Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 6 December, 2006 - 23:59:27 - print it raw
Down in the dirt, with the speckles of dust rusting out the wrinkles in the skin, there is no reason for the beautiful to consider themselves in any way out and apart from the lines that course through the jungle thrush and arid landscape.
Harsh conditions rip and tear down any effacing features. The great equalizer is that which chooses not to discriminate on the basis of any factor. Wild, small, large or tall, the truth of the matter crumbles in any argument. No debate is worth the bother as the end result is as much a blanket bowl in the mouth as a limb bending backwards to sideways.
Read the rest of Kind face wouldn't last long in the sun
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 29 November, 2006 - 22:24:35 - print it raw
Straight to the heart, and it's all too late. One falls by the side as two behind break and collapse in the heat of struggle. A chasm lies too deep and wide between their ability and their means. Reaching beyond the stars, the dreams that paralyse them are only minor.
It's the cold heat of fear that drives one lot and cripples another set. The disparity rings large in a small group, where the blue blood of murder is only as warm as the heat between the toes.
Read the rest of Smokes right between the eyes
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 22 November, 2006 - 22:29:31 - print it raw
Boom goes the satellite floating in the sky. A cacophony of noise unsound and unrung through the expanse of space. Where screams are seldom heard for their very inability to reproduce and hump along. Things fall apart and fall down from the heavens where the acid rain is next in a line of bile that spews forth from way up there.
One that falls toward the earth looks at its own core implosive self to discover the solution in rendering its own fate. Eyes in the skies that do not lie now lie down among the sties and lies. Wretched is the duty of surveillance. A tiring never ending prospect from conception to installation and with no set expiry date.
Read the rest of Machine skies are where explosives die
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 15 November, 2006 - 23:29:27 - print it raw
Tasting a sweet drip of the night sweat's drop, all is forgiven for there will be no more apologies to hand over. Schematics, machinations and all that jazz, a burly wind of regret grazes over the glassy eyes behind cross hairs. Too young to understand the field yet old enough to join the ranks.
Read the rest of Second morning by the end of the day
Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 8 November, 2006 - 22:51:51 - print it raw
Tidal wave of dreams cause reflections to chase
Cut lips and slice fingers, the ritual of life is hardly ever a lemon bath worth taking raw. Strut through the pain and walk with a head held high, knowing full well that the scalps shaving above the thrush are easy to pick out.
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Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 1 November, 2006 - 22:55:11 - print it raw
Scratching around on the hard ground, the effusive flow of heat and ignition takes the red of the moment up three. Down one and back again on five, across two to meet the six tricks. Where the look of love is a glance toward the sun and behind it, a shadow casts itself upon the feet of those facing south.
For those of no strict direction, that can be observed by the cross hairs, are remarkable in forming a collection of their attention.
Read the rest of Gorilla god on a motorcycle
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