lam.also.can.blog

If only I took a guess, to take that urgency of sanguinity. If only you tried to dissuade, to fan the flames of demise. You appear, you disappear in secrets I believed. The secrets I breathe, the secrets forever beautiful, the weight of your mind’s eye; the secrets we secrete. Could you discern me from that distance? Could you hear what I have to say about you? Could you immaculate intentions unconditionally? Could you sense that Friday mornings seems so ignored without these secrets, the secrets we formulated without logic, the secrets on the wrinkles of your lips; the secrets we secrete…

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. An apple a day should be red. Red as an apple, orange as an orange. Very Mandarin. A pear shaped woman, Hour-glassed. Purple Barney. Ha ha. So, an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Thank you. Good or not my story? Good, hor? - An Apple A Day by Lam (23rd July 2004)

A rolling stone gathers no moss… unless you wrapped it in velcro, or dip it in elephant glue. Don’t you know? Elephant glue? It’ll stick to anything, even you! Ha ha. He he. Hoo Hoo. A rolling stone gathers no moss. But a sticky stone could! Thank you. - A Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss by Lam (16th January 2004)

soundless consumes a surge cursing in kindness-filled tones soundless notions drying up soundless and all dressed-up soundless lets you fall in love soundless was the motive tiresome was the war walking into affairs walking on intentions walking with soundless lover-boys I saw different names on your neck I read the stories on the carpet soundless but divulging soundless bounty of dire intelligence soundless consumes insurgence certainty in automatic statistics soundless shame buried shallow this soundless predicament makes me a tyrant my soundless antagonism soundlessly delivered with noiseless gallantry it blights my ears it stains and lingers it tells me why it makes me a tyrant soundlessly it makes me a tyrant soundlessly it makes me a tyrant in soundless decree.

logic and logarithm, excuses you darn on her cardigan. not lonely, not destitute, not knowing the opportunity of your cerebral expertise, not average, not bothered. by the way,  i was there and it was alright. the science of hypocrites, the hammer of your drunken stupor. you vomit, you calculate, you circle your finger around, you talk a little, you guessed. the gravity of your weak ethics strings you to subtle errors. it radiates, it lingers, it breaks down like mercury, it stagnates as you walked in shouldered with cupids of comprehension. you can’t pretend while you steal her softly from her blankets. no, not when you won’t deny the change, not when you can’t cut her words with lure, not never, not running out of sound. logic and science of gravitational subtle errors, you’ll have to leave her to her phantom of vacancy. i’ll be there and it’ll be alright.

When was the last time you had your teeth sinking in a Coney Dog? Ahh… I like

Back y soy cansado, need sleep, el dormer. Tres días lejos el día de fiesta. Three days, traveling y mi viaje al norte. El viajar, el mirar, viajando, aviso. Against roads and sometimes insectos muertos en el parabrisas. I’m tired, I’m happy, I’m satisfecho con compras. Satisfecho tan, pienso que puede ser que grite en alegría y salte alrededor. So satisfied, so contented. People I met along the streets, along the viaje I made to the north. Dinero y destino. Dios y mi seguridad. Satisfecho tan, contentado tan. Time will allow for another holiday, time will haga la hora para otra manera. Porque me hace sonrisa, soy feliz como un extranjero. Blissful. Muchacho feliz ése es yo…

Somewhere amongst the drizzle, somewhere. Somewhere standing out there, against notice. Cold, cold biased motives, taking modest indications from that door. From that door, apathetic inside but warm enough to soften postures. From that door, three yards away, it should open, by a stranger I once recognized. The stranger of inferences, if she has remembrance, she will open that door. To look for me. To worry for the extra keys on the table. To question the drawers of their absent custody. To take me in to pacify the wet weather. From that door, we used to adore the sentinel conduct of sentiments. She kept her secrets in my ears and I, I gave myself away every dusk to every moonlight she blew from the circles of her lips. From that door, the grey rain shielding my approach with cold, cold biased motives. With words we meant sideways. With amber fist-filled needles, they glazed through the virgin white sheets of the bed. With money and bastards of satisfaction. With chocolate lies, your weak forensic science. With scribbled notes on the table and stench of breaking alcohol. With my tardy ignorance oiled under your conscious claims. Somewhere amongst the drizzle, somewhere. I feel safe, against your manners, against delicate substances you secrete. From that door, I feel safe cause I know I’ve left.

I’m not impressed. Stir. Misspelled. Subtext. Nuance. Hear me. Liaisons. Juxtaposed. Have you ever? Fermented. 9th December 2004. Coins. Blemishes. Linger. Deceit. It hurts my eyes. Frisson. Hey. Rupture. Water. Costs. Reprise my fatigue with a kiss goodnight. Notice. Desecrate. Devastate. Destroy. Do you adore? Summer. Somewhere they’re mining for lesbians. Posh. Portions. Bitter. Anything. Are you knocking on wood? I’m offered. Ah. Surprises. Quantity. Peopling. Roué. Noises. I’m not impressed. Familiar. Fraud. Tort. Insubstantial indictments. Flowers. Tumor. Bake. Grammar. I needed you but I’m sure your hands are full. Pupils. Burgundy. Blameless. Highlights. Weeks and months. Detect. Jews. Automatic. Shut up. It’s good to see that you’ve found someone. Alright. Pencils. Forty. Replicate. It calms down my consciousness of hopes and submissions. Perfume. Ah. Invidious. Fusion. Guilt. It covers my reasons. It stains. It talks to me in my sleep. Humor. Delgado. Voices. Online. I’ll overlook you but we’ll meet up again. Germs and bacteria. Mouths. Moles. Stories. Beside that second light post from your house. Fiber. Driving. Milk. Gladly. Phases. Move along.

don’t tell me i’m wasting my time. don’t just pass me by, motherfucker. can’t you see my paper cup? can’t you tell i’m a beggar? can’t you connote my intention? you give some money, drop it in my paper cup and smile. i’ll reply. i’ll shake your hand if it’s alright. so don’t tell me i’m wasting my time. don’t pay no attention to my white paper cup. don’t fill it up with coffee. don’t ask questions. don’t take notice of my possesions cause i’m a beggar so give me some money.