Writings

pockets full of stones

I am going to read. I am going to read Woolf. I am going to read Virginia Woolf. I am going to sit down cross my legs and read Virginia Woolf. There is only one Virginia Woolf. Virginia Woolf was born into an affluent household in South Kensington, London, England, the seventh child. Virginia Woolf’s […]

kitchen sink

On the brown fake leather couch Lucrezia with her mouth fucked Robert and Lucrezia with her mouth fucked Matthew and Lucrezia with her mouth fucked Robert and Matthew and Lucrezia with her cunt fucked Robert and Lucrezia with her mouth fucked Matthew and Lucrezia with her cunt fucked Matthew and Lucrezia with her mouth fucked […]

DRINK PAINT

I wanna drink paint. Gallons of to-die-for lead base. Put color in the old GI. Experience room temperature good ice cream consistency. Taste a spike sledged through the throat, pin ya to the wall. I plan to drink till paint pupils orange pith white; skin gangrene early blackberry green. I wanna die from ochre, from […]

???????????????????

I drop the title of this story on the back of a snail. Go home give up says the poet Kowwowski. Come on I say I feel lucky. Kowwowski throws down the money. I lose the Milton epithet. Kowwowski says Luck has abandoned you today. I say Come now see those pigeons in the sky. […]

The West is afraid

The people shookDeath wipes his mouthYour mortgageKids and car leaseDarkness everlastingOvertime andWeekendsKissing the boss’sBehindLock the doorsSilent dogsDrinking. Bogdan Tiganov

Magic

Magic betrays the senses & the will labyrinthine & serpentine unreal when you desire the real can fail suffer from entropy with smoke & mirrors & sleight of hand turn the drunk the dolt the pious the villain the parasite the gobshite into a God. That the moon goes around the earth & that the […]

Dad’s dead

Dad, cut himself outof every photographso one day I would forget him Dad, cradling me as a babyDad, holding a tennis racquetDad, playing football in the parkDad, watching Jackie Chan moviesDad, who turned his back on me A stone is always a stoneand my dad’s dead Bogdan Tiganov

The Man Without Pain

Come see The Man Without Pain says a painted sign. You follow the childish finger. The Man Without Pain is very ugly. The sign says a coin only. To reach The Man Without Pain’s tent you had to pass fleas that dance; fat ladies with huge breasts and beards; a giant as strong as Samson; […]

the mind of the heart or the heart of the mind

Memories ramifying into imagination or imagination ramifying into memories the sea and its whispers metamorphose into the validation of Vico’s theory that imagination is memory reshaping itself within the cage that is the mind of the heart or the heart of the mind. The sea is blue and grey and white the sky is a […]

Loading…

Something went wrong. Please refresh the page and/or try again.