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  1. f4 dit :

    write and share your own work

    language : english (room) / contemporary poetry

    scroll down / write / pseudo / chapka / post / share URL on fb
    enjoy !

  2. auddie dit :

    we all remember
    hollydays in amsterdam
    when life was light but the trip heavy
    money stolen by violent guys in an empty street

    **

    **

    **

  3. Vincent Zéroun dit :

    we eat rocks
    break stoks
    eat fox
    real foxes
    lone gun
    pure fun
    magne
    omni

  4. auddie dit :

    ** ** **

    Blotti dans les draps d’une invention

    Je. Ralentirai le temps.

  5. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    Under toes undertow

    low blow on a…

    some scream no

    some wishpers ah

    for a tongue daring a toe

    Or a silk by a…

    (wishpers…)

  6. Manuel dit :

    opinions lead to assylum
    .
    single ecology if considered as fanatism
    .
    lead to assylum
    .
    activism doth
    .
    anarchism no doubt, directly doth
    .
    weakness in consensual faith can do
    .
    beeing a slight trend of that
    .
    it shall be treated to death
    .
    they’re no responsible, it’s a fault of our brain too ghilty
    .
    even the taste of your clean socks on thy feete’s skin
    .
    lead to assylum
    .
    even the thought of your feet
    .
    or the single foot I once handled
    .
    there is no color for thy toes
    .
    no possibility of dream of
    .
    common sense is a flower-pot
    .
    filled with sand and ashes

  7. Manuel dit :

    .
    So the swan so I am
    .
    lover of garbage on the water
    .
    clumsy hero of childhood and silly thing on postcards
    .
    everyone say bye as I come in
    .
    on the table
    .
    may the swan be a man
    .
    because this woman sinking cry calls for a muscle swimmer

  8. Manuel dit :

    I have not been able to compose a story, a poem. There was matter, but energy did not follow. Suddenly, a world of explanations dissapeared in a sunset bubble.

    I feel tough as an automatic translator explaining how cute cats are. They are something else than strange words coming out from a computer. Am I a kind of ageing object, beginning to be dirty some over ?

    The Renaissance symbolic crosswords of image, let them explain the plot of despiced love. Let them agonize in their non-sequitur. Birds don’t bring heavy gifts.

    This is so your golden person, a body of wealth as a happy sunrise, some jumping out smile, did not stay in the crowd of memory, did it mostly jump into forgetting, in the river of dispair of forgotten persons, the poverty of memory. So splendous palaces in Firenza and living counts and masterpieces. Mostly stays on my crowdy soul the single painting of your crying mascara, of the unpaintable hair of sea.

    Uccello the painter did not fit as you to the name of light.

    So you are many persons, as the actress, and you will hear.

    Language has no connection to poetry, the sexual noise of the crying women and their invisible dancing, the voice of the dead, these are so unknown things to language !

    I come to sex crowd of poverty and wealth, I don’t want no more the insect of desire, the utter butter fly of its chains, flying onto my eyes.

  9. Manuel dit :

    :
    :

    Total void is in the center of the art of existence
    This tiny appearence of beauty
    you’re intercepting in me
    is rising from the scene I have prepared to total void,
    the actress takes place in your life
    to speak of Boddhistavas in the confusion of your passed life
    don’t you recognice beauty has been waiting for you
    in the street ?

    Now my voice is singing silence like tears of human milk
    some unthinkable privilege coming from the stars
    some bread and wine flesh
    just clumsy words of a stranger meaning enlightening
    This means when you listen a sort of mistaken existence in you
    this means if you leave your problems go off
    the delightfull nothingless of beauty will pour on you
    Let me devour you as you are my sugar

    you are going mad, you were no gentelman
    You were just a punk disguissed into bussinessman of nothing
    now you know it was nothing your proud
    you are going mad, the right hand raise you back to the ashtray
    you belong to cender, there are so many as you

    Total void is the instruction of love
    when lovers loose chastity in a spasm
    this happens in the promised land of my eyes
    when you say “she” it’s always me for weeks

    explanation of art

    those shades over the sculpture of reason

    the snake of wisdom bitting the feet of Virgin Mary
    we are and have been sinners of image
    we are the servants of idols made by our bodies
    till we discover their church is wide
    devoted to solitude of absent lovers
    Because of this it is that art is explained in total void
    even if only you discover my siren legs
    crowned underneeth by leather

    I possess by the link of inspiration
    the total owning of poetry

    all over the theater of the blue planet
    I will say your words put into a page of paper
    don’t you think beauty have good reasons
    to walk in the street, to do this things ?
    Raining atmosphere of the art of existence
    only to speak of me on the sofa

    Thank you

  10. Manuel dit :

    subtlety comes first in children
    when language is accomplished
    language very quick gets into a dry daily thing

    So few stories that I could know well surrounded by books
    stories are mouth to ear and I have not your company here
    I was supposed to be a major poet
    finding stories to tell along in deep mythology
    I only have you and my confusion of mine
    sort of poem Revolution number nine not a song
    a major Poem called to be begun

    we factors of revolution
    the rebels
    should we unite in the search
    of some continent?

    I was a not yet flying blackbird in the fall of night
    Sang my song I catch my aerian destiny
    wich is not to be able to go down on earth
    since there stands mishealed our despairing pain

    I’m in sorrow and you look comfortable
    we cursed artists
    swimming
    in the search
    for some continent

    we cursed artists
    have hope on dream
    have tears still coming to our face
    like water
    we write our names in a dictionary and give no definition
    we have no time to be set in context
    the cursed hides a forgiven to take dictionary
    in her disfashioned handbag of hers
    she has no explanation to passing Hours
    wich round bodies seem plane
    to the weak dose of Michaux in L’infini turbulent

    cursed is the mule, the mythomaniac,
    the cursed by family cursing
    the idiot

    You say to me you will take your work to the end
    make me a poet, give me inspiration of your angel
    equal to sound in my throut like a wine of tears and blood
    as told in books arround
    I will give you so my voice
    in the distance
    lost

    The plane and its blue flowers
    is a solitude where fantoms go for a walk
    and just angels meet
    because of

    I will take this plane
    I will paint the blue flowers detailled one by one

    Even if we are ruled by war
    and every effort hurts to attain perfection

    I will write on and on what you say to me
    in order to feele I exist
    I will write hypocrisy some others virtues of you

    This side is warm and this side is cold
    would you touch my bodily appearence ?

    It is true that a holy cross on my neck
    should spread an invitation to fornicators
    to come hear pardon
    and you know I’m sexy so make your prayer to me

    Prayer of fornicator

    Give me the cross of your disgrace
    ass buttom to face intoxicated
    unwealthy onions of Babylon dust
    excuse me I read the Bible
    and it seems I owe every bodily recipe
    Men of older times were like dolphins
    or like the hunter to love
    centaures were the horses of the Minotaure
    as the mare on Velazquez surrender
    you are there biblically
    because of the goods and needs of image
    so you shall consider a literary painting in my work

    You may see in the public space the copulation
    of winged ants and human female and the poet
    always a male long thirty hair

    The centaur’s weep
    on the nightmare of sin
    this faded sin like a red rose at a closed door
    is like a song awakening before morning
    he is unexistent and nonetheless

    He is not able to talk
    he is painting words
    in the sky transforming of his forehead

    The centaur’s weep

    I missed the lesson I missed the movie
    I didn’t visit galleries and disco clubs
    I’m a child taken by your hand into darkness

    Music

    This is the kind of thing he wanted you to listen to
    how poor and clumsy he could have been
    father of men and women you should listen
    not the pope or the tyrant but him child of you
    and every body here in joy

    And music

    I feel destroy
    I should be a boy
    hunting for rabbits in your sacred land
    father of the zodiac
    on the floor of your astronaut living-room

    Father of connections
    you will see I’m funny
    I will laugh down on my knees
    I’m jumping
    I’m elevating
    I have a vision of earthly cities
    never tired
    never tired of being so tired I have luxury
    and I’m jumping in total void

    so pull the rope of this memory dwelled fountain of crystal mirror blood
    the city and garden of hospitality
    to kiss with letters and poetry my cheeks of rainy cloud
    drop by drop in your window
    I knew you’ll wait for me there

    .

  11. Manuel dit :

    =/

    Queene of faeries had a fever
    one knight of the woods had it seen
    and the tears for the queene were abondant
    hearing the music of deep whispers
    there at the bed of grass
    and him in the smoking window
    given in a crowd of castles and hard temples.

    Nothing was deadly this time
    cleaned by tears the moon was giving a cut of sun
    greater portraits promising to night
    so the knight was in contemplation of queene’s sleep.

    Travelling to the tropics of triolism
    even by head
    made them queene and servant
    loose all force not strong enough to break the chains of this new monster
    wich is announced by an innocent fever
    and whose face is void.

    His helmet was a masterpiece
    of dancing hammers of devil.
    His name was Useful, and the servant prefered nudity without target.

    Awake adored queene and restored
    in coolness of mind by the travel on the moon
    be careful of this monster dishaped
    and cloudy, put your golden helmet and take your arrow.
    Prepared to attain remote hearts this wheapon of female
    goddesses is given to your fight, wich is prompt to come from fever.

    You are no more in the land of southern, to believe in sirens,
    be yourself supernatural in the appropriate battle.
    This strange destiny of taking part in the supper of giants and cyclops,
    scared by their panther speaking, this destiny who has made you my queene.
    This night where every servant has disappeared like melting snow.
    Which battle is this that hurts as tough as madness ?

    Seemingly this giants are linked by panthereness to the enemy.
    Seemingly travel to tropics has made you
    desired by sun and sun is in its tropic an unshaped monster.

  12. Manuel dit :

    myth of silk

    A King of spirits knew a mortal in Filipines and earned the misery of loving by its only prestige on seweing and embroiding a veil given to his nights. The crowned head loved delicate objects, and used to caress existence with soft hand. Full of desire the god was washed cold by despise in discovering the wrong sex. So called to him the musicians and inspirers set on the stars, and skill from the mortals and applied to worke by a ravishing veil to mist over the imparfection of human.

    In reading these male loves the countess
    the fairie countess healed the frozen spirits of her court
    ambassadors came every sunrise and each time she was in sorrow
    to transmit the compliments of all counts and princes
    and happened that theater in Manila
    in order to charm the tongue
    asked for her presence and teachings
    promising the circunstance of fair.

    A very important fair that ruled Manila gypsies
    by her beauty and wisdom, seemingly, because we are not told
    of punishment or curse, we are told of travelling painters and poetry,
    Estrella was called, received fair Elvira in a mood of pain and fever
    troubled dreams had too hard enivrate her inteligence
    and wisdom had no hands to offer its natural gifts.

    By providence of faerie queene this was the occassion renewed to fair Elvira
    to realize compassion and self-giving in the green golden and silver paradise.

    Coming from the chamber of illness a fishape dragon
    declared to be possesor of the sweetness and blood of fair Estrella
    and there were fight between the spirit and dust
    which fair Elvira prepared late in the air by oxidating her arrow

    They did not know a knight was spying curious the beginning of fight
    and prepared a human sword to take part
    in the distance
    and in silence of peaceful music

  13. Manuel dit :

    *

    The ape of hollow glasses, aped scribe of some Egypt
    ancestral of confusion between human and beast
    dressed out in furs suddenly smoked with cigarettes
    which he light in lung penitence,
    he, the ape,
    took the tools of color and line
    some evening in the corruption of memory
    in order to possess the shape of fair.

    Virgin Queene of the Moon
    suffering darkness
    offered to painter kiss closed lips,
    and spoke silent of some war in the sky
    of angels enivrated with hate
    how dangerous was the place of towers
    penetrating heaven and its bloody roots.
    She had the corpse of a heroe
    in the palm of her delicate hand.
    This corpse transformed in a rose,
    and buried in a glass of transparence.
    Painter could not betray his wild thought
    that knew not the slow pouring of merit
    and pretended to rape the image enchanted by brush.

    Becoming a woman of greatness,
    Virgin Queene of the Moon took the thorns of martyrdome
    and set them on the beastly heart of the artist,
    to make remember the existence of past knights
    in her astral life,
    and found in crowded luxurious beaches and disco streets,
    fair Eve mother of abstract human, fair Patience secret queene of virtue,
    fair Pamela at the same time,
    and coffee shops in Montmartre, people of Bagdad in constant danger,
    people of Sahara and emprisoned knights starving for medecines and food,
    cursed by fear, as those points of those thorns.

