Comments Posted By catfish
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Sometimes, I wonder if all of life is planned out. Written down and just waiting to happen. Alterations are just inclusions, everything there from the beginning, unchanging words to shackle us to fate itself.
» Posted By catfish On 08.15.2015 @ 5:42 pm
If there was one thing Abe hated more in the kitchen than tabasco and cinnamon, it had to be flour. Not because it tasted bad – though it sort of did – but simply because it stuck to every damn thing in sight.
» Posted By catfish On 08.11.2015 @ 1:10 pm
I conjured up three pieces of toast with a subsetting on my time machine, which was quite helpful for the royal family of zebras were coming to visit. And they only eat food in odd numbered batches
» Posted By Catfish On 03.01.2013 @ 10:50 pm
There is the faint smell of cigarette, the stained nails, the wrinkles on your face that do not tell of smiles our laughter or days of sun. You are quiet, and the rows of pills on the table lay like soldiers on the march. One by one walking, ready for their suicide.
» Posted By Catfish On 02.07.2011 @ 10:35 am
Your hands are shaking to the sound of the bass, the hums in the air, the drugs make all my thoughts hang without a doubt and your lips are endless ideas of infinity minus one, your eyes are shining as you turn, turn your head and your body against me, your eyes are- (que sera, sera) and you say,
lets look for things that are this moment (your breath is so close)
away from endless.
» Posted By Catfish On 01.20.2011 @ 12:53 pm
You feed your plant whiskey and cigarette smoke. You talk to them, sing in that cracked voice, I´m going to jump,I´m going to jump and have no fear. All your words are on a whim, all your movements are flight, quick and thoughtless and your mouth will fill with horses, breath galloping out, i´m going to, i´m going to jump-.The plant looks back at you and says,
You always look so
» Posted By Catfish On 01.14.2011 @ 9:03 pm
it is not raining. The wind is restless around black skirts and black smiles, and we stand still in the midst of it, in this burnt eyed wake. Ne me quitte pas, I say, and let the air take the words away,
» Posted By Catfish On 01.12.2011 @ 1:07 pm
We live our life in blotches, mind in faded paint, moments that are red against a uniform of white, that strike out of us- a smell, a feel, a face, and the curled paint comes to life, rough and cracking and beautiful under our touch.
» Posted By Catfish On 01.11.2011 @ 1:25 pm
i hear in different sounds that people don´t change. that our skin is our skin and our soul is our soul and it won´t be altered by erosion or storms. But my feet are covered in dirt, and i can see my bones grow, my mind shift like music. This day will end, but that is
never a bad thing.
» Posted By Catfish On 12.23.2010 @ 3:43 pm
Dark eyes and a taptaptap that comes from my memories, from the sweat and terror of hide and seek,
come here, little girl, let me teach you a game,
three sticks for legs and the dog looks up at me, taptaptap, his eyes are nothing, his eyes are
» Posted By Catfish On 12.16.2010 @ 2:42 pm
Her skin fold and creases, tells stories with dust, with the damp smell of old. She is the parchment maker, her life and winkles are made of coffee stain sheets, of treasure maps and musical diagrams. I lean forward to listen to her breath. Her words are the sound of turning pages in the dark.
» Posted By Catfish On 12.14.2010 @ 11:53 am
The wall is white. It is plain and still and staring, and I close my eyes. Remember that day in winter? The trees were skeletons and you stopped me with a touch, warmer than anything in that world. Your white breath was sweet near my lips and you said, you said,
we can do anything.
» Posted By Catfish On 12.11.2010 @ 4:23 pm
The field was never ending, burnt like the bridges between all of us, between our fingers and our minds. The immense carcasses of planes were rotting on the floor of ash, the great, defeated creatures of a war made of iron and lust.
» Posted By Catfish On 12.10.2010 @ 8:43 pm
my skin is hot where your teeth whisper, I´m gonna eat you alive, the salt on your tongue is bitter and wasted on us.
» Posted By Catfish On 12.06.2010 @ 7:04 pm
I move with them. The sound, the smell, the excitment spikes, I grip my own hair like im losing control, im losing control. All the sad songs in my head, i wanna trip trip trip, are ripped out. This sound is raw, it is our limbs in the dark, gripping each other.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.30.2010 @ 12:25 pm
Your hands draw grey shapes against the wall. They are eagles, they are running dogs, they are movements that seem separate from you, seperate from this closed moment, a an isolated space of air that is almost breathless, that is compressing us into a space beyond what we have know.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.27.2010 @ 1:42 pm
I follow the railroads on you skin. The patches of dark that lead me to foreign land, the fields of soft hairs at the back of your neck, the hills of your knuckles, the beached sand on you jaw. I am taken to nowhere.
I am lost across you.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.23.2010 @ 1:17 pm
The dust covers the room like a blanket of moss, brown and soft and secretive. it is filled with flakes of old things, of old people, of the memories and the words and the lives that were lived there, before it all started going wrong.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.22.2010 @ 2:43 pm
We repel. The electricity buzzes across the hair on our arms, across our teeth, the vulnerable skin under our eyes. We come closer, closer, when is it too close, and then we´ll blink. The pressure builds. We´re on opposite sides of polar fields again.
The ghost of your nails have left marks on my skin.
I am always afar.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.21.2010 @ 11:14 am
We repel. The electricity buzzes across the hair on our arms, across our teeth, the vulnerable skin under our eyes. We come closer, closer, when is it too close, and then we´ll blink. Teh pressure builds. We´re on opposite sides of polar fields again.
The ghost of your nails have left marks on my skin.
I am always afar.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.21.2010 @ 11:13 am
Things in millions. Smells and noises and sounds, people of all kinds compressed into a space made of voices, of hot fruit, of fried goods,of woven baskets and skin against skin against skin. A three legged dog stops before me, fur made of dust, and in its black eyes are all the colours of the market place.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.13.2010 @ 4:41 pm
it is the dust bunder his nails, the roughness, a cat´s tongue, of his fingers, the fragile fortitude of his bones. Materials of dirt and life, of a man that needs not that, not more, but what he has.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.12.2010 @ 2:56 pm
The back of him is curved, rough, used. He looks at the world from below, looks up at me from another world.The world that carries the kit of the rich, that carries the burden of that curved spine.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.05.2010 @ 12:54 pm
It was skin and bones and dirt and fur, dead things, over things, things from that day in summer when the birds escaped and couldn´t make it on their own. Beautifl and fatal and an elexir for nothing.
» Posted By Catfish On 11.03.2010 @ 1:19 pm
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I smile a scar. Move a little closer. The kind of closer that is too close, that is a tremor at the edge, that makes you (I see that look in your eyes) about to burst.
» Posted By Catfish On 02.23.2010 @ 5:40 am