De-loused in the comatorium

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  • Publicado : 2 de enero de 2012
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........de-loused in the comatorium.......

........de-loused in the comatorium.......

Cerpin taxt stood high above the wobbling miscarriage of oncoming traffic, he was weak in the knees. Blackened out of synch knew his time here would soon end with an internal hemorrhaging made aware by the animonstrosity of his frankenstatue presence. No longer would he carry on his shoulders the weightof passion. No where were his next of kin to be found. Automotive surges spilled through the veins below him. Was this the only passage that he could find? Sweat adorned the unmoped of his brow, he couldn’t possibly turn back. His jaws jingled with cold studdering, his stomach bulged midmetamorphosis, grumbling knot belches,too nervous to look down into the inviting concrete collision. He servedhimself no other choice. Between two mountains that claimed some half assed biblical truth, Cerpin knew better, as it had been etcha-sketched with the branding of a caveat emptor,scarlett with with rheumatic shakes. Cashed... beyond mocking belief, this one last hit would spin him and ring him through the mud. He’d always been denied, but this time he didn’t want to wait outside while the partyraged on without him. The rail that adorned the top of the bridge pulsated a cape of winced shut on looking. Cars drove past in amazement....“who the fuck was that wing nut, doing his trapeze act?” thought one commuter as he shot by. “ama... mira el muchacho va brincar!” screamed a thirteen year old girl trying to flag her parents’ attention, racing by in a beat up truck filled brink wise withlandscape tools. A few miles up the street, the band played on. Springs coiled tightly in the tendons of his legs......they were ready. His tears smoldered into the afternoon air, no one could stop this now. He wondered in flashback stanzas, omitted from this reality, his body took form...half-moon die cast on a February dive....an emblem for all to see....unamused compound of fractures, brittelyawaiting for the portal to open...plummeting in the pupil,craving a mute resolve.” I’ll fucking show them" gathered a light wind past his face, defecating a verse that sang “yo ya me voy, y nadien me recordara.” he smiled from his chandelier vantage point, inaudible to the ribbon mic tenderness of his naked iris hearing device. Waiting for the opportunity, wilting in sin...the cat among the pigeons couldnow pounce back into the arms of his true family. Slicing of one last breath, sparking diamonds in the headlights, forever stained in maroon stamps. Cerpin had always been a little overly possessed by his chimerical scribblings. Between lunch breaks and during class, maybe even in his sleep you would find him drawing neo-cultures, diseased and grotesque. That was the portal he created, gettingdirty in the nails, small hairs yanked always a canvas moment waiting in the wings.This served its purpose well, as he was malnourished without the outlet. So vividly they spoke to him, committed to its paper. He never noticed if anyone else could hear them too..... no matter really, because it's what they said...and how they said it. they were infatuated with each

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other from the getof their disturbance. He knocked on doors that everyone else knew had no exsistence. Spiral notebooks lending variety in the medium. Ouija boarded inch by gasp, slow notion in their claps, center psalm lesions of grandeur... imbred petting within bald of point conceived infatuation, clad in flat ash waiting to be rejected, always waiting to be defective. un juramento sin forma,....me escape de lasmontanias, salte veneno...scalpula failed to release. You could say he was whipped by the argot of his outlet. Cerpin taxt, ever the ardent underdog...and of this was born a pig stye pavilion of dribbling hieroglyphics. He needed to be needed. Longing for scores, unzipped face deformed expatriate. They were meant for each other. They defined one another, and soon they would be one. Wait...
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