Since the last time I posted, I have been true to my word and have been shedding a few skins, but now it seems the plot thickens. Thick is bad, so I've decided to step it up a notch. Grabbing the fat cow by the horns, 'twas time for the "Couch to 5 k" program, regimen, regime.
This evening was my first day, and I must say, it has prompted a desire in my lungs and in my heart which they haven't felt in a long time, namely, to escape my body and run away forever, or rather, climb off and leave my demented muscles to their self-flagellating activities. In other words, I know how a knight must have felt for running in full plate armor, for that is exactly the excess weight I am carrying. I am a knight, clad in useless, fluffy, unsightly armor. And I shall not renounce this regimen until I learn to take it off once and for all.
The eventually Thin Paper Harlequin
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Much like the wooden Pinnochio, the Thin Paper Harlequin decided to turn himself from paper to flesh and blood, "thin" still being the operative word. So, my friends, squeeze your bony, scrawny knuckles in my direction and wish me thin luck.
The plan is as follows: scarsdale diet for as long as M. allows it. Also, I shall be treading mills, softly, for they'll take me to my dreams. Three times a week. After I plateau, swimming.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Uncomfortable silences litter the landscape,
Lie in every place we've ever been -
bodies tinged with blue in the fresh snow
I crushed one of them,
its vast volume caved,
hollow and dry between my teeth.
Eventually, so did we.
Monday, November 15, 2010
După-amiezele scormoneam cu unghiile vopseaua plesnită, până la tencuială.
Din coconul meu de pături chinezeşti întindeam arătătorul
şi aşteptam să cresc
Îi şopteam unei fete imaginate sunetele pe care mi-aş fi dorit să le aud -
ea credea că mă rog înainte de culcare.
(Pata de apă sfinţită de pe frunte o simţeam, răcoroasă, toată ziua)
Dalele încinse din curte îmi ardeau tălpile,
mirosea a lemn uscat şi a fier;
Zdrobeam păpădii în eprubete şi împrumutam amintiri
pe care nu le-a, dat înapoi nici până azi.
În firida mea scurmată cu unghiile sunt toate arsurile, cuiele, păpădiile şi vocile.
Aici, afară, sunt toate lucrurile de care n-am nevoie.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Human ghosts in silicate shells,
circuitry lines on my face and around my mouth
heat and light and a slight ozone scent.
These shells, like bullets, fit perfectly
I wear them on my feet, on my hands and over my eyes,
They sound dry and accurate bouncing off surfaces
I send them around as scouts.
I use them as currency.
They are not part of me.
When I sleep, they all rattle at once and I get static.
I've been trying to program my words into phrases
they started flashing a message on every screen,
On every wall
Cold, green lasers all over my skin.