A Universe of Flowers and Pus

where art thou, my killer

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 16:04:00 +0000

i lay in bed
all day
without bath
without food and drink
and i leave the doors open
to invite the criminal mind
to come inside
and find a lone prey
spreadeagle
on the crumpled sheets
amongst the dog shit
and puddles of dog piss.

he will come in
black clad
his knife will gleam in the dark.

spreadeagle
i will listen to his footsteps
anticipate
for the creak of my door.

at the sight of his tall shadow
i will close my eyes
and the skin of my back
shall earnestly wait
for the kiss
of a metal blade.

girl.

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 16:48:00 +0000

i tried
to grow balls...

but i am just a girl.
i cry at night.

White

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 16:08:00 +0000

White sheets.
Big fluffy white pillows.
White flowing curtains.
White walls.
White carpet.
White ceiling.
White everything.
Everything white and untainted.

In my white shirt and white undies,
I lay my big fluffy hair on the big fluffy white pillows
And rub my white feet
and my white legs
against the silky white crumpled sheets.

In this cold white room
Beneath the glow of white fluorescent
I bury my white face
In these white white sheets.

What Have I Not

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 18:03:00 +0000

There was no music. Just the whispering breeze. The swishing of the trees. Water trickling from a nearby spring. Footsteps, crunching dried leaves and rocks.

But everywhere was a work of art. Finely sculpted hillsides. The horizon so perfect as it would appear in a postcard, or a painting. I wished you could see all the wonder that surrounded me; a feast for my eyes and soul. Clouds touched my face. Cold, gentle strokes brushed against my cheeks. The skies were everclear, everything within sight was flooding with pure beauty. Everything. And I was overwhelmed with awe. The place was heaven. Nothing in it was ugly. Not even the insects. Not even the flakes of crushed foliage. Beautiful things surrounded me, embraced my frailties, conquered my stupid fears. Yet I panted like a dog.

In broad daylight I thought I was gonna faint in the middle of that endless road of stones and mud. With the scorching sun above my head and an unfathomable cliff by my side that followed me everywhere, I felt like I was gonna fall into infinity until the depths of the mountains finally swallow me whole. I was hoping to fall and hit my skull against a giant rock, or for a beast to lounge out of the bushes and devour me altogether.

In the dead of the night, I shivered helplessly despite the thick sheets. My lips were caked. My icy fingers felt like crunchy pretzel sticks that could snap and break into pieces anytime. I thought I was gonna freeze to death. I expected to die there. I wanted to live there, or die right then. I hated to go back to the real world, because right there was the real world. Everything in it was real. The mountains in all its grandeur. It seemed like the entirety of Kingdom Plantae was right before me. Everything I could see was made by God. Nothing tarnished, nothing that could remind me of the chaotic city life.

Nothing there to remind me of you.

Still I wrote this all thinking of you, longing to call for your rescue as I finally slipped from a slimy stone and fell off and rolled down the slope of the woods, rolled over and over again... it seemed endless, but the smell of death came nearer and nearer every second. As my skull crashed into a white rock larger than life, I lay face down, there, in a nowhere. I was reduced to nothing but a lost corpse among dead trees and dried leaves. I was just a speck, a lifeless dot in the midst of the vast grassland. Nobody found me. Mother nature had buried me herself in her own navel. Hence I am forever gone, privileged to have rotten amongst the pieces of the forest which I have obsessed about all my life, but deprived of the one chance to bid you goodbye. I wish I could sneak into your room tonight, seep through the space between your door and the ground... Tower over you, float above your bed and watch you sleep, kiss you in the forehead and lay my desperate ghost by your side for the last time.

But I wrote this all with tangible hands. The sadness is real. I am alive. I got out of the mountains alive and unscathed. I am headed home, back into the city. That ugly place where people only care about money and dolled-up sluts. Soon I will be reunited with my cold bed. I will be home and you will not be there. You never were.

listen

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 18:43:00 +0000

i hear everything
in vivid detail
the gush of wind
the ticking of the clock
i hear every breath
every heartbeat
every movement
through my dog ears.

