Hello world!



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This is my way of publishing my thoughts.

I’m not a writer but I’d like to post my writings to get feedback or rather leave something behind.

so…. THIS is my footprint, or blogged-literary-print, if you will.

Image: courtesy of Bill Edwards, panorama of Seattle Central Library “Living Room” space, Seattle WA




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Sans titre is my name.

My mothers consulted with the fathers 

Reaching the point of not condemning me to eternal cages of identity.

I stayed pure learning not a single word out of their mouths;

Though robbed of the chance of 

Refusing birth, 

I wonder the earth for ears. 


Under soppy copyright 


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Long live the insubordinants 

Who dared break the molds around my mouths;

Husks of peeled-off bananas slipping through mouths.

Wake thy neighbor for she has the key

To proud steps up in the clouds;

Wait the Gestapo kiss his cross 

Wait the pope salute his swastika 

Wait the sheikh molest a soul

Wait the rabbi destroy love

But above all wait the imam tear away your virginity for the cost of heaven.

Upon the mountains there lives a cow whose milk created sensuality, intimacy, peace;

Beware the broken records shouting the worlds are ending since the dawn of time.

Once they’ve left for redemption 

Come to me bare for salvation rests upon bosoms of your barren heart.

Crows release news at the strike of noon,

Life is six feet under.


The wrath of copyright be upon the poor souls copying this.

“Knock knock knock on heaven’s door”


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Inhaling despair

Catching smoke

Puking knowledge not earned

Needing lifeless love in the lustful desires on the windowsill 

Jumping off beds into the abyss 

Broken bashed hearts oozing gore for blood

Black cemetaries under skies

Eyes gouged out to fill with tears 

I want

I want

I want

Yet I’ll never have.

Caged in this “mortal Coil”! 

Screeching for freedom instead of death.

We never learn! 


This post is protected under copyright which is yet another unrealistic b.s. in this popularized shopping mall of a world.

Ivy thorns…


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Bitten sore spots of ivy thorns,

Bore the smiles worn by sea men on marshes.

Thus spoke dead leaves of days forgotten, 

Of hours witnessed by the shrouds, of slaughtering heroism.

Hear me ye young clouds, tonight the skies shall weep for due children of the earth. 

For they’ll inherit the blood moors! 

This post is under copyright.



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Rise from the ashes of your lungs to see the stars shining through your eyes. They tell stories of the past lives never lived, yet forgotten by us. Past chances never mattered when ignored through the closed windows.

Souls yearn; no, they burn to see the fresh air outside of the body but to do so dying is required. Everyone is baffled by the entanglement of his/her soul on the inside. Everyone is in pain. No one can escape the confinements of this body; the eternal ethereal prison we call home. It reeks half the time and the other half searches for a purpose, a way to survive, to matter in a world where nothing matters anymore; no religion, no ideology, no salvation, no utopia, nothing is out there; no god awaits our return. We came from nowhere. We’re not going anywhere.

We’re all stuck here. Why?

No title whatsoever…


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I rebel. I make mistakes. I shoot myself 

In the foot. I put my foot in my mouth. I break 

The eggshells I’m walking on. I rebel.
I quit my unstarted job.

I beg on the street and give 

Passerbys money to go. I drink water like wine

And wine as water. I rebel.
I come close to murdering 

My shadow. I look in the mirror and spill

Coffee on my reflection.

I shout my name in the shower. I rebel.


This copyright law is under protest!