    A drop of gold made smile the portrait
    and the model,
    the instant of a brief sunset
    and of communicating with militians muses all around
    to make present the rare art of an ape,
    imitation of itself under the influence of fair,
    this is so Nature to the sight of the father
    humble king sitting on the air.

    This is for the part known by men
    I tell not the drops of cry in a cursed trip on the darkness
    occulted by thick lines of cloudy sky and magazines
    which speak none
    and of the impertinence of idiots
    as a female crucifixion,
    something familiar and silent and painful.

    This is not known by men
    fair is foul on their papers
    foul is fair to their finger strokes
    because they are blind now and then.

  14. Manuel dit :

    $$

    I can make one phone call
    to the King of spirits in deep night
    he will open all the palaces in the island of fair Isis
    if he minds as he does.

    There is no crowd to listen
    but a single king in the body of an angel
    trembling because of the knowledge
    alone, alone
    he watches TV as an ancient river
    to make him purified,
    he is the king of spirits
    on the theater of interior bullfighting
    he speaks from deep night to me.

    Me, Myself And I
    from Billy Hollyday to the hard rock of L7
    are all females.
    Vamps in Russ Meyer movies
    turn to intelligent slaves when you are intoxicated
    so the period of fairie queene makes you poet.
    It’s tough that girl-friends and moon could
    inspire a song of destruction,
    where rules of music are distorted by queer.

    I have seen the bleeding heads
    on the neck-lace of a dark skinned
    goddess, and fair on it,
    like If I was in permanent war with the top of mankind.

    As if she was the other one in my life
    the black goddess was in accordance
    to my wills of prince and poet.

    Me, Myself and I
    are all females,
    so one of them is fair Death
    and this is impossible to know which one
    is going to deliver you from the two others.
    I was killed on a rock and roll concert in 1992
    since I am a spirit and a soul
    without body,
    only a neck-lace of bleeding heads.

    Who are you this night ?
    I am the same.
    So tachycardia is the life
    of ageing spirits,
    killed many years ago.
    Is soul going to call spirit ?
    Just dial on the medecin door of each planet
    the code, the number
    of fair and wonder,
    spirit will come down on you
    to closer Death allow to drive you here and now.

    You, my soul, are a princess, a fair,
    you are called Eve because you are a portion
    of the father.
    You don’t want emptyness, and you dance to feel
    of better spirits, of voices of children on your ear, your fair ear.
    Now I wait the morning and the end of night
    whispering cigarettes to my soul fair Eve
    because of the light magic on domestic fire.
    I think on people I know on the book of illusion.

    $$

  15. Manuel dit :

    :
    Fair of my awakening to this new dream
    Your name Eve of a sunrise is Echo or Mirror
    you turn in the unknown in order to sleep out from this Error of Dream
    so you take me to the candle as I see my face in you as for Moonrise
    We’ve talked, we have practiced Peace
    as I love to put at your feet when you piss
    God is fat enough to be respectable
    and you will see it’s Him
    the angel of idolatry, the top of my thinks.

    Tough is the fight with God
    and if He were not in love with me,
    he the splendid mirror of my illusion
    the giver of truth,
    he will transform me in a deadly flower.

    To asume the consequences of my acts,
    in this hyeroglyphical of dream,
    was a path of Winter Time,
    honored by snow and the flash of extreme Cold,
    but you are a charm on this path
    some deer light of sight on the movement,
    some healing heart of some far spot representing a monastery
    some company of the pilgrim
    waking up in the grass,
    by diamonds of the farewell made pure Beauty.
    This is the Milky Way of repentance and joy
    the trip to reality.

    As the warrior of fair keeps in walk
    she gets the memory of love on the feathers of her helm
    so as when, for the first time,
    she surrendered to a story teller
    in the fight and the bleeding of fair
    to hear her own story preached along by a stranger
    without God and cursed,
    an artist living of rain and sun
    feeling wind in the borders of the road.

    This was the story I told to fair Eve
    of how we met and I became her poet,
    and the painter of miraculous legs and shoulders,
    the sticking with her genius. A comet
    in fact kickly leaves
    to the orders of Fortune, may the cursed say.
    Stylish fairs desappear
    taking back their gifts.

    In a babylonic shopping list
    the hours and days of each planet
    are painted to forget,
    you should never have the bright
    of these sunny shots of sex.
    You will have cender on a canvas,
    but so recent enough to light your fire.

    So I’m singing with monks
    gingle belling and smoking night cigarettes

    Uccellini
    time invisible flight of understanding

    the monks and the birds of Venus, pigeons,
    smile to me, with the old feathers
    looking grey
    and looking great to my walk as they flash.
    :

  16. Manuel dit :

    *

    Stylish works on science-fiction turn fair Peaceful into mad insanity and old extraterrestrians becomed healthy dogs fade out on the air leaving a wave of suspicion.

    Je trouve fascinant le metier de psychiatre L’écriture d’un cas clinique, ou d’un dossier médical, ressemble à l’écriture d’un roman ou d’un évangile, ce qui revient à la fausseté de toute écriture.

    Influenced by the stranger she feels no more terrestrial.

    Et dès l’avion de combat de ses rêves, elle cible les coeurs tout en maintenant l’enemi en vie.

    Une panne générale est comme une célebration d’une vie qui marche trop bien, la psychose règle les comptes à l’intérieur ou à l’exterieur,

    and how much battles has not been winner fair Peaceful ? Somebody turned far away the warmer and the knight of nonchalance was not ready to push out his clothes, but to alow some head on it to be straight and a sort of idiot in saintity. This knight understood the roll of the fair, being alone, and so he made a solitude of the presence of love.

    Arriving at the age of forty Seconds as fly of the air in the eye another fair has been young enough to be a kind lover and to be old enough to forgive herself for a lack of bright.

    Or is it the same fair, a two headed maiden that is getting old ? Terror of Mars, more influent in Peaceful fair, represented by a dream, than stylish science-fiction of late atomic in war affairs where she wins all along the front line, some emotion of green, of grass leaves as hair of the martian.

    *

    La poesia llega demasiado tarde a mi cerebro, cuando el lenguaje ya ha volado por los aires con todo.

  17. Manuel dit :
  18. Manuel dit :

    She came from far away

    This night she was next to a rhum factory

    a friend of her boy-friend was a musician

    influenced by Russia

    played his instrument as an inconscious

    phalocrazycal nihilist superman

    in the mood of another night

    not the day of thick sun rays falling straight

    he did not stand sad stories because he had visions

    I mean the young painter

    caressing her without permission

    he was critizist with

    some kind of artistic prophecy without alcohol nor sugar

    he could drink in order to love better

    this woman of his kind, this sweet puzzled being

    so far away of reality

    this night of sugar and being drunk

    .

    Telepathy was easy to get worked

    but the surface of sardines

    was salted and burnt

    some sacrilege against chastity

    kept away his usual not being able

    licked words on her body out of foolish

    blue sea of all colours of blue

    even nocturnal and breathing full silence

    .

    Used, confused, polished metaphor

    I inherited from songs and lessons

    repeating cry of my spanish blood

    and the way inconscious shakes hands

    while fists scratch a disposition of letters

    the concerto of some signs and whispers

    why not to sing to tourists ?

    .

    this is the ballad of simplified life

    speaking French all alone about

    smoke between table and table

  19. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    I

    pagan Botswana guitar

    T’

    thriller in Bombay

    S

    fukushima coil ride

    C

    mellotron of Panama

    A

    elk tongue of scandinavia

    B

    smell like the lips of the rain

    I

    and the heat of some lights

    N FEVER

  20. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    Sapphic dreams is wet dreams

  21. Marie-Agnes dit :

    There are wet dreams and there are burning dreams,
    listen to the fire devouring the words of the dead.
    The words of the dead dance
    listen, the fire devours them

    They dance alone

  22. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    with bones which sounds like marimbas

    a keyboard for fever

    a tango for ever

    comes marching 1, 2, 3

    with the mud dealer

  23. Shine dit :

    ,…cause im beautiful.who said that?!doesnt matter i have to believe-yes you should!but its weird,…definitely after that all.

  24. Manuel dit :

    something happened in Paris

    a child was born, a devil buried

    Allelujah in my window song to darkness

    diminued darkness of my trip here

    mirrors in dreams of tomorrow sky clay

    a child is born, a devil buried

    I must obey the prayer of decay

    the horn of Eiffel Tower flowering a Milky Way

    a child is born, a devil buried

    bees in cut trees

  25. Marie-Agnes dit :

    my sad friend
    sweet and sour as a lemon pie
    comes to me by night
    he says :”the devil can have my soul”
    and I say nothing
    I’m fed up with his sadness
    and his devil tales
    but he doesn’t care
    if I remain silent
    he came yesterday
    will come tomorrow
    he’s got the keys of my dreams

  26. lost poem in the cinder of fotographs
    nine pills a day to pay memory the skin of these eyes
    making babies in a voiture madness
    rust and dust to recover a past that hides
    the man must have a rest and the Sierra will be warm
    nor you do know than him the deer hunt be sweet
    the broid of a spider percussion on your face
    nine truths on effective peyotl to learn faster yet
    these are reflections on a moving pound you told
    lost poem to tell again a slow motion pain haze
    cunts and sperm a teacher a saint
    cunts and sperm salt and pepper fried egg
    cunts and sperm Jesus Christ on a boat indian of the plains
    you
    you
    you
    cactus eating friend
    sculpture appeal in a landscape
    pulpous kiss of happyness

  27. Let’s forget La France
    cultivated water on the WC trash actors at the Elisée
    no stone no grass no brain
    together to piss in the night to cross the Père-Lachaise
    let me live your life the TV said
    let me posses your eyes said the CLAVIER
    and the medecin-man sleeping on a mush-room INONDÉE

  28. I had a nightmare today
    in the passing of a song my favourite musician married a cochon
    her image appeared everywhere and mostly the cochon
    I finished sleeping with the beat “ILS SONT ARMÉS”

  29. Fear God do not missaround
    insurgé sound flushing blood from ear to ear
    a fever cured with gaz and tears
    do not missaround do not touch ground on the pound
    as the croissants and the whores give you a smile le matin
    be sure you’re right when you’ll die tonight of a pill overdose

  30. Cracking chair the air of fair
    you desire to awake elsewhere
    don’t you want to be there ?
    The Moon waiting upstairs
    dressing your chest’s hair with a bit of dispair
    the toon is simple, yes sir
    Paradise and Hell who cares ?
    A musician use to be boring and unfair
    as abuse of music is mystically a bon affaire
    Otium nostrum magnum est negotium
    Father don’t you think is time to go to sleep ?
    Your cell breaks out to bip you’re listening FIP
    and I like to peep you’re lonely consolation

  31. feeling serenade je vous fais part of an off office mood
    fixe idée nom prénom asthmatique
    NO CREERAS EN COSAS QUE NO EXISTEN
    MON CONTRAT D’ASSURANCE ME REND INSECURE
    à scander lentement
    sur un fauteuil noir et blanc
    SUNRISE OVER HELL & HOUSE OF DOLLS VS TON CV
    RESPIRE JUSQU’AUX BONES car ceci est ta HOME
    hard shapes the dawn spared knows
    errors are castles and battle-falls with no order
    if error use me if error I’m here
    communion communiste départ pour Sibérie et la plage
    (Fanfan La Tulipe et la pipe de tes fans COLEGA)
    spitting inside a paper cheaf not supposed to write
    a leaf in love is less than smoke for joke sadness is high
    feeding the bare bakers of the bar Haldol drop by drop and vinegar and mustard green of Japan
    as I see my thought arise in signs on the screen
    as I pin my nerves to no dream
    who are you Father in this Art of chess ?
    suspected to be is a bee lady by
    panther by father bride exterior
    will you die to my eye to my lies ? Salomon and his wisdom
    you took it easy cat in blue
    your meaning seems to be Les litanies de Satan
    or whatever moisted fuck of your past
    full color scroll turning fast
    black magic star on the wall
    having the lesson of the frying-pan
    painting undone singing sin silenciously
    this is music this is kind of MY KIND NO KIND
    this was a poem and listen what you’ve done as you’re gone
    to M*** to H*** to LOVE

  32. birds try to talk, as castles try to walk
    all covered with ANGST oh grow plant, grow
    dove Sun Uranus Pluto more tequila to solve the test
    stress is for free, you can go zen in the West
    make a vow to the tree just for fun
    finish your poem and run

  33. Marie-Agnes dit :

    run fast, run wild
    the beasts are looking for you
    all dressed in black
    like sorrow on your desk

  34. Manuel (don't worry) dit :

    If La France is a Goulag

    if your number’s just a draft

    if shit is all you have in your bag

    if there’s lover’s faillure in my craft …

  35. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    Bzzz the fly

    along your side

    while thinking that :

    “my mama never taught me

    how to cook.”

