darker shadows and in the darkest hours, go down the stairs behind Him, His fat neck and his fat bald head. You grab and you grope at Him, the little lost lamb in wolf’s clothing, whispering obscenities in his ear wet by your tongue and sore by your teeth, squeezing balls through fabric, rubbing cock through fabric, teasing hard-

To bring upon you the loathing and desire you desire, His hate and his Lust, to make Him hate you and because of His hate to want you and because of His want to hate you even more, until-

Little lost lamb in wolf’s clothing is pressed against dark damp wall- fat hands clawing at sweaty vinyl and sweaty skin - ass bitten and fat fingers roughly jabbing into bruised muscles and nerves and membranes, dry, then hardly wet with spit - arm pushing behind neck and forehead scratched against damp-smelling wall - you bite the wall, you taste blood and brick -

penetrated, and you bite the wall, you taste brick and blood, you feel the hate and desire, your forehead raw, your ass fucked raw-

And a fat arm pushing down around your trachea
-can’t breathe-
how can you be mad and helpless at the same time, how can you be furious and hopeless, dying and not knowing-
which way you want the coin to turn:
-dead or alive-
-what’s the difference-
and then you’re breathing again, the oxygen such a rush a sudden blow to your lungs -a crash- that you drop on your knees-
-you think so-
Gasping, coughing
-you think so-
Something’s running down the back of your thigh and there’s the metallic rattle of a belt buckle and there’s a fuzzy figure out of which, extending towards you-
-a hand-
And a whisper, tenuous:
“…a-are you all right?”
And you rage, trying to shove that hand away from your face, you rage-
“Fuck off.”
and the whisper-
“…I’m sorry…”
“Fuck off!”
-flailing, dizzy, try to stand up, try to pull your clothes together and your pants back up, until you fall face down and feel the dirty sewage waters against your cheek, and the fuzzy figure fucks off indeed, a shadow and a ghost, shoe heels echoing on the steps and up, back up into the air-

while I’m gasping for air, breathing dirty water, scorching, down here
-in hell-
not feeling sorry for myself but mad and helpless, hopeless and furious-
dying but alive again-
alive but dying again.


His toenails are too long so he scratches my legs
when we fool around.
His legs got no hairs. He's five years older
than me.
His eyes are full of dreams even
when he's smashed.
He's savvy and tough but I feel
protective over him.
His saliva tastes sweet but his armpits and butthole
reek sharp.
He's better than me at Wii but I let him
win anyway.
I've never been poor but he's always been poorer so everything in my place
is 'lavish' to him.
He's got holes in his socks and tears in his
He sits on my couch, knees doubled to his chest, picking on his big toenail
while I make us dinner, then kicks my ass at videogames.
On my bed, he sprawls against the sheets making a mess
out of them.
His eyes are full of dreams when i
suck him off.
His vertebrae are like little balls floating up and down beneath
his skin,
while he pumps his ass into my face,
and I breathe this strange sharp addictive smell, wanting to
This made me happy for about five seconds or for as long it
took me to write this.

Tuesday, 10 August 2010


watching the guy on the rooftop.
a shadow moving around behind rails.
the kind wind keeps blowing my candle out every once in a while.
i've never seen him up there before.
but there are some pots of flower.
so maybe that's what he does, watering the flowers.
i'm just watching.
waiting for him to take the plunge.

and when i look around, i'm on a rooftop.
a shadow moving around behind rails.
the kind wind keeps ruffling my hair.
there are no pots of flowers here.
and across the street, on a rooftop, they are watching.
waiting for me to take the plunge.

Monday, 9 August 2010


"i won't disappoint you
as you fall apart"

that's a big burden.

