Asyliated refugees, now at home?Pain becomes our newest alarm wake-up,Asyliated refugees, now at home? by oviedomedina
our hunger is a clock,
and silence, endless silence,
massive like a world-sized moon,
is our paradise,
our blessing in our ghetto,
our deaths are warmth in the senseless eternity,
we have compressed the very first times of our immortalities
in just a sketched blurried sevendom
none are marble
nor walking furs
to make the pampered girls swoon and dream
(Oh Edmond, oh Joshua, they would sigh)
Enthroned in the universe´s junkyard,
the life´s junkyard,
prosecutees of those Godly Ones,
Out of sight, out of time, out of life,
we once remembered,
we once lived, we once
felt fire under our skinhairs,
cheeks shifting and changing with the magic of seasons and seas
eyes eating the world
minds uncorrupted by gurus and soutanes and authorities
dreams buzzing and thundering
beneath ribs and williful digits
perhaps we did,
perhaps eternity has chewed and digested and
left our memories to fertilize the spittons of the sky
The Positive Pilatos(Who does not help)The Positive Pilatos by oviedomedina
Indeed, good sir,
we must hush, hush,
and buzz very, VERY quietly,
we must not flutter, or worse,
swarm wildly around,
like a raging typhooned hive,
our neutral, so indifferently,
so ARROGANTLY IGONRANT OF THE SIDES! (the shoutsman prosecutes)
(No, the contract forbides us from pointing out
the feeble the ajar the falling-tumbling down
we saw a mile coming away from the atrium.
WE WILL CHANGE YOUR TIME YOUR LIFE
BEHOLD THE NEXT FOREVER OF GLORIOUSNESS
YOU MOST CERTAINLY ASSUREDLY DESERVE IT
IN THE NAME OF GOD (but they respect the bibleless ones, they say)
Yup, time to wither away your days, your holidays
your monthly bills (ah no, these aren´t yours
"Humhum, young man, the national situation,
humhum, is hum, complicated you know,
we might call you later, hum")
And the demotivational speaker
IS DISSAPOINTED MOTHER OF GOD WHY
WHY OH WHY (a game, but not a game really, he insists)
Game should be played incompletely,
and consequences (IN REAL LIFE)
Utopia of unknown airportsNever again will youUtopia of unknown airports by oviedomedina
have to resign yourself to watch from a distance
your old friends, those your fear left behind,
left their phone numbers to wither away,
have to let your voices echo away from each other.
Your eyes will never husk into empty skulls,
resign to slaving away into the slaving tedium
of an empty schedule, an empty wallet, a hollow life,
while they bloom forth like a July at the Tropics.
Eyes closed: alone amongst the crowds swirling around
directed by the electronic voices like a baton herding a concert
but the wideness is inmense, the floors too smooth
and the feet are in no hurry to move the dream along,
like one would picture reenacting a sunset romance.
But there are no rolling credits after an hour-long kiss.
No hope of a ticket that will soar you towards thse bank ads
(posh restaurants, surreal white on those beach sands, overlooking skyscrapers...)
No boss to call back your puupish pleas for a chance, no secretary (not even a janitor)
and the faucet wakes y
About walk aboutAll these adventure tellers, all these epic weavers, all those grand campfire-tonguers have it wrong.About walk about by oviedomedina
It is never a good, exciting, pleasant, soundtrack filled moment, full of confident strides, surrounded by a band of true companions, gained with great pains and troubles. Oh the naivety.
There is not a majestic sunrise, overlooking a cliff with a blow of wind, blowing away hair and long garments. There are no endless plains where one can run endlessly witohout stumbling.
It is never a matter of just seeing a sagely elder who sets a fate course, never a matter of relentless, unbounded enthusiastic conviction,never those factors that spring one into a grand quest spanning worlds and eras.
It is always about the pain, for starters.
Or rather, it´s about the crimson trail you leave behind, it´s about realizing that your tarsus do not exist anymore but have become a part of the road, powdered and mixed with whatever footwear you once wore, so many, many steps ago.
By that m
The Moths"Ahh Chad, save me! The moths are entering... THROUGH THE CHIMNEY!"The Moths by AyeAye12
"No, Brenda, no!"
"Ahh, they're eating my... MY CLOTHES!"
"Oh, the nudity! Comstock would not approve!"
"STAND BACK CHAD, I HAVE A LIGHTBULB!"
"Oh thank President McCarthy! Brandon!"
"AVAST, YOU COMMIE MOTHS!"
"Are you all right, Brenda?"
"Oh Brandon, kiss me!"
"I cannot, for I am a homosexual and so must burn myself in the name of America, with this lightbulb fantastically crafted by glass makers from the glorious American city of New York!
"Oh Brandon, you're so noble and deprived! Chad, you'll have to kiss me!"
"Anything for you, doll!"