Friday, November 20, 2015


stabs of twilight
broken at light's end
carve out an ache.

Crowds of time
in dutiful longing
at mind's precipice.

dull as the day
seeks night's mirage
of touch not felt.

Moments crumble
like words
peeling from paint
on formless walls.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

qqotd: pica, doula, maverick, dreck cineast, portend, additament

Yesterday we saw a cineast's brain eating pasta made from film stock; the pica on display today is of a doula who compulsively eats any undiscarded dreck she can find in the home of the baby she has just helped deliver, usually to the relief of the parents who tend to dread the rare instance when she doesn't have this compulsion because that portends that the baby will grow up to be a stubborn and powerful maverick who will seek to alter the town's consensual architectural decisions by demanding additaments designed to represent the cognitive dissonance in the townfolks' cherished norms and morés.


Saturday, July 27, 2013

qqotd: pica, portend, cineast, additament

"For a cineast," he famously said, "films, even some bad ones, are cerebral and spiritual sustenance," which is what inspired the starving brain's ravenous devouring of the film stock pasta, an odd pica if seen literally but it doesn't imply the brain's descent into madness any more than the seemingly incongruous additament of a large HDTV to the optic nerve portends a diminution of intellectual heft.


Sunday, February 12, 2012

I Know

My heart is a mess, this much I know
No words to be found as such, I know

There is but shame to survive the pain
A pinch of a nerve, a touch I know

Don't kill the man for beauty's sake, love
Your eyes will long for that, much, I know

Give life its death and live tonight
Dreams are no match for how much I know

Ill-gotten are all your woes, that's true
When fate arrives that's your crutch, I know

A name, not a feeble sigh, Aslam,
Is what's yours but not to touch, I know

Monday, August 08, 2011


Time should be more in tune
Casbahs are only rocked so often;
The dirge should melt into the rhythm
As words leave their melodies behind

Dances of thought in silence, crying
To the beating of a dull heart...
That's what lasts into the mourning
Where all awaits tomorrow's demise

Never in sight or touch or smell
But the rain falls just as well —
It's not a young night that goes by
Sultry streets of monsoons unseen

There is no love in the wind, just
A light breeze of midnight's charm —
That's how morning, lone, awakens to
Day's jagged, kaleidoscopic glares

Don't give that old lust a name or face
It's not as empty as its sin
But averse to being who you've become
In the lap of night, this far from time

Thursday, October 14, 2010

When the moment grabs you

...don't you dare play hard to get! It's _the_ moment, AKA Godot, and you only know of it because you wait for it. If some odd, serendipitous confluence has caused it to intersect your timeline then, the laws of Physics be damned, just make room for it in your space-time and hang on to it for dear life.

Yes, it's here and now... and no, you vain fool, it wasn't looking for you. You were the one waiting, remember? Because that's all that you could scare up: draining, debilitating, unmoving patience. A sham of a virtue, raised to the desiccated level where possibilities become sterile.

Happenstance being your only hope, submit to this one as if death had been rendered extinct by rampant constancy. It is your only chance to live, to thrive, to be consumed to your very core, to ravenously craft your exquisite ruin.

Friday, September 10, 2010


That's the word that came to mind as I began trying out this self-consciously named lifestream app. Yes, you-who-know-me, that's not me, but that is what my subconscious unconsciously wants me to be.

Monday, January 11, 2010

qqotd: sacerdotal, Sapphic, pied-à-terre, flagitious

It was the Catholic Church's mishandling and cover-ups of the scandals that he felt was the most flagitious of the sordid goings on, and it soured his sacerdotal aspirations, leaving him bereft of his sole source of solace after he learned that his wife had been exploring her Sapphic desires at their beach-side pied-à-terre without ever offering to let him watch.


Friday, December 04, 2009

qqotd: savoir-faire, piffle, leviathan, gallimaufry (plus a few earlier ones)

When QQ is a linguistic leviathan with sole authority to regulate and police sesquipedalianism, it will ensure that no public square, real or virtual, is without a gallimaufry of long words in every language and a rich macédoine of examples of their usage in groups of four; but, despite its awesome power and the ubiquity of its myrmidons, there will be piffling subversives among its ranks who will weaken the prevailing esprit de corps with claptrap disguised as charm and savoir-faire.