It is devouring me.
My eyes shyly find themselves
drawn to look up and
allow my heart rate to
skip half a beat and
so I nearly die for that
half a second, die of a
somatized heart attack
with wide open eyes,
staring at its immensity,
at its bestiality.

It is devouring me.
Instead of dying it always
makes me stronger as its
cold and refreshing
breath invade my nostrils
and fills me up with
It is devouring me:

The devil in me.
She makes me want to go
through every dirty downtown
and every fancy uptown
corner. She,
makes me so famished
for more and more while
she carves her skyscraper-teeth
into my jugular.

She is devouring me
as I head east
her gracefulness and curves
turn to straight avenues
and solid blocks.

The devil in me as his
concrete creeps into my veins
and makes me unbeatable.

It is a never ending antropophagy,
my best friend, my mother and
father, my spirit and lover, my
New York City


There are no coincidences, only collision.
It was a regular, ordinary morning. The sun rays creeping in through the blinds, the ears hearing the beats of the morning alarm clock "Deep Breath Love" by Motorcycle playing, you know, how it goes "One by one a soul searches for a connection", stretch "It's a just heartbeat between love and rejection", rolling over and "Can you taste it in the air, how I want to be there", running hands through hair, yawn and "Take a deep breath, love, and dive in..." and dive into coffee to wake up, all the same lovely routine that she smiled about, that made her energetic everyday.
Subway. Underground time. Eye contact. Smile. Zillion of thoughts. Deep breath love. Long hair. Understanding. Liberal. Politics. No, not politics. I mean he/she. Complementary. Healthy. Fuckin' hot. I am shallow, I know, I totally admit it.
Work. Same repetitive movements but who cares, it makes the whole process much easier, and it's always fun to pretend you're always feeling excellent and you're always understanding with your clients although you want to kill them. Bump.
Bump. Sweet, just like the Indian Chai I am now preparing, not too much, not in lack. There are no coincidences. Only collisions. I wonder how many traces of my thoughts I have spread throughout my years of existence and who tripped over it, who ran into it and finally who bumped into it...
Another regular ordinary night. "Deep Breath Love" playing out loud to pump some energy into my tired veins and really motivate me to go out and dance my feet off. My ears listening to every word, to every beat separately and then all together. The light of the moon was splendourous, it filled somehow the entire living room with a mysterious dim glow, the kind of light I love. I desired nothing but dance that night. I did not wonder who tripped over my thoughts, who had ran into them and somehow... somehow there are no coincidences, only collision.
Dance floor completely crowded. Eye contact. Smile. Forget. Don't forget. Pay attention. Let it go. Get it. Let it free. Go towards it. Go the opposite way.
It is when you turn your back and let it happen naturally that it always happens. As expected, but in an incredible surprisingly way he bumped into me and I bumped into him. The collision exploded into infinite particles of multi-colored and multi-shaped forms in the air, swimming through it in the rhythm of the trancy beats guiding every move and every breath.
After the collision, there is always separation. The question is how much trace is left behind. After the amount of trace behind, the main point is how will this trace react with the other person's energy just by itself... because obviously it is one thing when both energies are interacting live and when they are just crashing into one another via thought or whatever other way they are being kept there...
It could have just been a great explosion of energies... one of those meant to last a couple of songs, great to reinvigorate, let your life bar go up. It could have been, however, that the traces left kept chasing one another and colliding and somehow inviting one another into their own world.
It was just another ordinary and common afternoon that was interrupted by a cellphone message.
There are no coincidences. Only collision.
[pic by the super talented Coey http://-coey-.deviantart.com/]


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I Am a Pop-Up


The Complex of Bi Syndrome

Bilanguage me
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RaFFaeLLa CiavaTTa


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