  36. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    Intermezzo on Louise’s hands

    Sax on her legs in the sand

    awkward sex photos

    watch by a banshee

    his sensual hips

    shaking on the calypso beat

  37. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    When the girl who mean justice
    is under a cocain tree
    her eye scarf fall from her eyes
    to her beautiful feet

  38. auddie dit :

    OSTKREUZ

    she wrote that she quoted that she kraut that she rot
    an half yellow moon very down in the sky
    is sticking to the planet
    between the dark water tower and my cell phone carribean junior mode
    glimpses we talk
    sliding we walk
    in the bar we woudn’t have a drink
    hidden in the corner of love

    june prune backyard
    she moves differently
    she’s my fish aware of instant thoughs
    warm book inside i removed the gloves
    tür schutz angst und ancient drones
    to emotion i was prone
    she wears my green jacket…

    … I have a gentleman flu.

  39. To my books dit :

    To my books

    Listen while I vomish, you Name of a paperback treasure,

    listen the rendered delight out my throat

    along in the past your Name I have noted

    and sand of runned out wealth has given on the toilet the fall of your measure.

    My coloured brother merging from white shadow off the market,

    smiles at me as I have been foolish of such a spirit to target.

    Let you be dead as my eyes on the lines of your mind are tired,

    you are no bore, but so more similar to a stone, to an out-fired

    friend I won’t see neither remember, me indeed as soft and dry and dirty

    as you are, because you were among the paper sheeps of my disorder

    the gentle soul I trusted to think on…

  40. To my books dit :

    the burning of books is sweet as the murdering of God

    kind sugar of blood in the steam of whipped words

    the burning of books is the work of bother on a gorgeous corpse

    corrupted from moisture time ago and issued from the cunt of mothers

    machine mothers that cry crocodile tears on the phone of coal

    the cinder black wings of enormous flies as warriors’ end

    the hole of my back will trumpet to celebrate the burning of love

    as I am tired of listening lessons on my wall, this art of silence

    in a trend of closing doors around my skin balls, such a pain

    let the flamme whisper the refrain of your stinking glove

    you the hundred face of your own law will know this insane

    delight of my hate, and no more

  41. To my books dit :

    dealbate Latonam et rumpite libros

    whichy’s suchy a lovingly boy ?

    Me experienced no interest in texty amateurs

    Me mama bubble of a pope’s dream and a cow’s whomb full of uranium

    Me have no time, no time to take kisses or to prefer things

    Friends of mine are mille e tre judges in sleepy autodafé

    octopus is delicious, please don’t talk while he masturbates

    specially tentacles on the columns of my legs to titillate them as you couldn’t

    them tentacles and pentacles on my chair cushion to fashion the relation

    between impossible to listen and permitted birds of my dildo

    do you want to use it ? … I mean, on you ? your hand stealing the breath

    of my mouth as my dildo will penetrate, so counter-revolutionnary a dick

    let it be kick as my real cock is not appropriate to be set on a book

    neither on those I used to call my books

  42. To my books dit :

    is it a bottle ? is it mostly a monster of the night ? or a knife,

    walking on a rope betwenn the towers of eternal happy wife ?

    is it a cup of tea, the taste of unconcious abortion a smile

    for a while I failled to smile for a toothy mile of useless life

    warm is the gut, the organ of my own church, full of shit and vile

    expensive diets of illness and conviction

    the fridge is cold, and quiet, my prayers sound clear inside

    the library is nowhere, yet I’m never introducted home

    Rome, uncle Tom, a gauche caffard topic I must give up to your belongings

  43. To my books dit :

    so you let me talk to anybody, speack to walls

    on the halls of miniature existence, or the asphalt’s foam

    and dropping acquaintance. You feel injured by reading

    and you do read the redaction of bleached works of your art

    and do not hear the howl and the scream of a son

    a sun, a song of a gong not so going to the boeing’s départ

    Noah’s arch won’t be made of bones

    but meet the order of raw meat and some flesh hobby start

    nice carpenter preparing a beautiful boat to get outs and get ons

    neither me is a sailor, no need to shcedulle

    the choice of sucking coins me not be rabbit

  44. To my books dit :

    faut être misogyne
    faut passer par là
    elles te mangent vivant, les femmes, sinon, tu es de la tartine

  45. Shine dit :

    I tried running realizing i walk so fast anyway…i tripped…fell..and woke up sleepwalking..sleepdancing…sleeptalking… my feet carry me..
    all the way….all the day…every day..
    my feet carry me til they burry me…til the day i die..sleep forever…i sleep never ever see me cry…?! My feet carry me..my feet carry me.. dance til the day i die…..my feet carry me til I step up…jump…goodbye!

  46. Anonyme dit :

    crooked name record

    raw fency

    fancy you

  47. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    the oboes vessels

    sounds when

    the clouscape heroes meets

    baba-o-rhum zeroes

  48. f4 dit :

    rubbed on FB :

    .

    “You ever look back on your life from a certain point in time? Let’s say a year and a half ago. Up to right now. Certain situations happen and somehow you didn’t know where you were going to wind up, but it feels like it was scripted from some sort of higher power? ”
    .

    (frankie bones)

  49. face dit :

    never. I’m determined by my own idiocraty. not really a higher power… I like to remain the good, scripted by efficient efforts.

  50. Anonyme dit :

    robbed on fb, by “Kulinarischer Kosmonaut”

    Buy it, use it, break it, fix it,
    trash it, change it, mail – upgrade it,
    charge it, point it, zoom it, press it,
    snap it, work it, quick – erase it,
    write it, cut it, paste it, save it,
    load it, check it, quick – rewrite it,
    plug it, play it, burn it, rip it,
    drag and drop it, zip – unzip it,
    lock it, fill it, call it, find it,
    view it, code it, jam – unlock it,
    surf it, scroll it, pause it, click it,
    cross it, crack it, switch – update it,
    name it, rate it, tune it, print it,
    scan it, send it, fax – rename it,
    touch it, bring it, pay it, watch it,
    turn it, leave it, stop – format it……………………….

  51. Anonyme dit :

    five ‘oh !

    oh poh poh; I saw the police on the block

    five ‘öh !

    we changed the bottle on the walk

    nasty code

    engaged and ‘oh !

    dirty locked ..

  52. auddie dit :

    Hipshake gunning kick start and I’m running

  53. Manuel dit :

    GOD IS A BEARDED WOMAN

    completely shaved by the nuns

    WITHIN MY GROUPIES, AND I CAN’T ABUSE

    OF INSANE GIRLS

    arty girls dream about fucking with Sarkozy

    and people don’t understand and people have fear

    what you need, man, is a straight fat woman sitting on your cock

    and a glass of warm milk, the yellow and cognac

  54. Manuel dit :

    take my back

    if you prefer my back

    fuck me like that

    but fuck me with a kiss

    and not with the circle of your thousand hands

    and be a lady, whose only feathered skin

    and her only cock is my battle-field hero which name is Dick

  55. Manuel dit :

    A doctor in Australia

    loosed hours of sleep at the beep

    of our horny messages

    you fucking elsewhere withc and saint

    you where appreciated by the microscopic brain of men

    and my bubbles of nerves and of beating translations rare

    I share with you may be the attention of the antipodes

    but I do not dream of an alliance with the mind of a canguro

    and the cyan and the magenta of the French Flag in the coffins

    of our two bodies

  56. Manuel dit :


    take my back
    if you prefer my back
    fuck me like that
    but fuck me with a kiss
    and not with the circle of your thousand hands
    and be a lady, whose only feathered skin
    and her only cock is my battle-field hero which name is Dick

    $$$$

    A doctor in Australia
    losed hours of sleep at the beep
    of our horny messages
    you fucking elsewhere witch and saint
    you where appreciated by the microscopic brain of men
    and my bubbles of nerves and of beating translations rare
    I share with you may be the attention of the antipodes
    but I do not dream of an alliance with the mind of a cangooro
    and the cyan and the magenta of the French Flag in the coffins
    of our two bodies

  57. Manuel dit :

    Shakespeare is not courteous love

    cruelty and wilderness of a foxy thought

    is it not this the best of any courteous love ?

  58. db dit :

    “there are skeletons ,swords ,zombies and witches ,twisted and contaughted faces and horrorfull beings suddenly appearing in my studio , i wonder why !!!!!!!!!”

    (rubbed on FB on David Boswell profile, one of the greatest live performer ever) (krautok rulez!)

  59. auddie dit :

    gets paradoxal feelings: blocked melancholia, hidden stress, speed patience, heavy work, light cares about everydaylife shit, short memory, long ambitions, extrem love, diffused hate, and shit loads of tracks to finish. Where am I? Ah yeah true, inside me.

  60. manuel dit :


    Queen Lasya was commanded by the wind
    South East kissed her et murmured things
    on her ear and neck. So is her in the frame
    of loving armes of my swing and I’m singing
    to a very young girl, within the marble of things.

    So how intruded poison and heaven together
    Queen Lasya from blood to blood, from love ?
    She came to my mouth as words, as words are.
    So far i sang a poem to the young girl, so far
    Queen Lasya possessed.

    And womanness is alone, as the seems
    of air are dead doves, and you are the girl
    and you will have a son made from the wind
    of a Queene of Love.

    La scolastique bouddhique d’une rose
    est pauvre et se fane avant l’oubli,
    elle t’a placée dans mes souvenirs
    sur moi encore ton corps repose.

  61. Anonymous dit :

    can only say,…

    Heavy thoughts and feelings
    seriously hurts the soul
    drilled into the minds
    sad is the heart

    Veil – tears overcast
    my eyes glazed
    a tear runs down
    quickly wiped
    that they don’t see them

    hidden in the chest
    infinite desire rages
    for you.

    I am two in one person
    Decisions not just for me
    she thinks for others
    Control of the environment

    daily thoughts
    to rob the beautiful
    the palpitations
    my feelings for you.

    they rob
    my sleeping hours.
    my pleasure.
    Ideas that could be beautiful.
    But there is also the reality
    which also specifies the rules.

  62. Anonyme dit :

    nobody’s leading

  63. Luise Steuckart dit :

    I am

  64. Anonymous dit :

    hihi :)

  65. Luise Steuckart dit :

    I’ve chopped all th’ trees, burnt the jungle down to its ashes, nothing’s leaving anymore. Skeleton trees, if not burnt down to lesser than nothing in the hottest fever ever burnt on earth. Skeleton tiger, ripped off to his bones, strippedstrippedstripped, trying to eat the last bits of flesh offf hisher bones, who knows is who anyway, sucking his own marrow till nothing’s left no more. He starves to death, alone, if not burnt to all velvety ashes by the hottest fever of all before. Finally resting that tired body in the softness of the ground. The snake cut her arms off long ago, too annoying anyway, useless, bothersome, there are still so much arms left in the world anyway, to get her what she needs, bleed shall thee who dare to interfer her plans, we subjugate, we undermine, everyone’s following till no one’s following at all hollow, boring to death till some more flesssh needs to be found, oh some delicious meat inside, so good, even if it’s short to stay, couldn’t last for longer if not diamond-hard or softly melting resisting to every fever one can think of; her tongue burnt in the heat of the jungle fever, it stuck out so far, nothing to feed upon to be found, heshe started to swallow her own tail in endless movement shehe found her perfect lover, bit by bit till nothing’s left anymore, if she didn’t even burn in the hottest of all jungle fevers that night before, her remains velvety ashes like everything else. Finally resting her swallowed self in the soft velvety ground.
    I burnt everything, just for fun. It was the most beautiful thing to see. Now wandering this wasteland all by myself, nothing’s left anymore.
    And everyone still to be found in the darkest corners of the darkest hells eating their own hearts out till there’s no remains of anything. No humankind, no animals, no plants. Everything turned to a black case-hardened sun, the glowing core burnt out long ago, no other sun shines upon, no reflection possible anyway, an ugly dead thing hanging around just too perfect to be blasted away. It once was beautiful, as they wanted it to be, same will as this ugliness now. Some meteors could melt into the sun, sink into saturn’s gas, float in neptuns oceans. At least they’d find a place. Maybe there’s still some idea of life in them.
    Cockroaches thickly covered in coal cases laughing their arses off. Soil had been washed away long before, to the no longer existing ocean, every drop of water sublimed into spirit, going somewhere else, to drip off some window of a person willing to cry. Give me just a little piece of mind in this blind place. Please, I’m so tired of those games, they’re taken too serious way too long. Cut you just cut my head off, please? No, thanks, I’ve changed my mind too long ago.
    The biggest seacows that can be found – where? – feeding upon the remains of it all, getting high on the death drug, expanding to extra-terrestrial objects. Maybe there could be a place to not die of boredom. Licking off the sea cows sweat, – must be the sweetest syrup ever been tasted by a human tongue. I hope to get drunk from it.
    Probably, the love of my life’s living on another one at the end of this endless universe; so it could as well be me, if you’d wished it to be.