50. A list

'the soul can wait'
a man sitting at his balcony at 100 degrees
i don't know how hot 100 degrees is
but in the movies when they say
100 degrees
they mean it's fucking hot
'the soul can wait'
a man sitting at his balcony in such heat is depressing me
warm beer is depressing me
but cold beer is depressing me too
friends they are depressing me
music is depressing me
the sound is depressing me
quiet is depressing me
heat depressing me
cigarette burns depressing me
TV on depressing me
awake depressing me
asleep depressing me
dreams depressing me
shoes depressing me
people depressing me
family depressing me
smog depressing me
news dperessing me
pills depressing me
head confused depressing me
pets depressing me
panic depressing me
myself is depressing me
sex depressing me
food depressing me
nothing depressing me
trying depressing me
books depressing me
time is depressing me
watery eyes depressing me
night dpressing me

it all feels like death
it all feels like the end

there's nothing
and there's nothing that can fix it

This is giving up but i don't care
defeat makes me shrug
i don't want to win
i don't want to be strong
'the soul can wait'

deafeat makes me win
weak makes me strong
but right now i don't really care

This is not a poem
This is me, giving up
I got a big scream inside
a big scream
when will it come out

tell me your demons
and i'll tell you mine
are screams a demon?
are there screams in the demon?
does the demon scream?

'and the soul can wait'
'the soul can wait'

But, then. as scarlet o'hara said:
tomorrow is another day.
And the soul can wait.
'will be fine'

Sunday, 8 August 2010


-Maybe it just makes me angry, to see you like this. Doing such thimgs to yourself. Putting yourself in danger, plus- not applying yourself enough-
-I just want what's best for you.
-And how the fuck you know what's best for me?
-This can't be it.
-This, meaning me fucking you for money?
-You're not fucking me for money. We're lovers.
-Fuck, this is crazy.What fucking world you live in?
-I wish you wouldn't speak like this-
-Like what?
-Like a stupid cunt.
-I thought you liked fucking stuppid cunts.
(wedding ring takes a tiny piece of skin with it, the boy blinks and sucks blood from bottom lip)
-Now look...look what you...I just wish you treated yourself better than this. Baby. Don't smirk.(clenching and unclenching fist) Please. You're a smart boy. I mean, you're clever. Don't fuck your life up.
-Yeah.'re right.I'm gonna be just like you when I grow up. Number fucking one, make my momma proud for once.make you proud.
(fist driven into cheekbone, boy falls down, holding the side of his face,man leans over boy, sheen of sweat on forehead, well-manicured index wiggling in front of boy's dazed face)
-Now you're just being sarcastic. Fuck, you know I hate it when you're being sarcastic. Don't smirk at me. Don't, don't do it, fuck boy
(man punches boy's eye)
I told you
(man punches boy's face, a crackilng sound)
(man grabs boy's head)
(man slams boy's head aginst floor)
(man slams boy's head again)
at me!
(boy's skull gives in, man's fingers get blood on them, boy's eyes rolling inside their niches)

Friday, 6 August 2010

48.all todays parties

Every thing is exactly the same everyday, exactly the same, even if something is different it's still the same in the great big picture of things, who are exactly the same, and everyday and every night exactly the same, like that party, i don't like parties, let me tell you something. Like honestly.


because they're always so loud and the music is shit anyway and there's no one to really talk to, or if there is, you can't actually talk can you, or listen to what is being said, so the whole communication thing in which i'm not good anyway is drown by bass and drums and degenerates into a mute, deaf guessing game, two separate trains of inner monologue going along their own way - or even if there's someone to talk, even if you can be mutually heard over the dumb beat-beat-beat, it's usually random pointless shit you talk about, cos you can't talk serious shit in parties, you can't just go up to a dude and ask: "nice party, eh? so what do you think about life after death? Do you believe in God? Do you thing we're all monkies shot into space?" Serious party-killers,aye? so it's bye bye genuine human contact, so there's nothing to do really other than get immensely drunk, try every drug that lays around, shake your ass to the music, grind against unknown, sweaty bodies making friends and screaming shit like, I love this song, when you're only swirling in your own cloud of artificial rapture and they're swirling in their own personal clouds of artificial rapture - drink, drink, drink, snort, smoke, swallow etc. etc. i fucking LOVE this party, you say to yourself, is what i needed all damn week.

