7 November 2011


White Angel Wings

Orbital mornings spin fractal imaginings in my living room. Memories parade arm in arm with fantasy like cheap drag whores in malicious habits. It’s a tense collaboration between fear and anticipation – the intensity is unbearable but delectable. A silver fuse awaits ignition by an expert spark. My organs are filleted by razor sharp blades of solid brilliance. Today I wear the miles travelled on secret roads as my badge of honour – my leopard skin cloak.

I stand on the cusp of my equinox. Nothing can exclude my ascension to the throne. Throw off the sticky remnants of bargain gossip – come join me in the valley of kings. Silver tongues tell sweeter lies, but isolation is a stamped gun. Later sophisticates will stand in line for slow suicide and suspended animation. Better to live one day as an immortal than to die a little with each dawn in the frustration of conformity.



  1. Brother, you have found your inner Gods, and write so lucidly from that point. I applaud your masterful, personal experiential discoveries..

  2. Brilliant, sir. Quite brilliant.

  3. Thank you Cal, Thank you John. Remember Cal - inner God's are often accompanied by inner demons, hopefully it all balances out though.