  66. auddie dit :

    life’s a monolog
    on stereo legs

  67. Manuel dit :

    When I hear your musical point

    it seems to me you’ve never smoked a joint

    and never set ointements on you

    and never, never tasted hemp and paper of a Bible or a comic-strip

  68. Luise Steuckart dit :

    life could be a dialogue
    on eight extremities surround

    outer sides out
    inner sides in

    whole view
    surrounding
    them souls
    the world even
    whole view

    no one left behind
    even if those spiders tend to disclose to some point
    no I meant seclude,
    but both is true
    for real

    where dreams and reality meat, truth evolves to bliss

    that’s what i truly believe in.
    faith in myself
    no matter what
    head as hard as stone
    I’ll crack a door in every fucking wall,
    you’ll see
    even if it takes me bleeding till nothing’s left in this dried out body, ashes ashes ashes remain, but even more.
    What could it be?

  69. Luise Steuckart dit :

    by the way, I’d love to have instant reflection on me, as much as I can get, make me a discoball:
    http://luisesteuckart.wordpress.com

  70. Manuel (who has nothing to say but LOVE) dit :

    stop, there’es e tiger…

    don’t walk and talk, keep closser to me in the grass

    he’es coming and approuching, uprising as life in evil thought and songs

    you kind of chinese look on my mouth

    stop this because in truth I am the tiger in you

    if you love me go on and shout to him

    even if he use to eat sometemes beating lungs

    this will be a light speed dancing

    so let’s stop and have fear of animals

    let’s make love

  71. auddie dit :

    “Buxtehude, where the dogs bark with the tail.”
    ……………………………….._
    ……………………………….U ‘.
    wau wau……………. ___ . / /
    wau………………..~ ( _ . . . )
    ………………………..{ { ..{ {

  72. Anonyme dit :

    Ouais, mais maintenant si tu étais Apollinaire, faut voir d’une tranchée à l’autre.

  73. Manuel dit :

    The gum is chewed and these are the stars in rose and minth

    thinking to keep my way to the noise of sleep and pink

    power of rain is the breath of a cloudy elephant as you sinneth

    and the spot of red sand in south moon is nevermore the way you think

    to make short, there were two and a half, tomatoes and garlic,

    poison in the clean saintity of this milk of first madness to keep in.

  74. Manuel dit :

    letters to let on boxes of plastic and glory of the toilets

    killed by this lady set on a plant of green blood of sea and electricity

    killed by mute screen glasses and by your animal innocence

    she used to patience on long trips as you were apparently happy

    to be the garantee she filled the underground with your name and not hers

    and is no substance in music, nor blood on your feathers, pure angel

    you have been cruel and maybe soft to be killed by love.

  75. Manuel dit :

    As if they were my daughters, I give my counsel

    to the roses flushing late at my door, silencious

    and sometimes with tears of a strange joy, produced

    by books, boy-friends, heart-breack and alcohol,

    strange flowers on the tides of darkness of deep green and freeze,

    this winter has come smart and gentle may be to kill forever the beat of my late rose.

  76. Manuel dit :

    One day I will meet the lady on the photo

    the one that made me shiver in the repeated maniac night

    we will be in the open, dancing on fresh grass and breathing the clouds of the end of time

  77. auddie dit :

    “There is a crack on everything,
    That’s how the light gets in”

    Leonard Cohen.

  78. Manuel dit :

    Let the year begin, the end of time is going to speak

    you and me will hear the night owl’s cry and the rain

    neither i will repeat my castles in Spain, nor the high peack

    as your kiss is the absence of a pearl in my chains

  79. Manuel dit :

    How, my dear Mary, are you critic-bitten

    (For vipers kill, though dead), by some review,

    That you condemn these verses I have written,

    Because they tell no story, false or true !

    What, though no mice are caught by a young kitten,

    Till its claws come ? Prithee, for this one time,

    Content thee with a visionary rhyme.

    Qu’est-ce que tu n’es, Marie, mordue par les critiques

    (les vipères tuent, raide mort), par quelque revue,

    Que tu brûles ces poésies à peine lues, rachitiques

    et sans histoire, prisonnières du doute et de la boue !

    Que, malgré que les chatonnes n’attrapent souris, morpions ni tiques,

    que quand leurs ongles ont durci ? Je t’en prie, pour mon absence,

    contente toi du justificatif d’une vision dépourvue de nuance.

    What hand would crush the silken-winged fly,

    The youngest of inconstant April’s minions,

    Because it can not climb the purest sky,

    Where the swan sings, amid the sun’s dominions ?

    Not thine. Thou knowest ’tis its doom to dy,

    When day shall hide within her twilight pinions,

    The lucent eyes, and the eternal smile,

    Serene as thine, which lent it life awhile.

    De quel doigt s’écrase la mouchette soyeuse,

    la plus jeune d’Avril et ses mignonnes inconstantes,

    parce qu’elle ne grimpe le ciel, ni la pureté de la chose,

    où copule la voix du cygne et fait signe la planète ardente ?

    Pas tes doigts. Tu connais la coupole où meurt cette rose,

    Quand le jour doit se fermer dans les pignons ouverts et les amandes béantes

    de son regard sans temps, et son sourire serein comme le tien

    ressemble à la vie que tu as donné à l’aimant d’une jeune aimante.

  80. shock hazard dit :

    the air conditionar
    is like ocean reef

    toucan solide
    en sa demeure

  81. Manuel dit :

    Scientology cops gazing the masses

    messes of orgy stoning the tops of rat

    and the kingdom of the rat is next to a dreaming cat.

    Wich is Paris coaching ?

    Cockroaching.

    And this is tender

    as the firsts yawls of thy son´s Fender.

  82. Manuel dit :

    MAI 68 ET SES DÉRIVES
    L’ÈRE MITTÉRAND ET SES DÉRIVES
    HEUREUSEMENT QU’ENFIN TOUT EST SOUS CONTRÔLE

    I gave you a bit of sperm

    nobody knows this inside you

    abortion is just a pleasure of your thought

    you ask me so much blood

    because it’s sweeter than a poor drop of male misery

    I could agree it’s better and starve meanwhile as I drink

    hard coffee of disappearing downstairs

    now I know the colour your master had set

    on the dusty velvet of the steps to fever

    good friends seem to me tormented

    good friends sink and disolve on your black magic

    and it is the command of my instinct

    Queen Nature, naked truth, taking through your throat

    and your fingertips’ betrayal the whole mass of life on my bones

  83. auddie dit :

    I’m so glad to do not have to read and stand those facebook bullshits anymore, when people say what they think when they think about it, ridiculous and embarrassing exhibitionism, expression of the inner void, irrespect, lies and bad taste. It’s so small, so weak. That is -walking on your virtual spirit-. It’s maybe the most pathetic way of communicating ever, the opposite of politeness, the reign of selfishness, the reign of small ego. At each stupid messages, you become so commun. Your soul is spread out to ashes.

  84. skybambi dit :

    Rewind Script glance Tell Soft Cell Libération Weiter laufen Skybambi Antwort böse, weil, warum? substrat aux riches Sub traurig. fin de transmission.

  85. skybambi dit :

    com on get me com on get me
    crass crass crass crass crass
    hélas hélas hélas hélas hélas

  86. Anonyme dit :

    where is your mind ?
    oh, my sweet blind
    a long calling from christal’s bad
    or not
    sir, yes, sir
    bring me to the shivering point of the craddle
    with a lot of rules
    a lot of wildeness maybe
    chrome-me
    to the loneliness
    at time
    at freedom
    at middle

    where nothing is only moon
    moon just like you
    or waiting for your rain, honey

    heart motion
    I can’t stop it
    I can’t sop it
    only you, once upon a tale
    tell and tell
    at spell
    a lovely fang of door
    I catch, I catch, I catch
    urban fire ball
    the once upon the time during this sweet nothing in no sens
    no blast
    no sword
    no whispering stars
    may-be the 06 of quest

  87. jerome dit :

    American
    Way
    Of
    Death

  88. auddie dit :

    Trough rivers of internet,
    facebook screams like morbid dogs

  89. bissecta dit :

    The spacesuit of light kissing the planet
    Full height hollow lack
    It whispers in the dark
    Where clones are shivering under trust’s credit
    Beneath your trembling veil of flashs
    The sun mask can’t hide your private night
    Tragedy for everyone: it’s not enough
    King cold heart on the cristal of black tears
    Lonely auditor of silence for silence
    Dressed in sonorous skin of light
    With the easy burn of each sense
    He is finaly his own night
    Murdering love and exploding being
    The wheel will always wish

  90. bissecta dit :

    Through hatching was affixed.
    To those who cry, little top decoy.
    Waves.
    And of course, the whip of creation.
    The H-bomb of humanism.
    My preference: the swarming squiggles that inking the abyss.
    Cravings to compute.
    The eye that looks at the eye.
    Biting the last joint of the thumb …
    Some know.
    Thank failure.
    The golden baby already loves night.
    Go anywhere to sit in a dream with a dream.
    Dreaming the day.
    Nowhere is this state.
    With a dream.
    Refines the night,
    The concrete, naughty secret of darkness.
    Wait.
    Hear the universal reading.
    Tend to leave slavery to freedom human being.
    Through has forked the vision.
    Provided …
    And proof of the perpetuity of failure.

    Insert

  91. Manuel dit :

    Her eyes were two pissing babes

    thinking on me, fellows,

    she was ruled by the correct Dharma.

    Logic and Reason

    if you’re an amazone

    you’ll amputate one

    Pimpy cat for a sardine profile

    as the kiss of North in heavenly dreams

  92. Manuel dit :

    Alex quicked me out

    bloqué

    it matters to her my not to be her fellow in the shade of glamour

    as I talk as I talk to my friends

    it’s a happy sunday, whatever

    lol

  93. bissecta dit :

    Always say they are guilty to keep peace inside.
    Old strategy.
    If only tomorow we could rise in a road made of ashes.
    Borderline blacksmith.
    If only tomorow we could land on a moving state.
    Shadow sparring.
    If only tomorow we could fall into a fleeting incantation.
    Martial’s jam.
    And talk about the others who are in fact in our behalf.
    Mirroring behaviour.
    Lovely way to struggle
    to be twin
    between sand and see.

  94. auddie dit :

    Hello !

    Just a short message to know more about somebody from ” Palo Alto, California, United States” …

  95. in solidarity for himself dit :

    nice drumer in my chest, Damen drumer let my neck move, uptight, chase an upset akt, nice esther, i sware this is not a game, this is a hurra

  96. auddie dit :

    You wisper on high land term of nauseabond empathy for beauty, and you discover that only extrem surrealistic, or -sub-realistic- words are coming to you, licking your reptilian brain untill you wake up on a putrescent (but smelling good) bunch of roses. It hurts. But also, it’s joyfull, because this is the day you realise how artificial and nasty and superficial a creature of nord xxxxx can be. Slyness has got to frontier, no age, and no predessecors. It has always been here. And then, you think about drinking a coffe, but you don’t have anymore. Then. you cry, or you make music, or you just stop gripping and grinding and squeezing in front of your bloody screen, realizing the waste of time and energy you did, and how blind you were. Suddenly, you also make a big decision: you will never be that weak again.

  97. stupid girl dit :

    stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl

  98. Anonyme dit :

    nobody’sleading

  99. ed flis dit :

    [20:09:57] Ed Flis:

    sweaty men, dancing
    i love to see their penis
    let’s take some drugs now

  100. auddie dit :

    Time white black noise,
    a winter morning spreads the word.
    It’s snow flakes and we say huuuu.. hooooouuuu.
    On the floor run grey snakes, it’s the bikes, it’s the bikes!
    Ghost humans from yesterday.

