1. The Art of Dysfunction1. Our mouths are markets, spewing bad taste and raw claim-- "These words go to the highest bidder." The transferal of different vowels and different tongues, the decaying composition of truth and lie, are sewn disproportionably in language.1. The Art of Dysfunction
Here lies the fallacy, behind our gritty teeth where dirty mouths are born.
But yet, in the midst of love and mere infatuation, there may be a priceless word, quickly muttered. And between those heavy exchanges of consonants and bending syllables, there may be a breath that seems breathless, or a pause that n
what i deservethere are more than one of me, they sit in window panes with one hand in their pockets and one hand in their mouth, pushing too hard on boundaries. they have prunes for hearts and try to be brave,what i deserve
but they are not. i am 20 years old, i am not yet the me i want to be. i lay down in plastic cups and i am so small. this is my attempt at being safe. i am still vulnerable. i am still young.
i am still learning the things you taught me.
i used to be able to float in your cheek bones,
now i've moved down to ground level and you flick me from your soles, o
shotgunlover + all the othersshotgunlover & all the others; i cant remember why she called herself that name; living life like a bullet was a game you could play where your heart was the finger on the trigger.shotgunlover + all the others
we were babies, we were all only babies when we clawed to each other out of the dark; i put my bottle down & stared into her cigarette, letting it ash & flame as she traced letters on my palm and asked my name & i never felt more like a god, ever again.
'you were the best lover that i never had' i wrote to her in poorly shrouded uncapitalised text; she said she wrote it on her bedroom wall so
gestaltI hope this is more than inebriated romance.gestalt
I watch you in the diner.
I'm always watching, through mirrors, through doorways, seeing you and seeing me and knowing we're reflections of the same hypocrisy; I'm outside the television, this tellingvision, I'm disconnected, broken, the nerve between me and the rest of existence is strained and I see beyond your charades. I'm on the outside of the window, our interactions are equivocal, ambiguous, filtered and muted. My reality is a drunk prism, and your reality is an insane labyrinth of pattern, schedule, a
i think it was a fridayI walked about 4 miles home while nursing a bottle of vodka.i think it was a friday
I've seen these houses, these businesses, every day for years but now they glow with that pre-dawn illuminance offered by speeding drunks and cops and kids on pcp screaming down alleys when I'm the only one who can hear.
I don't remember it raining during the night but the puddles huddling against the curbs seem to remind me of something. Something lost and stagnant like the abandoned bastard water that exists without the rain to blame it on.
I left the party and the friends when I realized that I hated every
Devious Journal Entry
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Life sucks, I know. I just say it in a much more eloquent way
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...proud sponsor of creative destruction since 1998!
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Watashi koso ga 1, 2, step...step by step...
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I've been eating with a good friend who said
"A genie made me out of the earth's skin"
But in spite of her she is my birth kin
She spits me out in her surly blood rivers
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x
.Albin
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"L'Univers n'est que l'Arène d'une Fascination Collective"
Albin Durand Portfolio
Un blog sur la Pub, la Com, la Photo et Toi !
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