http://slow.writerscafe.org/gastelum The original writings of author Gastelum en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776093333 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 When I was 12-years-old there was a house that a guy and his daughter lived in. I would walk by their house on the way to school and the garbage can always smelt like dead and rotting fish. It all made sense because the guy that lived in that house was always out fishing and always trying to sell ti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/1042528/ talent's there lying, waiting for me to stroke her.but laziness is next door, tempting me with her perfect teeth.my talent lies there, and i know i should lie beside and wrap her withone arm but there is no fascination, no guessing, no wondering in it.laziness teaches me that each time i razor my sk.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/1024671/ i sit here fingering the straight scar on her arm. i imagine all the blood, and i imagine all the emotions."did she feel alive while she was trying to die?" is the thought in my mind.she takes a nice deep breath that lifts her chest and upper tummy and my head raises with her body as i lay here and .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/1021433/ A hair on the head of John the Baptist floats to the water only to sink and be sifted by the silt. Repeating the panning motion until the hair is buried. Repeating until all pain has been felt over and over and over by ever [human] puzzle piece of life. We should be used to the disappointment by now.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/993612/ who are we? am i to be something more than me? if i use my own verse and my very own questions i seem to be ignored.is thisnormal? are we only attracted to the flavor of another being if it affects us?i wait, and lust, for that perfect sentence that makes you think brief--for hours.i listen with&nbs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/967460/ elastic tendons in the brain make for archaic thoughts. shape shifting ideas of deceit like the shadows in Plato's wet dream; oh nocturnal emission is such a mysterious mess. to love the ones that I love is to ignore the ones i ignore and lust. my voice flows thick, lifts like a silhouette, but no w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/967017/ waiting patiently for the alarm to go off i cannot help but to absorb all the sights, all the sounds. i cannot help but to feel alone in a place that i call "home". a woman walks past me, but all i see is a body wrapped in cloth waiting to die, a body i've explored many times and a body that has bro.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/964992/ you walk past the panties on the floor. you know they were only worn for two hours. just long enough to have steeped in that intoxicating scent from that warm gash. it's those panties that you first hover cautiously in front of your nose, but then the small arms of that smell grab the insi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/944865/ i write.rewriteerase.kittens'er living under the hood of your vehiclesstart the enginedestroycreate a theorylive again.i lust.spray semenresurface.shower offbegin again.missing body parts make the mind racesoft... wet.i lament.bleeding againbloody taste of oily iron.Babylon.the river's edgeconsecrat.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/937064/ Galahad ran through the hall to tell the professor of the scene in the market. He crashed through the doors of the classroom as professor Cosimo was deep into the first study of the season with his new pupils.“Cosimo, come at once for your son Felix is proclaiming to denounce his worldly posse.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/919767/ the heavy oak door leading to the coolwell lit room is forcefully slammedand life begins to empty its soulwhere she screams as he binds her hands.while thoughts baptize the wheat fields in her heart with fireseven angels hum their heavenly voices; such a small unlikely choir.they know t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/918263/ it is summer again, in the past. the leaves swell like my desires, they fill with the energy of the light and create substance. they sway with the wind and hold tight as the insects feats. enduring each storm and growing taller into the sky, networking complicated systems of roots into the earth.in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/916582/ it was the dark of the night that brought me to look out the window. i have seen the night before. i have seen the transformation of evening to dusk mutate to twilight. i have sat and looked at the sky with my friends racing to be the first one to locate a star as the day turned to evening turned to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/908030/ evan stared at her as she told him about the past, in an attempt to ease his troubled mind. her breath was a heavy carpet stained with fresh spilled bourbon."please go to sleep now, evan." she said with a blank expression on her face and a glossy film over her eyes."i want to, but i am scared of my .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/906339/ --episode one--I'm looking at an angel, he's sitting in a gas chamber. The entrance to his mouth is cracking a smile, asthe entrance to my soul becomes increasingly dim. My patience will never gain a moment of it's leisure back.Patient and waiting for time to end, while this stagnant bag of moist fl.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/903713/ the friend of a friend wakes up every morning looking out his window to meet the day, in a home he'll never pay off before he passes away. the debt grows as he gets old. forty years left to go, only eight thousand dollars in his bank account at all times, never less, sometimes more. sad sad sad how .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/903593/ In my dream last night I was in a super market. The lights were on and it was twilight outside. I could see some stars close to the horizon just out the window. My life and ever circumstance was placed within every container of the store. Every jar of pickles was a mistake that I had made, and all m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/900822/ there is a place in my mind that is full of confusion and danger. a place that will never know clarity. a room whose door i open on occasion, i turn on the light and all that i hear is the echo of the light switch. we all have these rooms within us, each one of us, all of us. a place that has staine.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/gastelum/900600/