Thursday, September 16, 2004
il payaso
No original thought surges through me. I am the spawn of any great writer whose words I've read on the pages of books I've befriended. I am the product of any great playwright whose realized dreams I've the privilege to envision. I am humbly a blank canvas envying the art painted by the palettes and horse hairs of the great painters. I am the child of the dogmas of the great philosophers and sages. I am merely a marrionette being played by God's unfathomable humour. I defy the monsoon; never minding if I fall and falter. Quill darts, I arm myself in battling Surrealisms' sick twisted reality. My vernaculars are raw and unrefined like my sick sad soul. Fellow nomads and scribes silhoutte me in my infinite traverse as I unlock lifes mysteries with shoelaces untied. Im in perpetual jubilant angst, that's why my mouth spews incessant profanities and cosmic perversions. I have a mind that is just as deep and dark as the trenches in the oceans. The blackest pits in my mind still a void, an unchartered terrain waiting exploration. I'm fucking complex; a lot of times even I confuse myself! So who am I...?
doppelganger theory
castigo corpus meum
flash visual carousel
fragmented
misty heaven
Poetic ephemera
past Déjà Vu's
cast of clowns
Deviations
circus caravan
unmasked
nays and amens
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