xexOrama

Freakshow

2005-11-12T22:22:00.000-02:00

Fire Coming Out of the Monkey's Head.
Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain, there was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived. Their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world, obscured as it was by great clouds. Here they played out their peaceful lives, innocent of the litany of excess and violence that was growing in the world below. To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough. Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town. They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses, but no one noticed them. They only saw shadows. You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind.

Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes
Waiting for the sunset to come, people going home
Jump back from behind them and shoot them in the head
Now everybody dancing the dance of the dead,
the dance of the dead,
the dance of the dead.

In time, Strangefolk found their way into the higher reaches of the mountain, and it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable Sincerity and Beauty. By chance, they stumbled upon the Place Where All Good Souls Come to Rest. The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things, and soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world. Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly, their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls. Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain. Why was it bringing darkness into their lives? And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain, holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of them up. For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for they knew that soon the Monkey would stir from its deep sleep. And then came a sound. Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space.
There were no screams. There was no time.
The mountain called Monkey had spoken.
There was only fire.
And then...
Nothing.

O little town in U.S.A, your time has come to see
There's nothing you believe you want
But where were you when it all came down on me?
Did you call me now?

Got off a plane to the countryside,
I drove to the mountain and holding the ground
There was crack on the corner and someone dead,
and fire coming out of the Monkey's head

Don't get lost in Heaven
They got locks on the gate.
Don't go over the edge
You'll make a big mistake.

Put me in a cab to suburbia.
I just took a line but I wasn't with you.
There was more of it there, when I got back home.
But you left me, you don't know my soul...
You're a whole bad mistake, yeah, you're a whole one...

Post dedicated to Estranhaster♥ =^-^=
(esse vale por uns três, querida)

♥

2005-09-28T20:29:00.000-03:00

Alt + 3 makes teh heart.

And landed on a rock.

2005-09-27T18:17:00.000-03:00

A pomba levantou vôo.
Faziam dias que Ele não dormia.
Ele acendeu um cigarro, o primeiro da noite, e tossiu. Sua garganta ardia, queimava, parecia que o céu pegava fogo. Cuspiu sangue no chão e procurou com os olhos um lugar para urinar. A porta enferrujada no final do corredor estava fechada, mas Ele podia ouvir os gemidos lá dentro. Adrenalina. Sexo?
Masturbação.
O cigarro estava na metade.
A seringa estava vazia no chão. A agulha quebrada.
Sentou num tijolo, pensou em Neruda e Lynch. Sexo. Café. Ele precisava de café também.
Jogou a bituca no chão e levantou. Andou até a porta, bateu forte, duas. Três vezes.
Os gemidos pararam. Entrou.
Estava no jardim. O sol machucava seus olhos.
Tossiu forte. Sangue na boca. Cuspiu.
Sentiu falta de café e sexo. Suava.
Quanto tempo fazia que não dormia?
Dias. Muitos dias.
-----
A pomba caiu numa pedra. O céu pegava fogo?
Olhou pra cima e viu, maravilhado, o fogo. Sentiu-se novamente um infante, brincando no mar.
Gaivotas e cheiro de peixe. Sal e calor. Barcos e aviões, pessoas. Corpos. Sangue.
Abriu os olhos e viu o front. A Guerra tinha chegado, assim de repente.
Levantou do tijolo, limpou o suor da testa e acendeu um cigarro.
Tragou. Vomitou.
Sangue no chão de concreto. Fedia.
Estava tudo escuro.
Sentiu medo.
Era um infante, sozinho no jardim.
Com uma pomba que caíra numa pedra.

♥

First post.

2005-09-26T20:16:00.000-03:00

Yeah. Well.
stfu :[