The year was 1977, when he was born.
Eighteen years, he lived for non.

He stabbed himself to dead,
on twenty fourth of July, 1995.

Couple of days of sorrow and guilt,
made him breath again as a human,
on twenty sixth of July.

Now, Twenty-one longness of his existence,
The century seemed the same as before.

He is still the same as then.

Like if he traveled back and off time.

When will be the next, into the time ahead,
what lies ahead and hereafter, is a chance.

The fullness of time from the era he travelled from,
widely in a vessel of hope, from time to time and millenniums to come,
he have never found the perfect aeons to live.

In search, he travels decade to decade.
Of his destiny…



Tú yo

Photo by Ruth Thorne-Thomsen – Levitating Man, 1983

The civilisation cramps, the colour fades,

Masturbating my feelings, staring at the horizon

I see him, his eyes, brown and pale,

Starving as young,

Am suffering for no reason,

It’s [just] random lines,

Am addicted,

Cornered, lost,

Pining away,

Am enjoying with people, the present,

Dancing my anger, singing my pain,

Hitting the high notes, stretching my legs,

Tapping to the beats,

I engage my consciousness,

I lock myself in a dark room,

And my conscience hitting the window pans,

The clumsiness in my brain clogs and breaks my fever,

I can’t go with it,

Am sensually intimate with my own body,

I sleep heavy headed,

I drink just water,

[And] am losing my grammar,

Good night!


The distance, the pain and the high side of loneliness,

I feel it , I crawl up the walls,

hanging from the ceiling, like a sleepy lizard,

looking at you I remember the first day I met you,

a pure recollection of that retro movie playbacks,

the room filled with charm and cherry flashback,

he been with me for two long years,

and left.

Source: Ello . @cosmicnuggets .


Transparent Faces by Mojo Wang

i could have just been two bodies,
identical from inside out,
i have fallen for my own self,
there is no one else in between me and me,
who ever is, is just a trespasser,
for the physical need,
i don’t love anyone else than me,
i want to sleep next to me,
i want to smooch my own lips,
i feel myself, in the mirror,
so close, so deep,
i could even feel him touching me,
always with me, in my own body,
am a slave of my own disaster,
am wonderstruck and am very immature,
i am married to my own soul,
i am bound to my egos, to my thoughts,
to my own flesh, to my own howl,
and the desire has aroused to a different height,
i feel like am bleeding for my own body,
to spent all my life with that desire to sleep next to me,
i want those countless nights with me to owe me,
i can simulate the night, the pleasure, the sense,
of being tore apart with my own bones,
crushing my own veins and be ferociously wild with my own meat,
and live long.
i breathe and it stays as meteorite crash site.


Source: Kodak Gallery Collection. c. 1890.

Stay as long as you can,

And you can tell the world about me,

About us, whatever passes through your head,

Whenever you see my face,

Write a song about me, a tale, a poem,

And recite them to the world,

Tell ’em how happy we were,

Let ’em be felt jealous, let ’em fall off it,

Tell everyone,

The children, the young,

The adults, the women,

Show ’em what we really were,

Only write about ’em, who care for your happiness,

Also write about me, until you can,

Never let it stop, write

Never stop yourself, and write about me,

About the people around you,

About the streets, about the cities,

We been together, maybe we are not together anymore,

But do write about me, about us,

About our love,

Cause I loved you!