Each piece a lovely corpse

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 06:36:00 +0000

She was found there lifeless in the woods, lying among the crisp autumn leaves. The trees casted perfect shadows on her moonpale face, the orange gleam of the dying sunset pricked through the spaces between leaves and barks, exactly as she had envisioned. Her caked lips were parted; she seemed to have died agape as her stiff fingers clung to the thin white gauze that is the gown that she wore. It was then covered in filth for slabs of soil had filled her nails. The soles of her feet were bleeding still -- she must have run barefooted across the stones. And probably tripped there. And smashed her head on a rock. No one knows. The trees wouldn't speak. The place was devoid of breath and movement, denied even of the rustling wind. There was no sound. She used to listen to the orchestra of a nearby stream and birds singing. She loved flowing water. And dancing foliage. The green of the leaves she loved the most. But where she finally perished was indeed a lifeless dusk. Even the trees were dead. Everywhere you looked it was dry and sterile. But it was still the earth. She lay there in eternal slumber, sturdy as she had always been, empathic to the emptiness of that vast expanse of mother nature with whom she had at last become one.

Everywhere you looked it was dry and sterile. But it was still the earth. It was the earth in its purest form, nothing in it that was not created by God. It was bare and dispossessed of vibrance, yet it was still beautiful.

Rabbit Bear Penguin Unicorn Cactus Carrot Potato

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 08:04:00 +0000

What is it in rabbits that make people high? When rabbits are cute, we feel so light and we giggle and suddenly we're so happy. When rabbits are mating we laugh 'cause we think that's the only thing they do in their lives other than eating. But when we think about other cute animals - a panda or a koala bear for instance - they're funny but it's because we think all they do is eat and sleep; though they also mate, right? But they're not famous for it. Rabbits are. But rabbits sleep, too - they're just not famous for it.

Rabbits also remind us of Alice. And then of Jefferson Airplane. And then of acid. Rabbits are psychedelic. Have you ever watched the Energizer bunny marching around in circles with its drum without feeling a bit fcked inside? In thrillers, when we see the killers or the pedophiles wearing rabbit mascot costumes we sense the danger... the evil! If they wore a bear costume instead, it won't be as scary but when it's a rabbit... I don't know! It's odd and sinister and yeah it makes you shudder... it's like it carries some sort of foreboding... fck, why do you think is that? It's just a damn rabbit! And rabbits are damn cute in real life.

Maybe that's it. They're too cute that when they're portrayed as monsters, they get scary for real. 'Cause shit! How would you explain that! They must really be possessed by the devil, right?! Right. That's it. Because yes, bears are cute in real life, too, but they also are scary because they eat people and they can scratch open our tummies and pull out our intestines in the blink of an eye - I've seen that on youtube. Rabbits can't do that. They can't even make a sound. And have you ever even seen two rabbits fighting? I haven't. All I know is that they just make lots of babies...

And oh, when we see a lazy panda bear or any other fat bear, it's funny but, that's just about it. But when we see rabbits jumping, we feel like chuckling and jumping with them, right? Or is it just me? No other animal can make me feel high in different ways like a rabbit could.

Oh wait. A penguin. HAHAHAHAHA damn penguins. Why are they even given that funny name? Well, "rabbit" also sounds funny. "Bear" doesn't. What a loser.

I'm not crazy.

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 17:25:00 +0000

Watch me
Enjoying my cigarette.
I'm happy;
I'd do you a pirouette.

I won't
Twirl.
I won't
Move a goddamn muscle.

I'm not
Happy.

I'm not
Smoking a goddamn cigarette.

You're not
Watching
Me.

Silly
Fuck.

Scared

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 06:35:00 +0000

i am afraid of frogs.

i am afraid of cockroaches.

i am afraid of things

that move swiftly in unpredictable directions.

i am afraid of explosions.

i am afraid of elevator doors

that suddenly shut close.

i am afraid of getting hit.

i am afraid of getting fat.

i am afraid of getting old.

i am afraid of losing things.

i am afraid of losing people.

i am afraid of the truth.

i am afraid of lies.

i am afraid of you.

i am afraid of all of them.

i am not afraid of death.

i am afraid of life,

and all its underlying harm.

Happy New Year! Ratatat! Kaboom Boom! Look at my Puñeta Room

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 15:26:00 +0000

remember

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 16:32:00 +0000

what is it to remember? what good does remembering do to you? you have memories. and then what? look back into all of them. and then what? cry over spilled milk? or milk that didn't even exist. spit.

you can't do things right, right now, because you are NOT inside of "right now". you are so busy reminiscing the past, too busy imagining what you wish will happen later or tomorrow, and all you can do RIGHT NOW is absent-mindedly make endless mistakes. wake up. stop dreaming. just fucking LIVE.

of life losing luster

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Wed, 14 Dec 2011 19:48:00 +0000

life used to lure me with attractive possibilities.

and then you came and went, and all of a sudden life has lost its luster.

every object and every place and every piece of life in this world used to have its own definition.

but you came, and all the objects and places suddenly became synonymous to all that you are.

you came. you meant the world to me.

and you went away.

and everything lost its meaning.