  101. headroom dit :

    one day we’ll also clench to our signs of youth
    printed on our jute bags
    repeated on the color schemes and patter we wear
    on our tongues
    nailed to our forehead
    the chatter of resistance
    by which we have been surviving
    our daily lives of never ending past
    look where we’ve been going to
    so far – next to what we never wanted
    while we still hold the candles of our identities close to the heart
    we won’t let go of the sausage on the fishing rod because it gets us anywhere
    acceleration
    packing the amplitudes vibrates the present
    that is the future

  102. maximum dit :

    maximum

  103. dead end dit :

    0

  104. Arthur-Louis Cingualte dit :

    - Hey Cingualte, where you been ?

    – Blowing some “zzzz” on my patio
    (what a motherfuckin’ view)
    thinking of my tropical goes
    exotic tune, the one, the new
    “moons mourns” in face 0
    (Face B just blows)
    It sings for prune breasted viragos
    feels like licking king’s hoes toes
    (her nails in the nest)

    See that scarlet truth :
    It’s just me ambushed what ever occur
    All my indian jewelry tryin’ to shine hard
    while cooking some voodoo dew for you

  105. dead end dit :

    in the sky waves a banner – there are people on it, sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s, in the concert hall, on the streets. nothing happens. they start stabbing each other.

  106. Lars Stuquise dit :

    Justin comes from the south but he’s doin’ it well, banging the squain in hood no metro, no doors, no heaven

    in laminat way to score,
    …………………………………… he’s a hero

  107. Lars Stuquise dit :

    this a provocation between the peopople, from the people

  108. Lars Stuquise dit :

    and for that you will do things that people will never understand

  109. manuel dit :

    Let’s touch just one leg
    of the Goddess
    of the Goddess
    leg of the Goddess
    the Goddess has no one
    another
    no one another
    blind man of the cavern
    she should suggest
    she would suggest in your prayar
    gest in your prayar
    you stand in the dark
    fire is warm
    smoke is the Goddess

  110. manuel dit :

    This chicks really make me go Ronal Reagan

  111. harold dit :

    The kick really makes me do Aaron Bradley

  112. one two one two dit :

    blue spring mornings with memories of lost moments
    the world works, it grows
    still there’s another small winter ahead, a week or two
    unfolding its tiny wrinkly leaves
    into the cold

  113. Anonyme dit :

    because you were a lady

    I wrote poetry and went trash

    and was not in the fit nor suitable

    for you were those times a kiss-kiss and it’s all over now

  114. Anonyme dit :

    golden smell of love and innocence

    you spoke so cute and hard, you, shine eyes

    you sat on my mind melting as honey and garbage under the rain

    pure intoxication of the moon, the plague of pleasure and thought’s surrender

    forget me not even if I was nothing but smoke

  115. dram queen dit :

    I was hard with you, long time no speak white shelves surrounded by culture

    honey moon dreamed by, passed by, and Rome was a city where Grace Jones had a coma

    time and innoncence since our wedding are inequal

    in the rooted symphony of love

  116. sun dit :

    in the abstract space
    blakkkk plastikkk
    thunderholes the lightning flashes streaking through
    along the red plastic rain
    while the floor rises up into the wormhole where
    there is a sun that needs to be seen
    made of red glass
    trembling
    in a black empty space
    bubble bath of red foam swarms
    emerging from the white metal disc
    filling the space around
    boiling blood
    i take a step back
    and forth
    the metal barrel leading through the middle
    while my eyes follow where red spheres go
    i get distracted
    and follow the course of the barrel
    into it
    inside
    into the center
    foaming spheres crossing my way
    into the oven
    quivering
    i am not getting burned
    leaving through its walls
    outside
    next to the barrel
    i switch into the open space

  117. naia dit :

    Run Run

    Black Leather Paw
    pink stain
    limp…

    Run Run
    Anyway

  118. the move dit :

    while thoughts still digest afterimages on invisible third eyelids
    movement already got there
    in layers the present
    produces the next images
    echoing on retinas —
    if a presence only
    would burn so brightly as
    to grasp so tightly that
    all veils fall
    and object and image burn into one
    memory of what they are

  119. the move dit :

    job slime slides down her jacket, crawling into every pore of her skin, slowly taking up all the space around her, on her, in her, crawling up her throat, gurgling in her larynx – she takes a shower, dresses in something else, something beautiful, but still the slime sits in her throat, suffocating, blinding her sight. she feels sick like throwing up. FUCKK OFFF, GO AWAYYYY, she yells at the big fat slime, but it won’t move. she feels like fighting it back with some dry, burning whiskey. just knock it in its ugly face. smashing its jelly into a thousand pieces, burning them afterwards, blowing it all up.

  120. xXxXxXx dit :

    xXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx
    xXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx
    xXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
    xxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxxxxxx
    xxxxxTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXTTTTTTTTTTTTTxXXXXXXXXX
    teeth………………………………………………….
    cross the fence
    eyes stare
    into the void
    it’s not the ocean
    it’s the throat in front of you
    people pass by
    and look into those windows
    of yours
    1
    drip of blood
    that’s all the story needs

  121. xXxXxXx dit :

    eyes seem to be straight forward but sometimes they’re looping back inside our heads. I don’t know if chameleons hurt all the time. they look pretty happy as far as I can see.

  122. the move dit :

    windowglass
    touching outside in
    the abstract sun
    ———–>
    refined thinking movement expanding
    <———–
    laughing a story
    *without quote signs and bubbles
    growing a new limb

  123. the move dit :

    there’s a wind howling
    outside the new day rises
    hands moving the rest

  124. auddie dit :

    there’s a move holding
    inside the old bellies (lakes)
    gravity’s hiding the best

    monsters sounds are poping the surface

  125. auddie dit :

    people dressed in black
    floating in the park
    they look on the left
    they look on the right
    their mind’s a grand theft
    of truth. drops of daylight
    are shining on their glasses
    hope they’ll back on the tracks
    of good circumstances
    Obscenity is a lack
    grounded by fusion of love
    with a ketamine dove
    dry, rude and borded
    they cross the road to the späti
    tattoos, ears like weels
    same shoes, same pants, same T-shirt
    like the first hypster “doh”
    escaped from the church
    just arrived in town
    certain to be there
    where no one can be
    fascinated by love
    with a salt desert owls
    sharing twisted smiles
    and tambourin souls
    waiting for their man
    “what you’re doin’ uptown?
    Hey white boy, you chasin’ my women around ? ”

    She’s transparent, I’ve left her down behind…
    Mother techno forgot about her sons
    (and daughters) who look for something …

    … to look for …

    chorus:

    something’s missing / something’s missing!

    Probably words and emotions

    Probably emotions and words

    Probably you and me

    tryin’ to exceed

    the party theory.

    .
    .

  126. the move dit :

    it’s all there; all ways, all time
    – a matter of faith

    someone’s cutting his live fence in the shape of heart and says “how beautiful!” to his wife.
    – living in the doghouse of love

  127. cedar room dit :

    humble
    i lie
    waiting

    shrowded in darkness
    raw
    open

    twisted
    tangled
    torn

  128. manuel dit :

    yum yum and bee queen

    harmony among and between

    the full skull of my cock free sing

    crazy crazy lord

  129. St John silva dit :

    oh yo yo the charm is never killed

    just a minute, and the warm kid bill

    comes over and over now

  130. manuel dit :

    I look at you praying and sighing

    I’m piously affectionate

    I’m a loser

    come to me, in your mind

    just in your mind and fuck

  131. manuel dit :

    je suis un des rares cas qui existent dans le monde de fumeur pas débrouillard

  132. manuel dit :

    the straight dog was walking across

    i couldn’t fix the key to the heaven

    i was you and i was me, and the straight dog

    was a golden shit of dream

  133. cedar room dit :

    stumbling blindly
    into oblivion

    grasping, groping
    clutching thin air

    blundering onwards
    bludgeoned

    flailing
    falling
    fucked.

  134. Scarlet dit :

    frozen grass
    waters black
    ice is thinning

    paper bags
    broken glass
    no one’s listening

    all for less
    all for less
    all for less
    all for less

  135. cedar room dit :

    beneath the surface
    a monster lies in wait
    tightening its hold on my fears
    clutching at my throat
    tightening its grasp
    with every breath

    ages spent
    slumbering
    lying in wait
    ready to resurface
    gathering momentum
    waiting
    ready to pounce

    teenage angst
    stifling
    gouging
    clawing
    gripping
    ..perpetuated.

  136. chedar cheese dit :

    On the surface
    a monster melted weight
    targetings its hold on my tears
    sliding my throat
    tightening its wrasp
    with every breath

    tartine, pommes
    wondering
    lying in wait
    ready to absorb
    alcool momentum
    wait
    ready to bounce

    teenage hunger
    licking
    asking
    crowling
    catching
    grabing
    hamburgerized

  137. cedar room dit :

    Fromage

    from age
    foraged wisdom

    from aged
    furrowed brows

    from age
    furtive knowledge

    from age
    fictional fraud

    ..forever scorned

  138. manuel dit :

    all fur ladies

    all Venuses

    come haunt

    my brain like a sex of a victim

  139. manuel dit :

    trembling down

    pissing bombs go easy

    fuck stockings of blue decay

    fever nothing sucking the lipstick

  140. Manuel dit :

    let me see the pissing one

  141. auddie dit :

    ancient beat against
    modern hype against
    politic against
    facebook dive against
    heart of stone against
    instant rebels cause against
    sert à rien ce que tu dis contre
    indigne-toi dans une blague carambar contre
    tu fais quoi pour ton voisin contre
    ferme bien ta gueule avec ton baratin pourri contre
    je hais les architectes contre
    la star c’est le chimiste contre
    techno is dead contre
    films de merde en streaming contre
    ich bin weit von dir gegen
    pass auf sie sind überall gegen
    niemand ist schuld mehr gegen
    scheiss techno commerz bank weiss t-shirt gegen
    scheiss club scheiss touristen ich bin ein von dem gegen
    ich falle auf dich betrunken unter MD am sonntag gegen
    t’es bien sûr de ce que tu racontes que t’es indigné contre
    your screen is killing you against
    big cities are killing you against
    run after nothing against
    the force against
    you are a paradox against
    moment of sweetness against
    moments of crime.

    *

    “bullshits midnight on facebook i won’t go to bed before saying an other one”

    berlin, mittwoch 12 mai of putain de deux mille treize. 1h27

  142. Moving out of c(h)ed(d)ar rooms dit :

    “Portrait of the artist as a middle-aged man, and other stories”

    *

    sale pute contre
    tu me rends fou contre
    fucking bitch against
    fucking hard again(st)
    paradoxal statements against
    paradisal places against
    tu es malade contre
    comme la folie contre
    je suis malade moi-meme contre
    laisse-moi! contre
    baise-moi contre

    ego trips gegen
    frankreich-trips gegen
    wer gewinnt hier eigentlich gegen wen?
    gegen
    einfach nur da-gegen..?

    Muse gesucht gegen
    tiefschwarze Löcher gegen
    Clichés confirmed against
    “the lady doth protest too much, methinks” against
    puppetmaster powerplay against
    self-doubt and self-despise against
    destroy her self (-worth) against
    to restore myself against
    “all that (s)he wants is another baby” again(st)
    the shrowd of darkness again(st)
    platform posts and sms-shit again(st)
    unwritten poems on perfectly flat stones against

    pourqoui pas, par contre,
    against all odds ?
    a gain,
    gaining – instead of just against, again.

  143. jack maroual dit :

    liquid day
    flat tire
    africa
    rendez-vous

  144. cannissas dit :

    ‘ seems like tryin to forget takes more time than tryin’ to know (secret of the universe)

  145. Mon coeur est vide / Calva dit :

    Murals on sea walls
    Kindred spirits
    ..but from a different hell.
    Soft centre, hard shell
    Scar tissue, gouged
    Bled out, let out.
    Close, but not close enough
    Similar, but not the same.
    Erratic like the wind
    Solitary as the woods
    A tempest in a glass.
    Heart and soul
    held in slippy palms
    played to the beat.
    Tightened grasp,
    balmy heat, then
    flung away.
    Too much, too soon
    or too little, too late.
    Another boat on the slipway
    ..let her to sea.

  146. etel dit :

    it’s beautifull

  147. Anonyme dit :

    We can’t give you the fame you merit

    you’re closed as a baby god into an egg

    you ask for things you do not really want

    how could we give them to you ?

