. . R u mine? Where is your mind, when I am in front of you. Why ask so mundane questions, When you can see my hands wanting to smother, your morning breath. your lovely droopy sleepy eyes. Only you can tell me what, when and where were your mind. Always on that machine. I am so muthafuking jealous off. It’s beside you. U watch anything you want, for me you can’t even see all I can give. Thank you you as….. Ste.. J… posthumously. For giving us your loveliest innovation that does kill, Relations. 😜😆😜😆😛🔚🆚😉😯😵😵 ©O.a.M ®Artsydhude 95-19 ™XhenoPagz/XenoGrapx … Continue reading

NsVs rs.9141902.am4

. . . Here in my hands, I feel the power. Not what you think. Not what you can feel. Only to what can index and thumbs can mark and make. This has been here, Only to be summoned not on whim, . . . not of incessant prayer. . . . not of unbelief. Only when I know I have  had a chess match with Uriel. Out of my 10, winning 1. At least he gave me an understanding winning isn’t. Only to lose to my ego, is the best way Of the path, not in shame. Lies in … Continue reading NsVs rs.9141902.am4

West out of Eden.

Carry me zephyrus into the arms of my ever loving Frigga. Move me out of this mouths of Nemedia, so I may feel the love of Amalthea. What then if When Elektra and Oedipus, surely do come to grips. Thus Romulus and Remus give nothing, Only aggression not to me but of the hate Which permeated between them until now. Who then shall I turn to, when all the right has gone wrong. when all wrong have been coming up right. Shall I make a trek, not to who or where. Inside here at the vessels of my own Styx. … Continue reading West out of Eden.

Incoherent sense of improvement.

Sweet incense of all of my garbage thnking. Enamored the love of my writing, have sweet joys of a pencil, . . from and to a pen guided by my own sheer raw non-sense of fruitful mind. In which babbling, gibberish and yes shit predictive setting of devices ; permeated all of my works. I would visit those times and see to it, and preserve my naive mind, chaotic ❤ heart. Yes my love that was broken and shattered across  time and memory. I am to have that which and not bother to improve. Only a reminder that I am … Continue reading Incoherent sense of improvement.