High Heels

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 14:52:00 +0000

Battered my feet
Drained all my strength
Scraped off my skin
but I won't repent

For beauty is pain
And beauty is all
I'd pray I won't fall
I'd pray I won't roll

I carry these heels
With my heart and soul
Obsessed with perfection
'Cause I'm plain and small

And I need attention
I'm one lonely whore
I've got eyes on me
I'd suffer for more

Grindcore

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 15:15:00 +0000

These four begrimed walls of a fetid bathroom
Ensconced my evil soul in foreboding and doom.
The dim yellow light concealed all the mold
But still its lewd memories stayed vivid and gold.
I came in bleeding, yearning to purge and wither;
Instinct led my face into the puce toilet water;
Worms and roaches soon swarmed into my ears;
I wallowed in apathy for I had no more fears...
This had no meaning, I craved not for death,
Yet I thirsted for vomit and hungered for meth
Angered by nothing, all bloated in grass,
Ripped open my cunt and the hole of my ass;
Blood and feces splattered all over the floor...
I licked them and swallowed in the name of gore.

my breasts and my brain are MUTEX

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 17:31:00 +0000

THE SIZE OF MY BREASTS IS INVERSELY PROPORTIONAL TO THE SIZE OF MY BRAIN.

OKAY.

MY BREASTS ARE... JUST RIGHT. NOT TOO LARGE, NOT TOO SMALL.

SO.

MY BRAIN IS EITHER TOO LARGE OR TOO SMALL.

MY BRAIN HEAVES.

FLUCTUATES.

SOMETIMES, IT'S TOO LARGE.

SOMETIMES, IT'S TOO SMALL.

BUT MOST OF THE TIME...

I'M JUST A STUPID LITTLE GIRL.

YEAH.

THE TRUTH IS:

I HAVE BREASTS.

AND I DON'T HAVE A BRAIN.

THAT IS SHIT.

I HAVE A BRAIN

'CAUSE I THINK THINGS.

I OVERTHINK.

I BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T EVEN THERE.

I THOUGHT THIS WAS THIS AND THAT WAS THAT.

I THINK ABOUT HELL AND I THINK ABOUT FUCK.

MY BRAIN THINKS ABOUT THINGS ALL THE TIME,

WHILE MY BREASTS DO NOTHING.

black coat

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 17:17:00 +0000

tonight i'm gonna wear a black coat and walk the midnight streets as if i am the bride of dracula escaping our cheap motel room after all the honeymoon and bloodsucking rituals.

i don't know what else to write after that.

i just want to wear a black coat.
that's all.

Brian and Stephanie

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 17:07:00 +0000

July 4, 1996 - Brian was born. He was just a six-month old fetus. I was an only child then (eight years old), and I was so excited to finally have a brother. But after two days, my brother died...

July 3, 1999 - My mother delivered another child, a beautiful baby girl we named Stephanie. An eight-month old fetus, she was already lifeless the moment she came out into the world.

We may have never had the chance to see their first smile, their first tooth, the first time they'd crawl, and walk... we may have never had the chance to hear their first words, their baby talk... yeah, we never had the chance to see them grow up. We don't have any photographs together. But I know they are even happier than we all are now, because they are together, up there in heaven, in the arms of God.

...

And God may have whispered to my mother: "but wait, there's more!"

May 21, 2000 - Cassandra was unleashed into this crazy earth. A pink, tiny eight-month old fetus with an almost perfect Apgar score. Rakenrol! \m/

That 70's Pron Show

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 03:09:00 +0000

That night, my husband was home alone, watching some 70's porn. I was out for work (as an actress, shooting some... 70's porn). Right, that was our favorite: the groove, the funky music, the colorful costumes that eventually get all stripped away.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. "Pizza delivery!" a small voice cried from outside. My husband stood from the couch, paused the video player, wiped off his jizz on the floor, and finally, opened the door. A cute slender girl with a 40-D bustline stood there with a large box of pizza in her hands. She was wearing an orange-and-green cap. Yeah. That was all she wore. Kidding. She also wore an orange bra. I don't know what else she wore, who cares? We're all after what follows anyway.

So. My husband told her to get inside. She obeyed. My husband took the box of pizza from her hands, placed it on the table, and stared at her for a while. Finally, he blurted out, "Holy mother, what big tits you have!"

"That is so you can tit-fck me better!" said the girl, batting her eyelashes.

Next thing, they were on the couch, the girl squeezing her boobs together, my husband finger-fcking the cleave. And yeah, funky music was playing in the background. I don't know what else they did before that, at least that was what I saw the moment I got inside the house. And I was like, "You bitch! Stay away from my husband!"