  148. Anonyme dit :

    How is no question
    Why is one of them
    past can tell
    future too

    as you say, it’s not written

    other times will bring other points of view

  149. Anonyme dit :

    but
    HE
    don’t
    CHANGE
    He’s always there
    for YOU

  150. Anonyme dit :

    I send merry kisses
    to spitting milk and honey lonesome horses
    and i dream on a casttle
    where i find a key

  151. Belz / To Etel (Hell) and back again dit :

    A liquid night
    Gliding through monotonous beats
    Monochrome cello
    Dances with wolves
    Daybreak by the water
    Softly the sun whispers
    Caressing my skin
    Beckoning..

    I return to my cage
    Courters left at the wayside
    Steely-eyed and panting
    Grasping at waifs
    Left and right.

    Madness takes its toll
    My arms tighten
    My body cramps
    My mind races
    Like Pynchon´s Parabel
    No solace to be found
    In the familiarity of enclosure
    Home, but not at home.

    Dark, ruby warmth springs forth
    From deep wells of flesh
    Like black fluid gold
    ..but with an iron taste
    The exhileration of release
    Like an orgasm of pain.
    I sink back into the pillows
    now sterile and white,
    which once carried your scent.

    Fall into memories
    Of tangled sweaty sheets
    You, devouring my lap
    Bury myself once more in your core
    Écarte les jambes!
    Haunting like a lullaby
    Mais j´ai écarté mon coeur.

    Relieved for a moment
    But broken nonetheless.
    Take me away
    To an ivory palace
    Gold and silver gates enwrought with the half-light
    Where tempests turn to tranquility.

    ************

    le chien dompté
    tranquilisé
    identité oublié
    échappé involontaire

    la louve repris sa liberté.

  152. Vincent Zeroun dit :

    Present crime,
    Stuck in my room,
    No way out,
    No other communication,

    The truth is covered,
    Reasons hidden by governements agencies,
    If demoocraty,
    People should have public Access,

    I´m fuck up.
    Love killed me.
    …Sans assistance medicale et politique no puedo desvelar mas cosas…

  153. Manuel dit :

    God indeed was on your side, and not Satan
    Those days my sorrow Love Love of Loves
    You where daughter, queen, sister and saint
    not a harlot short of shame

    *

    How sure was I knew your sort of kind
    and you blew hate on my mind
    You spied my love letters with a sexy hand on my bag
    you reciebed my head on your face at the knocking of sperm
    mystery and wonder you where able to faint

    *

    Cenci fucked the daughter, he fucked the queen, the sister
    Cenci fucked the saint and he put a spell
    He walked out of the place, he went far away
    taking all the books on an arm embrace

    *

    a guardian was set on her lover’s sex
    oral or moral not the love let reign without success
    peeping my verse, evil was your place’s air
    as fair as my mouth without my teeth together was set

  154. Move dit :

    Punctured flesh
    Pierced breast
    Biopsy me
    Mamography
    ruins Autopbiography
    Scar tissue
    Avoided issue
    Don´t you wish you
    Never knew

  155. Voile / Vie dit :

    Sails set
    Afloat on a full sea
    Bound by false wisdom
    Of the earths` sphericity
    And yet and yet and yet
    Man hath no knowledge
    Of Scylla and Charbridis
    Our world is but a disc
    And we shall topple off the edge
    In search of irrelevant truth
    Blundering blindly
    Into a tempestuous abyss.

  156. auddie dit :

    Deep oceans of love.
    Earth
    also contains
    high clouds of …
    mmm…. some kind of eletrical tension

    an opposite and you’re the axis

    face on ground
    body snatch! body snatch!

    now !

    face on earth,
    centered line,
    day of birth
    (ancient rhymes)
    fix the sealing
    no more dropsdroguedog
    pin it feeling
    hoch im wind

    faith on earth, on a spin
    you choose to face
    magic twin :

    two masks and you choose one
    bad cat, body snatch

    two masks and you choose one
    good cat, unmask at or mask at

    find the balance
    in you inner fleshbodystep

  157. auddie dit :

    enola ton er’uoy

  158. Voile / Vie dit :

    enola eid dna enola nrob

  159. art as the prototype in the age of superabundance dit :

    work as the elimination of cruelty
    work as the elimination of cruelty

  160. auddie dit :

    violins not in vain
    echos in the wind
    they rebuilded my head
    warm strenght who taste mint

  161. art as the prototype in the age of superabundance dit :

    mediocrity rules
    where quality equals the most common face
    up in new jersey they found a gigantic sea lamprey
    its neck opening right into a gaping mouth
    a straw of love
    the sadness of generations waiting in spines to be released
    meanwhile the circulation between legs goes on unnoticed
    the common face shows no sign of compassion

  162. art as the prototype in the age of superabundance dit :

    in the capital of nihilism
    the velocity of decay
    matters
    in an infinite cycle of endings
    piles of dust
    giving birth to spirits rising with the speed of light
    to a place where god is born in every heartbeat

  163. art as the prototype in the age of superabundance dit :

    spaceship – tar and metal
    a hull made to fit its purpose
    an environment unknown
    stardust with endless forces
    particles integrated
    around that gravity that keeps them radiating within

  164. Manuel dit :

    I will sing you the Balad of Don Juanito
    a coming out freak spaniard espanolito
    I was there for I have my obligations
    I was singing and giving painting lessons to the world, to the world, and
    Nobody writings story forever and together and dancing dancing of sound

  165. auddie dit :

    ………………….…↓………………………………………..↓………………………………………↓……………………………..

    →……………. In the name of love …………………. sings a gentle ghost…………………the song of a secret draw
    →……………. I switch off the feeling’s……………..stripped by long silences……………and some dark brown eyes
    →……………. heavy melody………………………….instead of abstract tunes……………is always a pleasure
    →……………. instead of getting burned……………I look at him and laugh……………….like a cold adult fire
    →……………. down by words………………………..I swallow and detune………………..repressed by the end of fear.

  166. detox dit :

    amazing well founded balance

    moulding left and right

    without any psycho fart.

  167. xoted dit :

    oh thank you for your post card.

  168. crab tactics dit :

    it’s always the end of fear every time one just had a fresh punch in someone’s face
    punch or be punched – that’s the rule
    shapeshifting in real time
    but industry’s over and there’s a degree of true ugliness
    maybe it’s a symptom of decay
    it’s neither funny, nor beautiful and certainly not inspiring
    a lack of gratitude and appreciation –
    a huge shadow of connectivity
    collecting the admirers and the admired –
    there’s certainly an area
    presumably around the stomach
    which knows no forward nor backward
    just sideways – a desert
    black hole – charge and recharged in consumption, eating batteries
    if it’s for the extraction of another physical remainder
    who cares
    in the endless cycles of drainage
    an insect chain of ongoing vertebrae liquid extraction – it keeps some species alive

    we all choose how we want to be remembered
    sometimes a little reality-check does enough to adjust memory

    it’s subtle and invisible like a punch in the face

  169. an emulation of something that's always ahead and behind dit :

    between paradigms
    lies the abyss of indignity

    taking the next steps
    simplicity and vulnerability sticking to the shoe soles
    giving a wonderful light and soft feeling in the walk, a heavy laughter clearing the lungs

  170. auddie dit :

    ………………….…↓………………………………………..↓………………………………………↓……………………………..

    →…………….It’s always …………………….invisible like a punch ………………….to adjust memory……….
    →……………. Who cares about…………….insect chain of ongoing …………….. in someone’s face ………
    →……………. it’s subtle and ……………….charged and recharged ………………in the stomach …………
    →……………. enough to adjust…………….to be remembered……………………..to be forgotten……….

  171. MANUEL dit :

    http://soundcloud.com/manuel-montero/joint-projects

    A FORM OF SATELLITE OF LOVE
    PISSED OFF FANTASY SMELL OF BEAUTY
    THE GOING OF POETRY SPEAKER ON THE ROAD OF FLESH
    SLEEPING CUTE SATAN ON THE BLANCKET OF THE DOOR
    COFFE ALONE
    CONVICTIONS FLASHING LIKE STUPIDOUS

  172. MANUEL dit :

    sitting down by the fire
    i realized i was not there
    and i was alone
    not home not in your sweet chest and arms
    not kissing the boobs of my girl
    not foolish as a dog
    but smoking on the floor of a garage called
    and singing for the mean screen

  173. Manuel dit :

    I will sing you the Balad of Don Juanito
    a coming out freak spaniard espanolito
    I was there for I have my obligations
    I was singing and giving painting lessons to the world, to the world, and
    Nobody writings story forever and together and dancing dancing of sound

  174. i've been doing the dishes today dit :

    i’ve been doing the dishes today
    i’ve been doing the dishes the day before
    i’ve been doing the dishes two days ago
    i’ve been doing the dishes three days ago
    i’ve been doing the dishes four days ago
    i’ve been doing the dishes five days ago
    i’ve been doing the dishes six days ago
    i’ve been doing the dishes a week ago

  175. brushes and peas dit :

    recorded breath

    trembling

    white plastic hair or black
    long neck

    bulgy eyes round mouth
    sucking in spaghetti

    realistic photographs:
    smiling a second
    before taken without permission

    gross stories unpacked
    as a time-pass
    to avoid something worse

    one on top of another

    food stained

    piles upon piles
    collecting garbage
    someone’s little paradise – holding hands in the local green area, eating ice cream,
    broken genital poetry
    one taking refuge in the other
    cutesy high-pitched dreams
    the last stand
    of dying libidoes
    in an empty world

    as long as we can blame america we’re safe

  176. the red thread dit :

    bleeding trail

  177. Anonyme dit :

    […] can’t erase itself

    Follow the white rabbit

    and its marxist poetry

  178. the move dit :

    sometimes known as a spectre
    the perception of a living being or inanimate object with no material stimulus for such a perception
    soul, the incorporeal essence of a living being or inanimate object

    contents [hide]

    1 Film
    2 Television
    3 Gaming
    4 Literature
    5 Music
    5.1 Performers
    5.2 Albums
    5.3 Songs
    6 Other uses
    7 See also

  179. Manuel dit :

    j’ai fait un tel effort à dire que ma vie était vrai
    j’ai fumé jusqu’à perdre conscience
    j’ai reçu des messages que même les anges ne rêvent pas
    j’ai commencé à lire ma bibliothèque par le livre qui traîne dans ton lit

  180. Manuel dit :

    babies read hiéroglyphes in the rock
    over forty you’re gypsy and wealthy loser
    voice of fuckinr mama is lemon juice in a locust

  181. Manuel dit :

    si mi vida o tu vida fueran menos tristes de contar
    las largas piernas como rios en el plano del aire de la habitacion
    los corchos menos tango
    los golpes mas idiotas
    la vida una gloria en el cartel de actualidad
    menos tango
    menos tango enfermera
    menos tango virgencita
    a la hora del café
    a la hora donde muere el gato del recuerdo y a correr
    donde explota el cine
    y el patron se cuela sin respeto cuando es joven cuando es viejo
    y te engano tanto que lo lloro sin secretos con los humedos jornales del pescado del pescado viejo

  182. Illusions of grandeur dit :

    Better to have been broken and loved, than to have lived and never loved at all
    Ego precedes all
    The taker of everything
    Yet the receiver of none
    Illusions of grandeur

    Find solace in pain,
    Not comfort in words.
    Like Dorian Gray
    Narcissus Amaryllidaceae
    A snail in a shell.
    The first shall be the last
    Bludgeoned to death, in the dreams of unrequited “love”
    Illusions of grandeur

    Push and withdraw
    With the (un)intention to break
    Stockholm syndrome
    Four months with the FARC
    Energy drawn from the suffering of others
    Proclamation of ideals and politeness
    Illusions of grandeur,
    of left ideals, of “scenic” ideology
    Putain de beau texte!
    But, in praxi, Malcolm Middeleton´s “Ballad of Fuck All”

    Miniscule manhood
    With a quickening tongue..
    ..Stroking le chat.
    Dead mouse left on a doorstep
    Illusions of grandeur

    Enough of that.

  183. dependence dit :

    “numbers are to the monad what the branches of the tree are to the seed of the tree”
    who would deny the fruits?

    opinion – where are you coming from? where are you going?

    “wall” = something in between
    it’s a matter of choice: “outside” |||||||| “inside”
    choose: “versus” ||||||| “vice versa”
    choose the application of windows or even doors.
    the structural synthesis of me and other.

    there is a superuser named “root”
    in windows root is called “administrator”,
    which can be a group also

    the superuser can do anything and everything,
    and thus doing daily work as the superuser can be dangerous.
    you could type a command incorrectly and destroy the system.

