The Losers Den

“How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, when memory plays an old tune on the heart!” - Eliza Cook At the heights of plague in this trickling agony -where caskets take the shapes of homes- blackened seas rise within us flooding the soul and its crevices...

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You claim that we must look inwards for peace and revelation in this season of death and fear, but what lies in us is a foul sight. Is this a ruse? A way to entrap us in a pit of our own making? To send us back to the dead wombs that gave us shape? to...

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Y aquí sentado entre mis flores pobres estas astromelias de dos mil la docena, alimentadas con huesos hidropónicos desechos de jardines salvajes que crecen entre las obras negras de una humanidad inconclusa, de un corazón de cimientos dañados, un rosario...

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The Last Judgment - William Blake Wrenched in anger this throat spits chunks of hallowed flesh, salvation once again rejected the bondage of holy consecration despised again. Blasphemy is the sister of clairvoyance desecration is lucidity. But something...

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1. It is the weight of seasons that brings the unfathomable. The wound that breathes iron and screams. a fruit of misery hanging from the filaments of children torn asunder by this madness the gaping gash of birth, the midwifery of hate and resentment...

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Muero entre cegueras al pie de la puerta de la revelación. Cerca, tan cerca de haber conocido las verdades que se esconden entre aguas turbias de árboles sagrados - un trago saciaría a las oscuridades que consumen los surcos trepidantes de la mente- pero...

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You know the story of my birth; of the horrid gash I inflicted on my mother´s flesh to let her know that I had arrived to eat all her dreams so that I could fulfill mine. But you know not of my resurrection, of the wicked reversals that I played upon...

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La gran mentira es la cura, la idea de que todo puede ser sanado, que la sangre se vuelve ámbar sobre las heridas, y que hay solemnidad en el dolor. Negruras profundas y turbulentas arrastran al corazón en las mareas del sueño. Vendo con feroz descaro...

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"...Lord knows I was fucked from birth. Lord give me death" Pulling Teeth - From birth (Taken from the album "Funerary") The age old question of why the path is chosen has many mouths and all of them bathe me in scornful truths. Curses, inherited anger...

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What do you know of love, my sweet friend? you spit vinegar on my wounds and call it healing You sink your fingers into my lungs and claim to embrace me in times of need You peddled lies and I bought them in spades. I paid with secrets bargained a fool's...

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