Probably one of the sickest joke;

He was out of his mind.

Literally.

His head was no longer connected,

with his body.

They said never again

but somehow someway it did never end.

Clairage

<p>Just like the theater reel in the old days, complete with the "whirring" sound. My cinematic debut as a director began with the hustle and bustle of people going to work. Car horns honking at every crowded intersection. People of all heights and professional attires taking quick 1-2 1-2-1 steps on the sidewalk to beat the rush hour traffic. Hot dog vendors layering on the ketchup and mustard on top of the red onion, all placed onto the plump meat oozing with the juicy flavors before handing it off to each hungry person waving a $10 bill in the air. Business workers conversing hastily on their cell phones as they prance down the street, glancing at their watches, stopping abruptly to hail the next empty taxi within reach. The hazy skies swept right past me, adding to a much preferred cinematic background: auburn gold to a lavender purple as the sun retreated back under its warm covers.</p><p>The camera panned over to the left. Appearing in front of a group of teenagers freestyling to the hip-hop beat vibrating out of their boombox was a Lexus. A light maroon colored Lexus with two distinct dents on the front passenger door. Little did everyone know, a flash flood was looming beyond the peaceful horizon of the bustling city. Anything can happen in a movie, right? Reality is only imagined. Here it came! My role as director did not exclude me from imminent doom. Fear must have cascaded over everyone's faces, but I couldn't tell because the flood came so abruptly. Everyone and everything was encapsulated in the water, even the food stands that held their ground when surrounded by 10 to 12 ravenous patrons on a normal work day, every minute. </p><p>Two distinct streams were paved in the street from the powerful force of the water, loud crashing noises and eerie creaking sounds of buildings being torn from their foundations.</p><p>I hadn't planned for the movie to end that way. I didn't want to be engulfed by water. I wanted the movie to elaborate onto itself... what happened to that old lady who was helped across the street by a homeless man in the busiest intersection? Who would have won the freestyle contest?</p><p>And just like that, the eight-second flash flood came and went, swept to either side of the pavement. Everything returned to peace and quiet as it was before the disaster.</p><p>Everything... except my reality. It wasn't time to leave him. It wasn't time to go.</p>

To you it doesn't matter if it is the right time to go to sleep, but when you are taking of your socks it means that you are going to sleep. Before you go to sleep you always have to eat ice cream. You can only sleep with your blue pyjama. You never eat breakfast. You don't like eggs.

Clairage

I like the idea of you. 

The novelty of pressing you between my pores. 

Like a little balm of love and relief. 

But you are not mine.

Nor can you ever be. 

You are your own being, 

Austere and aloof, 

Heedless of my existence. 

There is nothing in our love 

That could not be fiction. 

You are the words, 

Black upon the page. 

I am no more than a reader, 

Hopeful of a happy ending. 

This is the place of the dead wrapped in granite. 

I slumber on in silence alongside. 

The sky is wreathed in clouded shade

Like the grim mask of death

Where I long to rest. I fell into

The tranquil step of time, the hateful casement. 

The ice of the wind defeats me. 

I am granite like the rest. 

The fire in the belly is consuming, 

My bones, whitewashed and silent, quiet. 

Only my mouth betrays my scream. 

Opportune dialect of death

In the sea of Babel. 

They heard it, these icy denizens

That haunt the stones of pain and remorse. 

Their mouths cry out too,

Drunken in longing. 

I drink in the darkness hungrily. 

Cold envelopes and embraces me. Demons kiss away my faults.

The wheel turns on, crushing bones beneath

Its heavy, stony lust.  

This is hell among the living. 

The wind stoppers and stutters

In its song of life-bringing death. 

The seas rush in to break down granite

Towers of the daylight dead

And the sameness carries on as eons

Do, searing and rotting the flesh. 

The anchor of another likeness

Is tossed into the wind-swept bay. 

It electrifies me, this current of death. 

A black clad angel floats by 

In graceless waves of remorse and fatigue. 

This is a city of broken angels. 

Phantoms cloaked in sin and devastation. 

The barrooms are full of broken hearts. 

Here are the doctors to wake me,

To make me real once more. 

Shocking me upon a system of heated inconsistencies. 

I am reborn. Life among the deathless. 

crawling in the attic of my mind,

searching for sentiment in neglected

moments as ghosts of hope

watch me from the darkness.

sift through still frame memories

that have been carelessly handled

and blotched by the oily touch of time.

nothing is as it was, and I'm left

with sepia tone reminders of fate gone wrong.

I leave, seal the entrance and mark the passage:

"Yesterday"

Born - 1986

Died - Today

Rest in Peace

Your words are bracing like salt or a cold wind, 

but they cannot take me down with them, 

like Davy Jones with his cold tentacles

to the bottom of the icy seabed floor.

The sails unfurl and we blare on, ardently, 

towards our destinies of light and shadow. 

The creak of our flight is heavy on the sails. 

There can be no stopping this adventure.

A horn sound cracks over the trembling mists

and the lady stands proudly out in front, 

her chest bared bravely in a vibrato

I could never stand to manage. 

It's madness this endeavor, but we look on

for the brace of land and newly found 

excitement. In the haze we search for hope

and wait for muted cries on the wind.

There is only the screeching of birds and

the roar of what's to come. 

Chasing us on to a better life -- or death. 

Whichever we find waiting for us first.  

Poseidon's grasp is not the weakest 

But our sights are set on better skies. 

We fear only thunder here, 

and the roaring countenance of flame. 

So on, on to brighter dawn awakenings.

Forward to the pits of depth and wonder.

Tomorrow comes a sun we hope to master.

En attendant le soleil, nous saignons dans le sable. 

The morning cannot come soon enough as death

trespasses life beyond the event horizon. 

Le stardust cosmique avale nos douleurs et plie 

le cadre de notre compréhension étroite .

We are infinite in nothing but darkness.

De l'éternité jusqu'à ce que le resessess câline du 

verset hautaine, nous sommes perdus dans l'interprétation 

des mots et le sens des étoiles bandless .

The dichotomy of your verse is sick and laced with

corruption. The shallow weave of flesh and 

rotten bone is something to be feared. 

Votre respirons dans le mien , nous avons tous deux flotter ensemble.

We are awash in the stink of our own miscalculations.

Winter passes in the solstice of the foraged lover, 

and the leaves pass away into the silty flesh of earth.

Vous étiez la mienne, même au début, ainsi à la fin.

Comme la touche de fleurs terre, tu as touché mon âme .

throw me in the chamber

of oscillating blades,

break down this rusted life

let none of it remain

prototype my potential

organize my thoughts,

obtainable my heart but

the rest of me is lost

when no longer needed

and returned to spinning steal

I speak in murder-pantomime

and tell you how I feel

there's a thirst

in their distance

       a mirage

they believe with fervor

stroon under a desert moon

lost--

they wander

in search of water.