I pulled her hair, kicked her face with my 6-inch red heels, punched her in the gut... I'd almost beaten up that bitch to death! But suddenly, she started struggling, and then she held my wrists and slammed me against the wall. Fck, she was damn strong! Her hands were fierce, they were like a man's! My husband was just there at the corner, enjoying the catfight, but his jaws dropped in awe as the girl cupped my face, almost crushing it in her huge hands, and said, "I'm not a girl, bitch! See? These boobs are just loaves of bread!"

The bitch took out the loaves from her bra and devoured them right in my face... Indeed, those were not boobs! And indeed, she was not a she! (So from now on, let's refer to this person as "he" okay.) He also removed his clip-on wig and wiped off the makeup from his face. And once again, he turned to me and said, "see? I'm a man and I'm gonna huff and puff and fck you to death!!!"

He pinned me to the couch and spread my legs and fcked me right away. And my husband was like, "WHAT THE FCK, THAT'S MY WIFE!!!"

My husband ran to the kitchen to grab a knife and plunged it on my rapist's back. The rapist groaned, he pulled away from me, and then he plucked the knife off his back and stabbed my husband in the chest! I was so shocked that I just stared in horror. Blood trickling down his mouth, my husband said, "honey, can you pull out the knife from my chest?" So I did, and I handed the knife back to him. With all the strength that he had left, my husband planted the knife in his enemy's left eye, plucked it out, and then stabbed the right eye.

There was blood all over the tiger carpet, and I screamed at the top of my lungs. They were both dead!!! Who's gonna fck me now???

I was too depressed that I cried until I had no more tears. Then I opened the box on the table and the 18-inch all-meat pizza in there was still smoking hot. I stuffed every slice in my mouth until all that's left is the box and bits of cheese. The pizza was so good, almost orgasmic, it brought me to heaven. I achieved nirvana. Nothing really matters now. There were dead bodies in my house but I was all zen.

I went out for a walk in the park and appreciated Mother Nature with all my heart.

Stupid clothes can't fold themselves and go back to their proper places.

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 15:13:00 +0000

the art of sniffing

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 14:57:00 +0000

sniff and sob
when you are hurt.
sniff
so you will lose your mind.
sniff
and make the loudest sniffing sound.
sniff aloud
and make the longest sniffing sound.
sniff
'til your head is filled with air.
sniff 'til your eyes hurt.
sniff 'cause everything else hurts.
sniff
when you are in pain.
when people go bad.
when wet stones have dried.
when plants have all died.
close your eyes and sniff.
sniff when life feels like hell.
your nostrils
lead the way to heaven.

'cause we all want a rockstar boyfriend

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 19:24:00 +0000

how will it be like to be the girlfriend of a rockstar? a fairly goodlooking rockstar with respectable skills... there will be a lot of competition. he's gonna be swarmed by girls all the time. he's certainly a player, too. so how's it gonna be like? you will just proudly flaunt him everywhere like a trophy. you will feel like you are the luckiest girl on earth but with having him comes the burden of making him stick with you. he will have all the advantage, unless you are a rockstar yourself. or a supermodel. or a porn star. like, how are you gonna make yourself deserve him if you're just some ordinary girl from the crowd?

and what does he have anyway to make you think about all these things. he's just cool and handsome.

yeah, he's cool and handsome. that's what we all fucking want! stupid girls. and we don't wanna get hurt?!

qualities of a "chic"

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 10:23:00 +0000

shiny long brown hair (wavy or straight, doesn't matter)
fair complexion
slender body
expensive clothes

that's all! right, face doesn't matter.

the bohemian poser

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 15:43:00 +0000

dirty hands
touching things
touching other hands
pointing this and that
with a calloused finger.
held something else
but can't remember
these hands are dirty
soiled by ink
soiled by mud
soiled by paint
or dust
or semen
or your vomit from last night.
your hands will never be clean
'cause you are a creator
your mind shits art
and those hands are its rectum
and you are your mind's mouth
you feed on the same shit
dog style.

wastage

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 15:41:00 +0000

lay down and squander
go out and wander
watch and stare
as the earth's plates move
S
L
O
W
L
Y
.
kill time.
massacre.
what would rhyme
but macabre...
peel off its skin.

it doesn't have skin.
murder it.
it won't die.
we will die
and nothing happened
'cause we lavished 'til the end.

insekto

noreply@blogger.com (keytihelow) — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 04:46:00 +0000

umiinom ba ng regla ang lamok?

...ang langaw nga, kumakain ng tae eh.

maganda pala sila pag close-up.