Author: JulioSueco
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The rain falls in the plains of Spain
Fluffy grey cotton hovering over my head endarken the grey matter in my brain. My humor becomes inswept by a melancholic ghost of yore who showers a song about water over my head. I scuba dive this deep crazy mood, engulfing me in a tormented soul I knoweth no longer. Yet 70% of me flies…
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My brain longs after it. It’s like wanting to be filled, to feel full again, but with what? Am I the world swallower, Galactus, from the X-men series? To an extent yes, writers do create entire worlds, don’t they? I crave it, you know? A story, I want one, it’s been a while, I need…
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Dressed in black A wicked half circle on your mouth Dragging your feet 10 minutes before doomsday Dirty laundry stacking up putriding morals lay unhung Wilst propaganda laughs all the way … Wake up !
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Light through the windows Air by the night A single breeze swooshes the silver green curtains My skin gets goose bumps I sip a drink of life as my eyes slowly close down its eyelids I whiff the currents of passion running like wild horses through my veins Naked as I am I leave my…
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Stockholm – Ní¤ssjí¶ Intercity
The nascent grass From the window of an Iron Horse, gives life through the windows of my soul. I get nourished by the infrared light that decides like the many colors the sun gives to a rainbow how I see the world
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Literature for me is one of those things that nearly compel me to continue writing, except that every time I feel the compulsion I realize I don’t have what it takes. Or at the very least ‘am not ready’ mantra envelops any hope of or attempt at writing. Am practicing for God knows what. I…
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I don’t like to believe it but more and more am leaning towards it: am not 20 anymore thus I can’t write poetry with that energy that seems to permeate other peoples work. I know that am wrong, and its an excuse to attribute my failed attempts at this ancient art, I just can’t seem…
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The windows are dirty; doors whose hinges are rusty; crackling wood eaten by termites; The sun eating away at the paint; My feet are not as might as I thought.
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The windows are dirty; doors whose hinges are rusty; crackling wood eaten by termites; The sun eating away at the paint; Today I woke up and my head was not as might as I thought.
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Chicano Lutheran Ethics
Behind our eyelids We long Strange worlds Uncommon to none Let it be us you and I Who lift lids Of those to come Welcome them within wake their ids Wake up say ! Ache Partake, undertake Assert yourself !
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I don’t understand how is it possible to explain that literature has many manifestations but only one way to teach it. I read and read that this technique does this and that for this effect and that outcome. I can see that hence I can learn it. I am totally contrarian to the idea of…
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Ok, so today we nailed the last nail in the CW writing course, and the coffin is slowly going down in the history grounds. I talked to some of the other students about the success of the shop, and pretty much everyone, (about three people) were rather content, to use sophisticated language, with the outcome.…