Another reason i don't like parties is you never know with whose fingers up your arse you gonna end up. There's this moment, at every goddamn party, somewhere near dawn, where the party has literally died down and the left out corpses are laying around wherever there is an empty surface, or even already occupied space, everywhere they're dropping like flies on beds, sofas, mattresses, corners, and under tables, my own personal favorite, and okay, so there's this moment when i wake up and everyone else around me is like pretty much dead, legs and arms mixed up in odd angles like a bomb been dropped or something,

such utter sense of desolation to be surrounded by so many stifling, sweating, smelly, liveing dead bodies yet you the only one alive, as in conscious as in hyper as in super-aware of every little depressing thing (dripping taps, breathless sobs, snores, farts, sirens, bells, cuckkoos, yawns, creaks of termite into wood, bedsprings moaning, sour breaths, smell of pot and burned foil, cigarette butts reeking and stale alcohol, disease, death).

This time, i'm waking up and find myself plastered betwwen a friend of mine(a girlfriend's ex boyfriend)and a guy i don't know, like haven't even met throughout the entire party unless i did but i was too stoned to remember. I'mm starting too squirm ever so slightly, me and my depressing little maggoty thoughts , when a finger is shoved or trying to be shoved up my arse, my straight-as-a-fucking-arrow friend starts pulling down my pants, rubbing himself on me backside, I also hate parties because too often it comes down to this pathetic decision: it's either the blade or the cock, and most times i opt for cock, the easy way out, so i'm kinda embracing the distraction my friends' hands offer my body and my friend starts kissing the side of my neck, tehn biting, and he's realy hard, and i can't speak because i might wake up the other fellow up and it's like, impolite, but my friend's well-calculated subdued pants in my ear are doing things to my cock, and he's trying to bite me right beneath the ear but can't so he's sucks and licks and slobbers down my neck, and he bites my ear instead, and i feel like coming then and there but the booze or whatever won't let me, however my veins feel like they;re filled with cum, nothing but cum floating inthose great fat faded-blue tubes and my friend tries to push his cock in but i'm too considerate towards the other fellow to lift my leg and help out when suddenly another hand to my cock and a warm throbbing cock to my cock and guess who's awake as well, grinding against me, chewing my lips, biting the entire mouth and jaw region of my face(so much about guy's fucking is instant, greedy gratification of instant greedy need, that's what make sit raw, that's what makes it true), and then it's a bit of harsh bump and grind, the one fellow reaches aorund me and pulls keeping my ass open for my friend to jam his cock in, i being an accomodating fella drape my leg over this dude's legs and it'a all sweat and open-mouthed breaths, the smell of this dude's mouth stale in my face, and my friend comes so i'm being rolled the other side and now sucking face with my friend, while the other dude comes in, and it's jab jab jab, being wanked at the same time, me, coming on my friend's belly and crotch and legs, i don't where it's going it's diffuse, and the dude coming up my arse and it's diffuse-

and then i scramble for my underwear and jeans, get dressed, get up, and away into the grayish dawn like a batch of dirty laundry hung to dry over the rooftops - gettign poetic(poetic my ass), getting emotional, push it down, cram it way down, make it stop or slow it down-hail cab(you don't want to start crying in a bus)- teeter into back seat-slur the address-watch sky turn brighter, feeling the emotion rising as well, about to go off-focusing on your sore used-up arsehole is a temporary relief, something to really hold on to, pathetic- then climbing up stairs, breatheless, drawing blinds, puking,downing pills with funny-tasting water, end up naked shivering in bed and you know, you know what i do after those fucking parties which i so fucking hate because you never know whose finger or cock you might find shoved up your arse and yet those parties and these pills and these cheap thrills and these cocks, tehy're better tahn nothing, than having to face yourself, confront the silence, the emptiness, the flatness, the nothingness, the sameness the boredom, i hate these fucking parties because in the end you know, you know what i do?

I fucking sit up and cry.

Thursday, 5 August 2010


I'm not a kid-o-phile.

I'm just a kid.

I kid you not.

46. five on the 5th

On The Road:
View from bus, the Spanish landscape, literally on the road to somewhere.
The Road itself.

