tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34605052011-04-21T19:47:22.563-07:00one must walk carefully down the road of dead stones, especially someone who has forgotten the meaning of words -- artaudj b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.comBlogger111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-1100225416551760432004-11-11T18:04:00.000-08:002004-11-11T18:10:16.550-08:00

tara and i at the cbc english television awards, 2003

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-763796792002-05-09T19:22:00.000-07:002002-05-09T19:22:44.600-07:00

where am i when i am with you. where are you when you are. when my fingers. when your mouth. and your highlit eyes captured in sharp focus. and the ambient soundtrack, multi-levelled, duo-subjective, criss-crossing in tonal interplays not quite a fugue. and caught in the desire of desire, i strain my ears till i taste blood ....

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-762798942002-05-07T15:51:00.000-07:002002-05-07T15:51:55.583-07:00

nyc may 5 2002 The longer I stay here, the more I love you. New York would turn any humanitarian into a misanthropist. If I lived in Manhattan I would become a saint. Popcanonized and cruciblized.

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-762798022002-05-07T15:49:00.000-07:002002-05-07T15:49:23.363-07:00

nyc may 4 2002 when you're inside out. dreaming. waiting for darkness. and your eyes can't see what your eyes don't know. and i'm sleeping. dreaming of vision. and i'm dreaming, touching for feeling. when my eyelids close and my eyelids open onto. and the trees are aflame. and a flower burns my vision. and my vision burns. and blurs. and all i taste is heat. concrete and cold. and

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-762797062002-05-07T15:46:00.000-07:002002-05-07T15:46:26.656-07:00

nyc may 3 2002 new york. strange atangence. cum splayed on the plexiglass.

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-760879672002-05-02T11:35:00.000-07:002002-05-02T11:35:15.853-07:00

carnivore her tenderloin raw cooked and the uncooked meat meaty sweaty carnivore her hind-quarter raw flesh of my flesh meat meaty sweaty carnivore her breasts raw fit to be tied meat meaty sweaty carnivore her thighs raw suitable for framing meat meaty sweaty carnivore her tongue raw great taste less filling meat meaty sweaty carnivore her her raw lamb to the slaughter meat meaty sweaty

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-760236022002-04-30T19:14:00.000-07:002002-04-30T19:14:26.703-07:00

she opens me up like a sappy song on the radio a.m. radio the birth of the uncool the loss of loss of innocence fuck god i'm even starting to sound like her ...

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-759839932002-04-29T18:29:00.000-07:002002-04-29T18:29:22.476-07:00

tara ... fog, before the sunrise, wets the skin beneath my jeans. and my eyes, in the indiscernability of light, sees a shadow that may be you, that may be more than a shadow in the fog. if i reach, would it be you i touch? if i kiss, would it be you that presses back with lips open? i want to reach through the fog, through the smudge of morning haziness. i want the first light of day to

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-759839362002-04-29T18:27:00.000-07:002002-04-29T18:27:31.863-07:00

Oh lover let me fuck the life out of you until tomorrow drips between your legs. The weight of conversation pulls heavily on my desire and I find myself waiting for godot to suck my cock better than she ever has before. I watch the celluloid flicker certain I've seen the film but unsure of the ending. All these soft-core melodramas seem to end the same: sex and death with honour but an orgasm

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-759753192002-04-29T13:47:00.000-07:002002-04-29T13:47:50.183-07:00

does she enter. do i enter her. do the sheets emerge from her skin. does my cock emerge from her hand. does my tongue stretch from her cunt. do her teeth expel from my nipples. do her eyes bleed from mine. do my eyes laugh from hers. do her breasts digest my lips. does my smirk reflect her sparkle. and my hands. and her toes. and her mouth. and my mouth. and her ass. and my fingers

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3460505.post-755968812002-04-19T13:22:00.000-07:002002-04-19T13:22:56.673-07:00

The space explodes in an orgy of sound, bodies engulfed by the decibel tide, ears drowned by the continuous crashing of waves, the pounding pounding pounding filling the room with the endless discordance of reverberation. Mirrors reflect the centre stage, the big top, transmit the illusion of an embodied illusion to and fro and back again. Watching the mirror, the illusion, the reflection,

j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0