Apercu of A Religious Flavour genus

Reasons only stand to prove

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, January 23, 2008 - 23:37:32 - print it raw

Excuses, excuses, excuses. Be done with the lot of them. Flying about, flailing even, and hitting the left eyebrow with an intent toward deliverance. Ready for the moping and sloping jaws to payback in return of sorts. Of favours, deceit and general missives on the state of the world. Sounds like they know how to talk into the mirror without watching back on the reflection.

Directions are in the wind and it's a mighty gust for the blaze of atmosphere changing. Changing up and on the whims of sneezes and on the wings of butterflies fluttering by on continents worlds away.

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Magicians work with calculations and errors

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, August 15, 2007 - 23:52:41 - print it raw

Placing cold hands under the armpits, jitters quiver to end. Squeezing tightly and gently at the same time, breath is deep, breath carries quick to a pace. Watching the light over the break tip over into the eyes and shield all manner of shadows running along the horizon is the kind of past time for the dawn to enter into. Thar be silhouettes with no arms. No arms leaving them with no armpits by default.

For all the hands and all the sleeves in the world, nothing comes close to the detemination that comes underfoot. A mighty swing and all the cards flutter without any pants. No pants and no arms. nothing but the context. Nothing but the essence.

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Hypnotist waving around the eclipse behind the cloud

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, August 1, 2007 - 19:29:39 - print it raw

Fine grains of sand find themselves deep under the eyelids, warding against evils of sight and the subsequent tricks on the mind.

Everybody is the enemy!

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Self-reflected inner orange sadness

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, July 25, 2007 - 20:53:01 - print it raw

Clean cut and down the middle with ruminations on weary streets and roads made of tears. Rivulets burn canals in the craggy surfaces and only the chewing forces against the wind — a massive beast of amorphous delicacy — take the stir. Streets made weary for lawn bowls sake! They never give credit for the ones who fall first or for those who take the detour from behind and come up through the other end.

Tunnels, of course, are over-rated. All dark and leading one way from each end. Where the other is looking to head in the other and it's clearly a sign for narrow minds. Head long into the spot light at the opposite end with an intent forward looking. Turn around in the darkness bright eyes and catch a spot of bother.

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Familiar logic from a future dimension

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, July 11, 2007 - 16:30:02 - print it raw

Crushing bay leaves between the toes for a sparkling sheen of raspberry delight, and oils drip from the noses as the eyes wince in the heat of the sun. Hot under the shade of the non-existent shelter, aghast at the thought of waking up into the night's dusty ventures with dentures loose from the rot of gnawing at visions in dreams wet with acid rain.

Cracks of thunder without lightening, down by and along the ridge over the other side. Char grilling the sizzling fingers and feet, red and blistery with sores of beds made from marsh and bones. No aliens to speak of here though, only the foreign vessels sneaking in creepy edges, lying shallow.

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Seance slaughter causes skin to get cold

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, May 23, 2007 - 21:09:13 - print it raw

From beyond and from the other side of the bank, where the grass grows on clumps of edible moss. Standing with straws hanging off lips cut from the sun and brown from the dirt. Sucking seers with dilation in their eyes and corn in their ears. Prescience is in the air and there is only one thing left to lose: the future.

Breathing deep the fumes of the rotting and the scent of yesterday clinging desperately to their nostril hairs. Spit and cud gather at the jowls, drooling with an essence only bile knows. Richly wild with the flavours of the sting, mint leaves will never be enough.

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