The Collected Works Of Juavero Ramirez

Thu, 22 Dec 2005 10:52:46 GMT

i think most people would have gotten a message, but i'm housesitting starting tomorrow, and i want people to come round on the tuesday public holiday. let me know if you want to come and i'll give you details.

these are the hearts i've been eating

Sat, 15 Oct 2005 10:43:03 GMT

ugh.

my little brother is having his birthday party. now. so my house is full of thirteen year old skanks. and im not going out for another hour and a half. so i've taken refuge in the study. turned my music up loud. and im not coming out until 9.30. unless dad cooks me some food. then i'll come out. eat. and return.

my horoscope today carried an ominous forewarning of conflict. i havent had it yet. so im guessing it'll come tonight. although, i had a fair bit of conflict at about 3 this morning. with jess. because i insisted on escorting her to the phonebox. i didnt want her walking around on her own at 3 in the morning. apparently that makes me a bad person. go figure.

the end. thats my story.

Non-objective portrait of karma.

Thu, 10 Feb 2005 04:57:26 GMT

Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to mention
and surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to perfection'
but the more I turn my face from the crowd
the more I feel my backs' increasingly compelled
for the sake of escape, to turn a knife on itself,
a knife of relief, from all the petty insight
and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the night.
Bored as fuck with this street corner-cover.
study of a face in a figure. surveying this language as a game
surveilence of this language as the plague.
the dimension of persistence condemns.
This portrait of karma, crafted in accident
text book seduction, minus the text in the language of ghosts
and so we ran, like the wolves were biting,
the inhibitions of their prey kept them from screaming
"scratch my back and I will stab you in yours"
so I chose to live this life alone, without the teeth marks
but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone else's heart to heal my own.
just a victim's split, one part for the wolves, one part for you.
but I'll grow weary soon, weary of this fractal code,
weary of this hallway lined with ghosts.
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to let them in
their words will cause the sweetest fracture from a stone's throw
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to welcome them
parasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like spirits mingling in the mist
that we crafted, a starving jury, let them eat shit from our trembling hands.
The heat for heat's sake, on this Barnard block of Congress
deductively speaking, the polar of progress
well maybe I put too much faith in the accident
entranced, we danced toward the ripest display of escape
let the starving ghosts feast, from this flesh, from these bones,
let them all feast. In this chess game of language, forced to sit so I play all alone, watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from a wild crafted rose.

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