Two "roads" diverged in a brown city and i, i took the less traveled by (but i don't remember if it made any difference)

On the Road, by night.

Maybe the most relative pic in the batch? I have trouble interpreting themes and general guidelines.

If you wanna check out the other contributions or want to contribute yourself, go here:

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

45. personal jesus

I will cook for you
This is what i've been taught my entire life
Do you like chicken?
You want fries with that?
Let me make you happy.
I'll sit quietly in my corner
and watch you eat.
Trhow the bones at me
I will lick them
and be grateful.
I'll come nuzzle your ankle
smell the leather
rub your sole against my face
i'll chew your calluses
from a hard day's work on your feet
Just let me rest my head between your legs
where it's warm and hard
and later you can nail me on the bed
Position my hands against the headboard
Place a nail in the middle of my palm
And strike
And do it again to the other hand
I won't try to escape
I will suffer for your sins
I wil suffer for ours.

44. hate

I don't hate Christians. hating something without trying to understand is the same as fanatisism and fanatisism is not a good thing all around, from every possible perspective. I guess being a Christian is a choice, even though too many Christians where I live haven't been given a choice they were just raised to go to church and participate in communion every Sunday and fast during importnat christian holidays like Xmas and Easter and stuff. And that's about it, performing your duty as a Christian. From what I've seen, being a good Christian also implies a hunger for money which is like the opposite of what a good Christian would do, accumulation of wealth and stepping on those who get in your way of accumulating it. Christianity is a good concept, as religion or philosophy, but i only see people using their religion to get what they want: to get money, a good job, a good wife or husband, etc. etc. and also a legitimate reason to criticize and castigate. Out of all religions, why it was Christianity, orthodox or catholic, to have shed the most  blood and in ways that would make Marquis DeSade blush, or vomit in disgust? If Jesus Christ and his sacrifice is not a bed time story or a fable to offer meaning and substance and a Destination to the otherwise and seemingly meaningless, pointless, random chaos that is life, if religion is not something to delude us and give us hope when there is none, if faith is really there and not applied so as we humans won't be scared shitless every time we close our eyes, well, then, what do you think He would think of all the hypocrisy inherent in the church, and its delegates, and what would He say for the blind believers who do nothing but hate and accumulate wealth, is there really a place in heaven for all this passionate hatred? I dread to think. If you want to save me, then respect my intelligence, my choices - if you want to save me, then please don't be all condescending. You have blind stupid faith (any blind faith is stupid faith) that will not save you, you get on your knees and pray and make yourself believe that God will help you, Isn't that a sin too, the belief that God will actually give a damn about your tiny problems, that God watches down on you because you're SO special and SO pious? What do I have? I think me and God we're okay between us, we've come to an understanding of sorts. If there is a God, I dom't thing he'd banish me because I chose to self-medicate rather than pray; because i chose to suffer rather than delude myself; because i chose to doubt rather than accept and kneel.

Monday, 2 August 2010

43. dinner served

With your key i open the door to your apartment.
It's quite inside and it smells of yesterday.
In the morning, you threw my clothes at me and said, get the fuck out of here.
In the morning, I woke up on your floor, splinters into my ribs and your foot on my neck.
I can't wait for tonight.
As I listen to the tick-tock of a clock
as i listen to this silence
to your tap dripping
a car honking outside
my breath
the breath of your space
creaking expanding
My heart quickens
I strip down to nothing but your bruises
I lay on your table
face down
The light diminishes
I am wrapped in milky twilight
and the tick-tock of your clock
and the drip-drip of your tap
My ass open and twitching
A gift
I offer
and there's somebody who really said he loved me
But i came here
to you

43. melancholy documentary

42. self-medicated

42. not so sad

42. sad


I'll be damned.

I must have an anxiety disorder after all.

I have an appointment at three o'clock and it just freaks me out. I'm freaking out. Really. Why am I freaking out?


Sunday, 1 August 2010


Rainy days.

A place for my birds.

Backyard Blooms.

Plant one for me.

Dig dig dig

Plant me in.