You've seen me smashing mirrors in disgust and wishing for a perfect day with a perfect hairdo. You've heard me pray for guilty pleasures of the lasting love affairs with reflections. Day turns into the night and I am still in doubt for what to wear. The Goddess of Advise forever proves me wrong and life is unfulfilled.

Redemption has been coded in my smart phone.

A smile has jammed my jaws. I called my dentist, and he performed a surgery on open gums. My smile recedes.

A throat wants to find a sound inside the hollow depth. Is there anyone to hear silence? If there are ears that can hear silence, then there are songs inside the hollow depth.

My thought is driving with expired license and memory is fasten to the seat.

Time slithering away, his psychedelic pattern rubbing against the eyeballs.

I saw a tree, but when I looked a little longer, I saw a modernistic sculpture vaguely reminiscent of a bird. When taken by surprise by ambiguity, I easily disdain it.

The range of talk from small to inspirational is building walls too tall for me to climb. I strive towards escape, but how lonely the wide wild world may feel without walls!

I was a vase of pure glass, and I was storing a few bird feathers, a few shore pebbles, a paper clip, a bit-off fingernail, a thumbnail, a nail, an ale-can ring, a one-winged dried cicada, a blade of withered glass and dust. But what was stored outside the glass I couldn't bear.

Five courses, five famous China sauces served on the saucers fly in the faces and whisper kisses preserved for misses and all who misses their sweet and sour goodbyes.

A bleeding screen soils a podium: an abstract to the point of no return. Ovations. Following morning, the press will be all over it. The respectful public will know what to expect to the point of full predictability. Success!!!

Words might be frightening but I can make them smaller. Images might be ambiguous without captions. The face in the bathroom mirror must be restored.

Nomadic order presupposes rituals that could be also seen in palace or at church: the subject is exposed to a judgement exchanging trophy for a song of praise. We do it all without much of thinking and music helps to keep up with the rest. Let's face it, none of it is foolish. Its us who turns the blessing into waste.

Throughout the night great glory's breaking out: a greyhound pierces beams throughout sleeping fields; soft, quiet leafs from aching distance fall one by one upon the thinning darkness; then, sunshine comes to lap up the blood of the night.

A firebird got on the stage in golden cage. She closed her eyes, and public disappeared.

When we express new hopes based on the models that take their molds from future dates, why don't we get updates from few tomorrows with poor recollection of todays? The book of prophets constitutes a problem for many readers of unscribbled slate. Sunlight tonight shines down bright and solid on waters boiled amidst unsweetened sand.

The weather outside is raving heat and humid according to forecasts from antiquated Hell. Paused on the couch in forgiving garments I thumb iPhone but fail to nail. The next discussion on my broken record seeps through unsweetened sweat.

Here is the time for me to mourn, here is the room for me to moan. Hear the whisper? "here is death taking away what life gives back."

Let's yield the sense of purpose to a crowd, forget a current and drop an ore.

Specific orders form specific organs transplanted into careful beliefs. Dishonor honored ways of living to keep unanswered questions of deceased! Am I the only one in this assembly who plays with broken toy until the end, and blows noisy air in containers that are already bursting with contempt?

It rains on my parade and grassroots hide their blades inside my shoes. Insiders groups inspire members only, and raindrops drum on bare roofs. What if I drop a second shoe and cross an alley? What if the worst I'll find is what I seek?

A headache on a couch, since there is no better place for me to suffer, is tainted with details. An absent anchor pins the floor to the ocean surface that ripples its effect. Hypothesis of sudden change sets room in motion and sickens coach passenger and cautions of unexpected waves.

The gust of wind has swept away my father, but walls retain his life, his fainting presence, his paintings on display, and I confuse their artistic merit with the holistic merit of his life.

A pebble harms a bare sole that bears witness to an aching hipbone. Landscapes unknown to my ears escape the landmark. Today's my newday's  gift. That pebbles on the road mean a word to me. They help my bare soles to read the ground with actual bodyweight without losing sound        

The mindless industry of forging words will coin believes. The cautionary tale for functional adulthood will not unchain the horse. Unfollow waves with little less than curse from closed lips and a distant chorus from dunes will sand the sound.

iPhones articulates vibrations to voice the phantoms of unanswered calls, and we are feeling brave to face the faces before they disappear from the screens.

The point is not that the good at hiding is the best at forgetting but, rather, that the two have to go back together to forge agreement between the scissors and their own skins.

The night is false and advertises fog of unremembered ream that cannot be forgotten. The dream is borrowed from the fake emotion that follows slow flow of demand. Begin to board broad daylight and remember that daylights like to pass for common sense.

Aesthetics' up for final demolition. The dome of sky keeps sun under the roof. The creek has got a cold. It runs to fill prescription but trips on stanch and falls under the stoop. The sign is clear. Closed at dusk.

The scratches on the black square in the corner can't make the pressing issue disappear. Instead, they call for further explanations. Nevertheless, the traces are the answer. I timidly apply them on the surface with closely cut and poorly polished nails.

I am alone with many faces I wore upon the chronic absence of a mask.

Forget that you can be a little more than those who have a history of fun and fame.You, too, are not a baby in a crib when you and your impression of your business are unfolding.

The hour we planted father in the ground, the myth took root. Its healthy growth spread breaches over our heads and we took refuge in their shadows. Was it our fear of death, or was it the death's growth in us so gentle that we agreed accept it as a gift?

In touch-screen language there is no rhythm. It throws me off but only for a while. I cast my eyes away. There is no reason to feel embarrassed but who can stand a chance? Not I. Forget my name and change the password to share insights. One must stop speaking common sense to live true loneliness.

When thirsty don't rise above the ground, and silent don't drop below the floor, rain files complains.

From the womb of your mouth comes a soothing prenatal sound. Now, that we have lost our patriarch, we express everything in a flow. There is no more clots in our blood than consonants in out words.

Stop worrying and blaming me for granted. You know what I want when I see girls who wear shirts I wore back in the day. I never was a fan of football players and coaches in black and white: the liars who might have known me and lovers who sang the song of blame.

Exactly how does one go about it is not the only way of feeling like a ship and other countries will be in the wake to sync in silence.

Suggestions rain on latent forums of foreign notes. I put my name on it and after losing ground forgo destitute of curse. I have to go back and force betweenness that brings the best of luck. I have no clue what it is all about. Mind is a joke. Like I have said before, we still must find the one who is unwilling to do the job.

Addiction to an intellect is clogging veins. A record goes round. The path has come to forking, I am afraid. I lost my compass in the deepest pocket but snatched it out. It was a silver fish: catch and release.

Unless you're a bitter wallow or other uttering to swallow at business lunch free from nutrition but full with facts served on the dishes, you dare not to spit a sound worth bitter spittle from the ground and spell pretentious  grace. 

Imagine death dethroned daily, too old to be alive. Now close your eyes.
Wake up and clutter teeth to welcome daylight.
I cannot bear to feel despair of your unbroken flesh - my flesh that have been thrown on a pavement to heal the bruise of death.

I push a pedal to a new beginning to trade a shorter roll for steeper climb. Since when am I concerned with other riders or other writers of a kind? They still the race. 

Let's honestly pretend to be unhappy. Let's truthfully forget of false alarms and clocks who scorn a dreamer. Let's get things done with, and without doubt, let's throw up the word to understand the message. The latter on the ground reveals the letter whose singularity defeats the the purpose of common sense, since common operates in quantities and not in singles like in "one" or "i"