words as photographs

Stricken by the unseen hand of Morpheus My lids go heavy with boredom. I look outside and wonder Is there more to this cycle of volume Is there  a way to cause actual impact? Is there an action that is both significant and permanent? Or are we all just filling the space between breaths? Behind screens, mannequins Dutiful, complacent all But in 'er minds, Nests a colourful squall Perhaps an argument Or last night's nightmare? A shopping list Or a son's broken wrist? Is this how we fill the space In between breaths?

I'm about to witness the birth of the band Tool, in a cool restaurant in Oxford. This shit is momentous.

To managing. To always managing. To always managing getting along. To always managing getting along ever Without getting anywhere.

Smiling, silence holding Stunning, reason folding My third eye which sees not What it is but what Desire has wrought Out of time and out of space. Outwards answers my vacant face Inwards I am turned A shaking of the hips And a snarling of the lips Thy flesh is pounded We rip and suck Then we tear and fuck The call has sounded A meat machine sears Deeper, deeper Rushing in our ears We explode roaring By base bliss in bed This great furnace is fed And now smirking The Devil stands to wed Quiet, quiet. Silence, silence. So I can be back again To my rain drops and bus stops

"Things may not be immediately discernible in what a man writes, and in this sometimes he is fortunate; but eventually they are quite clear and by these and the degree of alchemy that he possesses he will endure or be forgotten. Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer's loneliness but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day. For a true writer each book should be a new beginning where he tries again for something that is beyond attainment. He should always try for something that has never been done or that others have tried and failed. Then sometimes, with good luck, he will succeed. How simple the writing of literature would be if it were only necessary to write in another way what has been well written. It is because we have had such gr...

What happens to those who oppose manifest determination. It will start with a simple warning much like a fog horn in the mist of night, blaring and flaring. If resistance or ignorance is met, then force starts being applied, gentle and inevitable, twisting, turning, pushing, pulling and rending until bones break as the obstacle separates itself from itself to the sound of wet gurgles and raspy gasps. This is how a machine for pigs operates.

Just watched the final 3 fights of each Blade, and the second one still holds up, hands down, even with the dated CGI. Probably because Novak kept his clothes on, it feels less homoerotic than the other two. On a more serious note, between Frost, Novak and Drake, Novak is the more developed villain. The little twist at the end (hurts/hurts no more) really sets it apart. Del Toro's Blade is the superior Blade.