    Ideally, you run as a user that has only the privileges needed for the task at hand.
    Writing destiny.
    Fortune Cookie of the day: “Confidence is what you feel just before you fully understand the situation.”

  184. candy dit :

    five minutes of uh-lala drive

  185. Uh-lalalala dit :

    “Blow as hard as you can!” — at Tauchzentrale

  186. Emily Dickhead dit :

    I felt a funeral in my brain,
    And mourners, to and fro,
    Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
    That sense was breaking through.

    And when they all were seated,
    A service like a drum
    Kept beating, beating, till I thought
    My mind was going numb.

    And then I heard them lift a box,
    And creak across my soul
    With those same boots of lead,
    Then space began to toll

    As all the heavens were a bell,
    And Being but an ear,
    And I and silence some strange race,
    Wrecked, solitary, here.

    And then a plank in reason, broke,
    And I dropped down and down–
    And hit a world at every plunge,
    And finished knowing–then–

  187. Projection dit :

    Thick lashes
    like spiders legs
    Humid air
    On St. Johns River
    Not Hadriens Wall
    The smell of pussy
    Turns me on
    Like the blue hair of an artist
    I couldnt stay away
    I couldnt fight it
    Succulent lips with rabbit teeth
    Speaking of Sartre and Marley
    Hope on Hadrien´s Wall
    En route for the Seychelles
    Grandfather´s dead
    Dark cancerous mass
    Eating away
    Sumptious breast
    Aurora borealis
    Or simply wet dreams of an aurora
    Red perky nipples
    Feverish dreams of a childhood of spread open legs
    A cat stroked well
    To an irregular beat
    Roland – lost on the way home
    And now
    Danakil calls.. Afar militia
    Diving for life.

  188. Projection dit :

    The iceman cometh
    A play in four acts
    Breathing deadly air
    Freezing my thoughts
    Paralyzing my mind
    Butler Boulevard
    Raw tentacles reach for the void
    Cupcake dreams
    Colorado opens its doors
    To rid itself of vermin
    Crabcakes for dinner
    Alive in a secret place
    Life in secret places
    Moist and heavy the air hangs
    Fur coats and electric heaters
    In the sunshine state
    Wild geese on the pond
    Torrid reflections
    Wrapped in a shroud of wisdom
    With the sour taste of sex
    Deep below the earth.

  189. Projection dit :

    Neither a borrower nor a lender be
    A borrower of souls
    And a lender of love
    Cackling geese
    A solitary firecracker
    Illuminates the sky
    Beside a lone star on a rooftop
    Bleed on the inside
    I touch myself
    The pungent smell arouses emotions
    In a land of security operations
    Choose life
    On licence plates
    Like a perciflage of Trainspotting
    Supporting homeless troops
    Donald Duck babbling on
    In a drunken stupor
    High as a kite
    Chipotle sauce
    Obese neighbours
    The pipe is lit
    One last time.

  190. the turnpike dit :

    Blue cheese crumbles to Gascogne
    Virgin coconut oil soothes tired skin
    I have slipped inside the eye of my mind
    But the things that I find
    Make me want to fade away
    Slip and slide
    No more oasis
    Caught in a Limbo.

    Envelop me once more
    With the comfort of familiarity
    Breathe me in, so I can breathe you out
    With my last breath
    Before the ferryman takes me across the Styx
    Set me free the way only you can
    See me, like you saw me once before.

    But I don´t deserve release
    I won´t be granted my final wish
    No light at the end of the tunnel
    Forever bound to burn in eternal flames
    Like Dante´s inferno
    Chutney isn´t relish
    No salvation
    Lost in the endless corridors of my mind
    Like Hannibal Lecter
    A spiral labyrinth
    Downward bound
    Undercurrents have taken hold
    Firmly, strongly,
    An iron grip.
    Will I ever finish knowing ..
    When?

  191. auddie dit :

    I think the sense of ubiquity that provide social networking, be everywhere, all the time, tends to equalize the values of large cities, and even to lessen, to diminish them.

    Paris, Berlin, New-York, Tokyo, Moscow, Rio, are no longer the “place to be”. That place doesn’t exist anymore. If I’m right… In this case… it may explain many of the frustrations that I can see with my contemporaries who do not know where to look or what to do.

    The ambivalence of jobs also, atmospheres and critical pressures. Many people are trapped, without even considering the possibility of a political vision of a claim. This same concept of dispute is forgotten.

    Only possible alternative: the loss, isolation, rebirth, elsewhere perhaps.

    Maybe …

  192. auddie dit :

    ground zero of touchdown and lazer and disapearing like a bird
    one head of candy giant desire love 6 colors (no green) & saucer
    2step is a forgotten music, like tribe, plainwords and honnesty
    three channels radio in the first extracellularworld are not enough
    fourtet setup with old fashioned gears, always modern gesture
    five minutes of uh-lala drive, always modern structure
    six is not a number. it’s a trap, it’s before seven (u can’t stop)
    eight bars in a raw, slopes and vaults, we are from the vultures
    nine is a tender snapshot received back alone on a highway rain
    ten bucks for a poem. I should be rich.

    really rich

    you can’t imagine how rich

    rythms and flows and pictures and repetitions and styles and patterns and these nervous elements hidden under my tongue

    and when somebody ask you about your favorite color,

    you choosed one because of

    the

    sound

    of

    it

    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    .
    (green, blue.. not the clor, the sound it makes in your brain)

    .
    .
    .BLM / auddie “english texts” . berlin 2014

  193. the turnpike dit :

    rich ruby red cheeks
    blushed from the cold
    breath crystalizing in arctic air
    on the six
    tunnel vision
    döner stench
    a cascade of emotions
    muscle cramps from laps on the hamster wheel
    liberation
    from that cunt
    huxley´s neue welt
    venison from the hunter in a cranberry sauce
    minute technical details
    nothing special
    living zen.

  194. the turnpike dit :

    On lâche rien
    Puking in lamps
    Blue is the warmest colour
    Too much wine
    Kammerkonzert
    Akkordarbeit
    Koko works at Haus am Waldsee
    But it`s still a fiction
    Vomit in a bucket
    Sued by the Chinese
    Infatuation is real
    Erta Ale
    Diving with whale sharks
    On va voir,
    We try to help each other
    I can imagine what she is feeling
    Intimacy is tried to make happy through nakedness
    Five to six months
    Working seven days a week
    Plastic pussy
    So many texts
    Oh no I just let you
    I don`t even know.

    Moi encore.

  195. Manue1 dit :

    The best green be1ongs to the 4ast

    fortake a11 of you, and fast

    No city, no cité, no ca4ita1

    just your smi1ing 1ick on a fema1e toe

  196. Manue1 dit :

    Katharina exce11Ent historian
    Katharina queen of the beach
    Katharina cou1d’nt meet his storian
    Katharina 4oot your tear in cheese

  197. Manue1 dit :

    Nobody has seen her come on sexy ra4ture
    Nobody Nobody has reach the kiss

    My friend was weating to 4ower the hea1

    She said a1ways the day you a44roach my 1eve1

    She A1ways says

    Sex sex sex

    (not 4hi1oso4hy)

  198. Manue1 dit :

    4ut this on Chinese Ambient

  199. Manue1 dit :

    Have a s4ecia1 hate to guys simi1ar to U2 singer

    One of them send my friend 7i1y out of the window of great high

    on1y magic saved her

  200. Manue1 dit :

    ra4ture of imagination and free 1ife
    takes great gir1s to war

    torture of my body fa11ing in he11
    today makes night become a11 of a year

    sorcery is chea4 in mud town the s4ring of wa1king roses
    sorcery is chea4 and it is too ridicu1ous not to make me rich at once

  201. Manue1 dit :

    sorcery fai11ure disaster of witchcraft of this 41ace to be
    kan not abso1te1y enter my count nor yours nor get fixed at once
    shame on cats, shame on dogs, shame on me this night of boi1ing frogs
    my bones are rotten wood of a cast1e in S4ain
    my feet are equal to your high hee1 scanda1
    my ears are equaI to baby waIking in my dreams

  202. Manue1 dit :

    un mé1ange de ce1a

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GGeSZOiWjA&list=RDkKqmvNQAA5E

    et d’ambiance chinoise

  203. the turnpike dit :

    W. B. Saloppe – The Circus Animals’ Desertion

    I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
    I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
    Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
    I must be satisfied with my heart, although
    Winter and summer till old age began
    My circus animals were all on show,
    Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
    Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.

    What can I but enumerate old themes,
    First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose
    Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams,
    Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose,
    Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems,
    That might adorn old songs or courtly shows;
    But what cared I that set him on to ride,
    I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride.

    And then a counter-truth filled out its play,
    ‘The Countess Cathleen’ was the name I gave it;
    She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away,
    But masterful Heaven had intervened to save it.
    I thought my dear must her own soul destroy
    So did fanaticism and hate enslave it,
    And this brought forth a dream and soon enough
    This dream itself had all my thought and love.

    And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread
    Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea;
    Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said
    It was the dream itself enchanted me:
    Character isolated by a deed
    To engross the present and dominate memory.
    Players and painted stage took all my love,
    And not those things that they were emblems of.

    Those masterful images because complete
    Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
    A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
    Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
    Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
    Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder’s gone,
    I must lie down where all the ladders start
    In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

  204. roy rogers junior dit :

    don’t wanna choose between revolt and slavery
    big tits, small tits
    death of bees or re-introducing wolves in canada
    I want to be black AND white
    women and a boy
    sad and brave
    happy and a coward
    above my speed limits
    not under your thumbs

  205. the turnpike dit :

    i´d rather reintroduce wolves and save the bees
    than worry about pencil skirts and reintroducing 80´s prints.
    many shades of grey can be mixed from black and white
    i want to feel them all.
    emotions are only in our minds according to joko beck
    yet your thumbs felt good on my pleasure button.
    to explore my limits and expand the limits of my mind
    i shall return to the great land i left, in search of hope on hadrien´s wall
    and dormant volcanoes

  206. Anonyme dit :

    names with other against anger private no

  207. Projection dit :

    booze on boats
    damp feet
    frozen toes
    blinding white snow
    slushy grey mess
    trudging through spreepark
    a family saga
    witte witte winter
    peruvian destruction
    german bureaucracy
    marcel’s in the slammer
    a true cocaine ride.
    live act or acting alive?!
    ass is always greener on wiesenway five
    gigs in denmark and suisse
    american politics bind us
    on the parking lot if life.
    snuggled up on lambswool
    no chestnuts roasting on an open fire
    he burries his face in my open gaping wound
    soft pulsating pink warmth
    aching for more
    on the avenue of carl marx the great.
    lonely locks and cold tresses
    are all you’re left with
    ctm meets transmediale
    records lie dusty on empty shelves
    a sound oftimes gone by
    cold studio mimicks a home
    pulsating sweetness
    dramatic allegory
    soft black leather gloves
    mio mein mio!
    my oh my.

  208. Projection dit :

    I imagined a world
    A better place for us
    A walk in a snowy park
    Champagne supernova in the sky
    I dreamt wistful dreams
    Til sense broke through
    Chemo dulls my senses
    Breaks my spirit
    Cuts my soul in two
    Worse than you ever did
    Rots my bones
    Scars my soul
    Worse than you ever could
    Fouls my skin
    But wasn´t enough
    Cut cut cut
    Blood blood blood
    Soft flesh so easy to remove
    Hard steel conquers all
    Chemo sterilises my dreams
    Kills my cells
    Chokes my breath
    Gasing for air
    Brutal and clear
    Deadly and here
    No more dreams for me.

  209. Michel Meyer dit :

    just call me god

    Love flows in my veins
    I’m no more human
    Standing above the world
    watching all those tiny troubles
    affection, hate, confinement
    what the fuck is this game  ?
    I’m not human anymore
    feel more like a dinosaure
    looking for other dinosaures
    to live a decent dinosaurian life
    though I use to be human
    I’m going to miss you all
    you dirty pieces of shit
    What do you want  ?
    What do you care  ?
    can’t you just rip out of my head  ?
    You’re killing me
    with your sad stories
    but oh Jesus, I can’t forget you  !
    and I’m not shure this is
    such a good news
    for you

  210. auddie dit :

    Night train to St Petersburg

    Crossing sharp valleys
    of beds and trolleys…
    touching dark forrests
    of feet and hairy chests…

    Night train, oh night train !
    You sound like a snoring worm
    snaking all my dreams in the rumble
    smoking the herrings in the jungle

    Night train, oh night train
    You are the ancient paths though hamony doors
    You are the melody of a non melodic world
    you make sing the poors, unchain the rich words.

