The cannibalistic axolotl

I knew a girl,
she wanted to lick everything she liked,
everything she wanted to behold if
she couldn’t reach a full mental grasp of it
using other senses.

I knew a man,
he ate his dreams, while he was asleep.
Once, he became so hungry
so he ate his soul;
and at the dawn of next morning
he died.

The cannibalistic axolotl
is a king of the night.

He knows everything in the world,
because he remembers the taste.

He knows when you need his experience,
but comes only to destroy
your paragons of virtue.


She sleeps in her dream

In her bed
on the rim of a dream.

Locked inside
nautilus’s chambers.

Walking a maze,
— don’t touch the door knob!

Maybe a wolf is hiding inside
or maybe a hunter.

A new drug is looking
for some new brain-cells to reside!

A palm is turning into an eye
and fingers into tentacles.

A guy came from upstairs,
the one who collects all rents
in the end,
— don’t look into his eyes!

He sits,
bites his lower lip.

Till it bleeds,
till it bleeds.

Reading Daily News.

a psychedelic blues.

“Will you give another chance? *
Will you try, little try?”

She sleeps inside her dream.

  • Jim Morrison “Shaman’s Blues”

Saturday night musings

they are walking the streets
of the Big City
following the marching band,
a group of monks wrapped in
the glitter fabric,
and a woman with the two king poodles on the leash.

they are looking for a new definition of an Ontological Argument.

(there is no new, I know)

I am drinking wine and looking into the fire.

waiting for my additional soul to depart
from my body.

(three, two, one, zero. lift off)

soon she will come and take me to the
movie theater.

a cyber punk age Prophet Jonah

I am a digital fish
an eternal outsider

random voices
are making up
a volatile matrix.


these voices,
are constantly murmuring
behind the telephone lines.
“do you hear’em?”

some’re telling the future
some don’t tell the past.

lost sense of time,
while looking
for an artificial prophet
to assimilate.

(a death?)

planned rebirth
on the shores of the city.

yet apparently


doubts before reaching the highest altitude

look at the world through the optical sight.

an inside.
the other side.

like an overblown hyper-porn,
while driving on a supersonic highway
faster than a speed of light
or a thought.

“am I right?”
“am I wrong?”

(a gelatin air.)

“12 AM to 1 AM, please don’t stop.”

the chairman Mao once said,
“the power is in the barrel of a gun”.

he was wrapped in the cellophane,
like a torpedo cigar.

then you said,
“… and maybe you would see things a little from my perspective as well”.
a hell!

well, you’re both wrong.

you’ll know when the bullet reaches its highest point.