Ever felt the cringing pain of a vaccuous inspiration? Like when you want to convey some deeply ingrained thing, but just can't find the pluck to summon your powers of articulation, probably cos you're scared of what it might reveal?

videotape

As night drapes its silken folds over your bared shoulders,
and the pitched garments of shelter begin to take over,
you wish for the same fate every moonfall
that absolves the day's every cat call.

Sprays from indignant paint cans
rise above the towering masses of think tanks
and trim the edges of papier mached Sultans
as they bare their corrugated arms
and shelve their teeth for more trying times.

Cupboards filled with fickle sickles
that shape-shift until it tickles
the sneeze out
are all that lie about
in the falsely floated doubt
of being embroilled in the thickest of pickles.

Miserable clocks can't help their fate.
Ticking hands seldom abate
the bubbling coils of enraptured dusk-
they actually intensify the potent hint of musk.

Pride would well in the bosom of the ascetic
who can't seem to remember the specifics
of the tired balls that sought
to tie his hair in its penitent knot,
when he beholds his hazy horizon
shimmer with the lazy approach of the sun,
carrying forth a pot of videotaped poison.

It would course and gambol
child-like in flow; out of control
within the thirsty, bleeding canals
and merge blessed chemicals as they dance
with the deserving, parched cells of penance
and condense the rubed vessels
into droplets slated to do nothing else
when their time came.

A broken desire to conjure

having digested something obscure,

penned by prurience demure,

wishfully trying to secure

a vision of the untainted viewer-

How inevitable it is that i use here the word "pure"?

Seed sown by some alien observer,

that cares for the safety of the meek pervert

blossoms in the awakened chambers

in the cranial recesses of a mute server.

While all the while the precious mountain

waits to be fallen off of; as we dream again

long abated memories of glorious green fen-

resurfacings need to find their niche in the pen

and in the absolved waters of Christopher Wren.

But as sure as proficient doubt beginning to creep,

weapons of purchased safety can only sleep

long into the diurnal hours in Lonely Street,

where none but the strongest hearts are privileged to weep.

These clawed fists are useless;

they want to punch out contrived beings into shallow existence

as if their accursed births might help lower the bends

and mock the true countenance

that lies unsurfaced beneath several continents

of unshaped amends;

Although picturesque pearls of damp pity give them away

they will their sodden commands for themselves to stay

and not escape the entombed buckets.

A little pious feline dropped her gaze,

averted by abandoned ashtrays.

They sought to set ablaze

the severed butts long after they had outstayed

their unworthy welcomes.

But yet the miserable cat moans

and extends tendrils of great piteousness that condones

all of its wretched everyday tones

for the nanoseconds within which lie its bejewelled loans.

Coated by blind layers of glossy indifference,

the allaying words seem not of so much offence.

b-log

brains are such finnicky characters. they refuse to function unless you oil them and water them and feed them and take them out on regular walks and give them a little treat everytime they do a complex trick and burp them etc. And it's kinda hard to feel generous towards them when u picture them as the gooey, membraney, soya-textured lumps of neurons... not very engendering of a maternal feeling. 

but still if brains have something going for them, it's how good a bully they are. they hold your happiness ransom and threaten ur sanity unless u grant them their grossly unreasonable demands.. ever heard the phrase "who's the brains behind this underhanded scheme of unparralleled notoreity?"? well you can decode its origin quite easily looking at it from my point of view. brains are gangsters that hold your children hostage and want constant attention in ruturn. and if u go complaining about them they take irrational offense and punish your ass further to make sure you understand who's really boss. (psst, i think she's waking up ..   think i heard the unmistakeable sound of unravelling brain folds. she always wakes up whenever you think too much. and this is overflowing with sheer muchness. i'd better stop)