  211. auddie dit :

    un milliard moins un
    A billion minus one
    ne pas oublier de vivre
    do not forget to live
    j’ai envie de sauvagerie, de saleté,
    call me back you b

    bunny

  212. honeybunny dit :

    sauvagerie ou connerie
    dirty bunny
    tits caked in honey
    wont do it for money

    but for a little pain
    got nothin to gain

    ring ring
    connard is falling
    bunny´s calling
    ..you out on your bs.

  213. honeybunny dit :

    Sometimes I just wanna sit down in the dark
    on a dirty park bench
    Next to those old smelly men I feed warm meals to on Wednesday nights
    And drink cheap booze until every cell in my body reaches a stupor
    and falls into a deep slumber
    From which there can be no awakening, no return.

    But I am too afraid of the unknown
    Of what lies beyond
    That I resist the urge while constantly battling it
    Caught in this hell due to an (ir)rational fear of the next
    Trapped in the limbo of life
    No escape.

    Constantly torn apart by the pull of both worlds
    The pull of opposite poles antagonising me.

    I look in the mirror
    But who is she?
    She is not me, she is not he,
    I cannot see.

    Nor will I ever be free.

    A bird in a golden cage, but Mr. Williams, Tennessee, hath no prayer for me.

    (“A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages”)

  214. Vincent dit :

    Ni la coca, ni la cola !!!

    nemidanam che manzel bood shab jayi ke man boodam;
    be har soo raghse besmel bood shab jayi ke man boodam.
    pari peykar negari sarv ghadi laleh rokhsari;
    sarapa afat-e del bood shab jayi ke man boodam.

    I wonder what was the place where I was last night,
    All around me were half-slaughtered victims of love, tossing about in agony.
    There was a nymph-like beloved with cypress-like form and tulip-like face,
    Ruthlessly playing havoc with the hearts of the lovers.

  215. Vincent dit :

    I had that love
    Shot me like a bullet
    Heavy strong
    Like megatons…
    Gigatons !….
    Nuked me in a second
    I felt a crash,
    And a white noise
    A deep crash, I guess I removed
    Big Bang, what do I know ?
    I woke up in a desert
    Playground had turned to zero
    Ancient stones kept standing
    Dark shades covering them
    Like Photographic Sequel of bodies
    Pulverized Carbon engraved ghost
    I’m still looking at the Picture
    This piece of life frozen in matter
    Forever
    Concrete
    In the wall
    Of time

    A vous tous et ceux qui manquent.
    Aux filles et aux mères…
    A ma revie, aux seconds souffles

  216. Vincent dit :

    Contre les élections truquées, le voyage astral…
    Banisteriopsis + Psychotria viidris = Ayahuasca
    harmaline + dmt = puissant medicament contre les mensonges et autres montages, plus renouvellement de l’adn…
    Testé et approuvé par le docteur A.Hoffman

  217. blonde dit :

    richie and rachel, brice not nice,
    he has a house in eygalieres and toulon
    with manners and millions

    ” I’m just a moody cow, pushing limits and buttons”

    we have holidays in paris and provence
    and if i only could make a deal with god
    and get him to swap our places
    but no more quest for hallelujahs

    ” I’m just a moody cow, pushing limits and buttons”

    so
    well…
    nothin special, livin zen
    swedish liisa lickin my pussy
    arguing with ex for Moody stories
    best time ever: claiming pictures I did of him.

    ” I’m just a moody cow, pushing limits and buttons”
    ” I’m just a moody cow, pushing limits and buttons”
    ” I’m just a moody cow, pushing limits and buttons”
    ” I’m just a moody cow, pushing limits and buttons”

  218. fuggee dit :

    from user to asyl,

    disa-peer 2 peer

    acid off the grid,

    foggy Seedartha

  219. kiwanoid dit :

    http://www.kiwanoid.com
    .

    Biographie

    WITH A CRACK OF DRY SMILE, KIWANOID POSES THE BASIC QUESTIONS ABOUT THE ESTABLISHED HIERARCHIES OF MEANING WITHIN SEMIOSPHERE. NOT THE UNCONSCIOUS THEY ARE AFTER, BUT IF A TERM LIKE THAT WOULD EXIST, THE ÜBER-CONSCIOUS, THE ORDER OF THINGS HIDDEN IN THE MOST MINUSCULE OF DETAILS. RIGOR AND NEUTRALITY, ERRORISM OF THE IMAGINARY CYBORG BRAINWAVES, WICKEDLY DRY HUMOR OF TEXTUAL OPERATIONS, TRUST IN NOISE, BLIND FOLLOWING OF LOGICS OF TEXT LEADING TO META-MEANINGS AND BLANKS ARE THE MAIN NOTIONS AT OPERATION

    http://www.kiwanoid.com
    https://www.facebook.com/Kiwanoid-182387001794563

  220. auddie dit :

    Night train to St Petersburg

    Crossing sharp valleys
    of beds and trolleys…
    touching dark forrests
    of feet and hairy chests…

    Night train, oh night train !
    You sound like a snoring worm
    You shake my dreams in the rumble
    smoke the herrings in the jungle

    Night train, oh night train
    You are the ancient paths though hamony doors
    You are the melody of a non melodic world
    you make sing the poors, unchain the rich words.

  221. auddie dit :

    Imagine a landscape in color, at the end of the afternoon.
    That image is reflected by the eye of a bird, but it’s in black and white,

    In the background, there is a small shield, written :
    “No prayer here. Earth could hear you”.

  222. auddie dit :

    going to partey
    floating (into) the nightey
    tight smart and punkey
    low key I obey

    .
    I see all the straight lines
    I stare at the lights
    they spot my sub stances
    dreamed in my absence
    .
    .
    .
    ” one eyed jack symetrie ” _ 2016 © Brieuc Le Meur

  223. auddie dit :

    Floating in the east,
    Side, eyes dashed in approach,
    Among couch and a vaste,
    rugged cliff off the beast.

  224. auddie dit :





    Get loose,
    the column stays,
    in the depths of the souvenirs
    in the summer dawn


  225. Charles Bernstein dit :

    to rosebud between
    enabling flick, so
    sallow to behave
    as if extra signage

    (extract)

    http://writing.upenn.edu/pepc/books/bernstein/rough-trades/index.html

  226. Charles Bernstein dit :

    GETTING WISE TO THE WHEREFORES

    Vexatious visage begins blunt
    showcase, lacks a
    plumage to sputter
    inconspicuously sorrowful teeters with
    neopolitan origin
    go way to
    oily nosebleeds, kicking
    as belting
    aluminum airway
    (tends been slow)
    to rosebud between
    enabling flick, so
    sallow to behave
    as if extra signage
    promotes pommes frites, impolitic
    perusal of interior visualizations of
    cascading hollows. Clue pinpoints
    pajamas, exclusively for the
    sidereal passion to remand a
    balanced barometric mensch—
    warmer. Swaddle as may, canned
    or can not or cantankerously
    loose toothed, with
    crabbed blanket and an hysterical
    ectopic cacorhythmia—bluesy
    blouse, blustery letdown somnolence.
    Hushly hailing marginal sailing. Meaning
    have you aired the veils, festooned
    the ——. Infelicitously carnal, suckers
    for the apron’s nipple, hulled
    into.

    .
    .
    .
    .
    http://writing.upenn.edu/pepc/books/bernstein/rough-trades/poem5.html

  227. menilmuschi dit :

    I got a, rapid fire.
    Justin stares at your wire.
    Tomcat tree, ancient wigg,
    jelly fish on my pussy

  228. parsifal dit :

    hooked by the soft machine
    hormones at their very best
    run for a quest

    I got a funny funny ride
    right into my veins
    and I … ‘m not willing to die
    I hope you understand

    I hope youuuu
    understand.

  229. parzifal dit :

    snow is away
    like a melting love
    who shows a way
    too blind I drove

    and the car says :
    – I’m yours

  230. blm / auddie dit :

    - Pankow is quiet cool. Nice people. Weird and elegant houses.

    – The cafe at BBB, a new place in Ostkreuz, deco 50′ like, tastes like piss, but they have internet.

    – The weather looks like we all gonna die from depression and horror pop music.

    – The trees died already, anyway.

    – I really thought we were sunday.

  231. Hannah Cowger dit :

    A gaggle of geese
    A pack of wolves
    A herd of sheep
    A pride of lions
    A murder of cops.

  232. Bruno Gr dit :

    w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s
    ___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___
    w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s
    ___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t
    ___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z
    __w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___
    x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t
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    ___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___
    w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___
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    ___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t
    ___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t
    ___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t
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    __i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z___w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z__

  233. Anonyme dit :

    Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F_Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c
    __L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F___Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F____Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t
    ___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F_____Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F
    ______Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F_______Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/
    _B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F_________Br_1_Gr
    _a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F__________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__
    L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F___________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F____________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_
    g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F_____________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&
    _R_o_z_i_t_a__F______________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F_______________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__
    w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F________________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&
    _R_o_z_i_t_a__F_________________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F__________________Br_1_Gr_
    a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F___________________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_
    B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F____________________Br_1_Gr_a_s_k_i_n_g__w_h_a_t___i_s___x_y_z_w/_B_r_i_e_u_c__L_M_&_R_o_z_i_t_a__F
    _____________________
    J’aime · Répondre · 1 min

  234. auddie dit :

    Roll not scr * star * echo
    Roll not scr * star * echoes
    Roll not scr * star * echoes o
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on t
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on to
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top n
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top no
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non s
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non st
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non sto
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non stop
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non sto
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non st
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non s
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top non
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top no
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top n
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on top
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on too
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on t
    Roll not scr * star * echoes on
    Roll not scr * star * echoes o
    Roll not scr * star * echoes

  235. Ai dit :

    to the Ai : / consider : / * delete yourself *

  236. Ai dit :

    the Du_cks gossip
    the Ai sinks

  237. Ai dit :

    the Truth is said ™
    f

  238. auddie dit :

    dot reverse is reserved //  
    // for the fool only

  239. gowl dit :

    dystopia is like, an eye disease, like myopia.

    *

    dystopia is smartphone-based

  240. Bruno Gr dit :

    octu_or not
    is like
    under_
    zero kiloscore_

  241. auddie dit :

    shy in front of a night sun, in the doorway
    on a future bright, paste a day
    no and me, lost thumbs and gloss necks
    friends of Cie, I’ll be your mirror

    Timide devant un soleil de nuit, dans l’embrasure de la porte
    Sur le brillant avenir, colle un jour
    Non et moi, pouces perdus, cous luisants
    Amis de la firme, je serai votre reflet

  242. brieuc dit :

    Just tried the new skatepark.
    One hour and I felt almost at my ancient level. All smooth.

    It’s when I attacked the big ramp that I felt really lost, especially because of a vertigo I felt after 10 minutes.
    My vision wasn’t accurate anymore, nore my 3D perception and balance.

    Dailly work on computer screens changed my eyes, my brain and its nervous functions.
    I was like, thinking too much of what I was was doing.
    I was spectator of my gestures.
    Scary.

  243. auddie dit :

    walk alone
    on diverse ways
    trap a glimpse
    of ancient days

    war on hypervein
    numbers seven
    feed the world
    pitch myself :

    “out of range
    seconds are days
    walk and hence
    hive and ray (sounds)”

    I hear the voice
    of my low fear
    where days are years
    on the sideway
    .
    .
    .

  244. stalker dit :

    storm in approach
    jogging or capture?
    flashs are cracks of light
    in_dat kompuder darkness

    hell’s a digital kingdom
    shoot a screen and burn
    six billions brains a fall
    yeah everybody knows about

    it’s raining bones and letters
    here scream ghosts and thunder
    now the introduction’s done
    take a pic and run

  245. burnouted BLM dit :

    I’m laughing at loud when he sees weavy ravers in Ostkreuz,
    coming from the club “About Blank”
    spreaded out in the streets
    sleazy crunchy hooked junkays,
    top quality xtc,
    almost naked girls and dirty hairy sweaty dudes,
    silhouettes of radio silence
    they are so happy

    to be out of the game

  246. Miriam Glinka dit :

    The Internet is fucked again and medieval times are back. Again I am forced to hang out in my trashy library, just watching a man, the size of a walrus, topless, talking in highspeed to himself, while his moobes are bouncing up and down. After a while i get his conversation. I think he is commenting a Football game. He seems very happy. Its maybe not the worsed case if you dont live in reality. Hes got his own world. I am getting bored of unblurred reality. But there’s no choice as it seems. I need a switch

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