Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 28, 2007 - 23:18:04 - print it raw
Snails in the drop and the black pot, from where nobody knows as it appeared one day with a mint leaf jammed between the handle and the lip, bubbles with a marshmallow looking skyward. Out from the depths of the boil and soft shimmer, the white molten folds fold over and in. Not enough to ball up into the snack which makes rival of an amputated leg. Sweet juicy morsel of meat as it is.
There are many ways in which to deal with bodies that lie about in the marsh and indeed, those that roast slowly in the ant scatter. A feast is but one, but one that serves the community as the needs of the few feed the needs and stomachs of the many. Many of whom choose only to be vegetarian in diet when the meat runs scarce.
Read the rest of Things got strange sinking from the bottom down
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 21, 2007 - 23:51:14 - print it raw
On Wednesday they gather round and run the walk. Everybody, everywhere and nobody going nowhere. There's a destination ahead, but no lights to lead the path. Trailblazing is for the blind.
On Thursday they take a breath as the wind sweeps in to blind the course. Harsh conditions, sturdy skin and only the weak of will will return quick to base. Gather up the leather and hide, time to face reality of the pathetic.
Read the rest of Gates of the cemetery on Tuesday
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 14, 2007 - 23:52:07 - print it raw
Speckles of dust hit the pane and roll off down in with the rest of the rain. Rivulets snowball with sand salts, scratching at the glass with the kind of stroke a deaf mute pays attention to.
Scratch hard enough and the surface breaks open, exposing the glorious secrets underneath. Glorious secrets, however, not always forthcoming and the promise of it being glorious, only in name and expectation.
Read the rest of Tiny drops on the windshield
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, February 7, 2007 - 23:58:22 - print it raw
Run for cover. Night descends quick with the passing light falling across the walls of the cave. Fingers touching candles, with the aim of bringing in the dark, feel the burn of absence that lies between the tips. Controlling destiny? A sleight for sore hides.
Waiting at the mouth, a cadre smokes the fear that leaves most shivering awake at the bright haze covering noon. Squinting past the clouds of distress, there's a horizon which wavers with the waves of hazel eyes.
Read the rest of Bright blessed days and dark sacred nights
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, January 31, 2007 - 23:30:11 - print it raw
Crumple up the knees, leeches are on the left nostril and working their way back into the right ear. Batting does no good as half of the pain is imaginary. And as all gnomes know, there is nothing more wretched than the imagination. Gnomes, apparently, sprout up in the most moist gardens of all places. An appearance in the bare scratch that lies the plains is most obscene for the scene of pale green.
Frenzy is nothing short of a circuit cut loose and tapping into the veins. Paths lead to all sorts of places, as the paces of cohorts trip up the wires and wrap them neatly, tightly and ever so rightly around the necks of the wrinkled few. A spot of water and it's the dash into the dew which renders the appearance of things a slightly crinkled affair.
Read the rest of Down the sidewalk first thing tomorrow
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, January 24, 2007 - 23:51:49 - print it raw
Drool hardy, drool fast and drool with the intent to peer back into the swill of the past. For the fermenting is all that the saliva will come good for and there is nothing that sweat will break. Stew it broken in the broth made with the wings and legs of the birds captured by the sun. Tasty is their meat, wretched be the beaks that jam in and craw a crow call.
Back into the corner, where there are only three walls and no ceiling to hold, the red paint stinks as it sticks to the feet and soles. Souls of which burn in the heat of stomping out the juice that makes more of the paint. Clearly not the best of paint, the hue fades and blackens hours after application.
Read the rest of Future head borrowed a gun, refused to die
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