iqmagi

Well, well, well....what to eat for lunch. I have a penchant for 2 heads of Bok Choy sauteed in sesame fire oil, chili paste, & chili flakes, 3 tablespoons of garlic and one fat azzz Walla Walla sweet onion, followed by some yummy black seame rice in a Hoysin plum sauce. Got to fit back into my Ninja suit.

~S~

Ty M.

Without the venal discourse..the plague of a twisted mouth pulls from the womb of charitable secrets.

Beseiged by the disciminating benidiction of her unquieted touch...the silk underlying science of the emerald couch..and the canopy of a cruel star. I am convoluted and left to thin upon the altar of the Lion's mane. To see and not feel the the second eye fill with...
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By this I am truly sorry.

The Complications of this Tragedy, beget a trail of tears. God's angel suffers in perfect armor upon the Lion's pelt, as a solemn hateful misanthropist plots the destiny of the flesh. I tried to whisper in his ear, the infant rogue, impersonating Rimbaud. But my grace had fallen, rolling in the sticky embers of hell. And it is here, in the black chamber of my...
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Good Evening!

Well, I just wanted to update because I want to encapsuate the moment with a fond memory of my daughter that just happened but 30 minutes ago. I offered my girl a small hanful of tortilla chips when she out and out says, " Mmmm, I like salt; pepper is hot, but not salt, salt is smoooth." The things children say amaze me!...
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Good Eveneing!

Well, I just wanted to update because I want to encapsuate the moment with a fond memory of my daughter that just happened but 30 minutes ago. I offered my girl a small hanful of tortilla chips when she out and out says, " Mmmm, I like salt; pepper is hot, but not salt, salt is smoooth." The things children say amaze me!...
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Dearest Untouchable,

It is in the softest herculian mandate that silvers to echo in the ribs of my forbears the candidacy of the shrill sickness and the afterglow that advances in six clicks and molests my still framed mind in an indescent and precurser filagree of monumental stature. I am impaled in the doctrination of civilty. The horns of Parnasus have ruptured all hints of...
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Dearest Pallbearer,


When does one recompense to withhold the solvent oblique? Or, should the Tabernacle just show itself willingly as one candidly uncorks the air from the distilled furnace of my infernal window. Yes, the systemic Laureate, and the sutured guillotine of an untold violation awakens from the proclivity of an aching remittance, as the torso of all disingenuous intent lay scattered in a million...
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Petite Morte

I feel the Scythe burn with all the trappings of a cold ephemeral light. Take the cloth of my solace, and the barbed skin of such a sweet pear. The vowels of Agamemnon blister on the red coals as a black almond burns, aggravating apocalyptic urns; inviting the four wolves to disobey their wet feast and flee screaming under a moonless and maddening...
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Petite Morte

I feel the Scythe burn with all the trappings of a cold ephemeral light. Take the cloth of my solace, and the barbed skin of such a sweet pear. The vowels of Agamemnon blister on the red coals as a black almond burns, aggravating apocalyptic urns; inviting the four wolves to disobey their wet feast and flee screaming under a moonless and maddening...
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