All comics by colorofmydeath

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by colorofmydeath
1-25-03
length as a measure of age.
at least im longer than the tulip garden.
now... i know that I left that strip joint around here somewhere.
age redefines the wiretap concensus.
suddenly, the minutia of infinite distance lays itself before my feet.
er, um, excuse me...
the invention of the prop-plane destroys the careful balance. age is indignant.
you span a distance i can barely comprehend. may i touch you?
what are you doing with my strip joint?

 

by colorofmydeath
1-26-03
a creeping fear has left its tail in the door. its presence does not go unnoticed.
caverns for lips sway like a whale in a storm.
your thoughts resound in microfibre spanning shirts and shoes.
In vain, liquorish tengo partners trade flavors, but the taste cannot be altered.
what i cannot fit in my mouth, cannot hurt me.
... ...
Indigestion never felt so good.
Stomach acid teaches lessons in crayon, and in amino-acid redistribution.

 

by colorofmydeath
1-27-03
In a time of caterpillars, nausea spirals as plate and spoon infrastructure.
"the finger on this chin entices me to join the waltz. by days, the wax is melting."
the volume at 10, spider footfalls treat the streetwalk sleeper to avalanches.
Lie in Grace. that dangling from the ceiling cannot read maps. the highway system has become home.
this tumultuous trek under the labyrith of clones has blossumed a turpentine glacier.
all "proceed"s go to "with the letter".
A stomach of spider eggs is cured when they hatch. but have the bite marks conspired?
"but cry not. this pearl has graced the pages."
"but cry not. this pearl has graced the pages."

 

by colorofmydeath
1-28-03
A Shakespearean encounter...
Taking turns to try the wheel, our knuckles grow bloody with the exertion of centrifigul force.
Jelly that seeps between these fingers tells the story of my vision, removed.
...ruined by the dawn breaking on the "shallow end".
Seered by iron-on collectivism, these ends split by days.
To be: lie within the rows of bottles, light glimmering on curves accentuated by push-up cutlery.
Transportation syndicates and eye shadow rule the earth with an iron fornification.
do you know where the women's room is?
not to be: fourteen yards down the hall, the carpet sceams through heel-spin manuevers... whats "on the left" can still be seen with the naked eye.

 

by colorofmydeath
1-30-03
Skirting issues with hems held high, the word truth is streching across foreheads.
By night, i am a cadaver.
the crest of the "h" all but transparent, cyclicle reimbursment rattles pot-shots to travel logs.
Dialouge with men lost, but quote not the fixations pasasge.
i ride compass sides, but cannot circumnavigate halo domed fixtures.
.... ....
threads fall from fingers to disastrous floors.
....

 

by colorofmydeath
2-03-03
Distribution centers touch on American folk-goddism.
Long time... no variety pack....
this was to be the pinnacle of my carreer.
Trains breeze past expectant stations, but halt at the theatre's gate.
implications, thorough bred....
the curtain falls on scenes of domicility...but is welded open as claymore's recline in parking lots.
In the noon showdown, the first gone pulled signals "anticipation", the late-to-draw showing "granted".
so... um. hi. a box of boxes, worn through on the carpet floor?
I am speechelss in the face of your insistence on the previously explored.

 

by colorofmydeath
2-07-03
Bloodloss at erection commencements.
Abbreviate the conjuncture of bubble-gum and and empty stylus.
Albany closes its hands around coloring books, the numbers confusing shades with a life lived.
Lost is not even a word this locale can pronounce.
i was what i cannot become.

 

by colorofmydeath
3-10-03
the stage is set.
prolonging the return, i drift among hallways... grey doors shut to yellow walls.
lets talk yellow sushi bowls.
the curtains are drawn open...
y..e...l...l...o...w?
in thick and thin, primer, base-coat, reapply.
... to a packed house of mice and the strange-hat men who chase them.
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mine has an inlay of a pagoda. i bought it at The Home Store.

 

by colorofmydeath
3-15-03
Wandering for three long days, and three longer nights, Rock and Roll replaces thought as an axiom of failure.
i am beautiful like the wall fixture i was spawned from.
The suburbs approach...
crush these knees in well allocated photographs!!
The industry grinds to a halt, and the rioters pull down their masks to grin at one another. The day is one, but the moments have been squandered in thrown-out arms, and the recording device perching.
i play this "E", flat for you.

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