The urge to experience the fat of the land can never really stop.

Blissful moments of arrivals, exploration, adventure, hunting for the sun,

filling up your soul with imagery, all the way up to its brim; 

Until it’s overflowing with episodes of life,

pouring out of you.

Giving yourself back to the world, 

Closing the Circle.

Settling for as many as one of those places.

By Thomas Samuel Corbeaux. 

Waiting: Flowers & Candy 

Available now.

Update No. 2. Homestretch. Putting on some finishing touches. Will be uploading very soon.

Update No.1 - Rough cut done. We’re beginning to tinker.

First Teaser.

The birds were singing.
[Bratislava at ] Night is somewhat mesmerizing.
Music: WeArePhantom https://soundcloud.com/wearephantom/sets/scars-ep

The hordes elevated by the coming of summer’s vail rejoiced. 

They celebrated by pairing up.

Attending the festivity in large numbers. 

Braided between one another they wrote the silent manifesto of freedom of blue and green.

From beneath, exploding geizers of energy consummed them.

Red bugs coupled. 

By Thomas Samuel Corbeaux

A soft fragrant breeze conquers the moment.

Molds the fleeting warmth between your fingers with the morning’s lazy atmosphere.
There are sounds. 
There’s you.
There goes the moment. 

By Thomas Samuel Corbeaux.

Seven dots of light on a concrete fence illuminated the grey matter. 
Green fields began to shine slightly. 
The remote tower ventured into the the land of visible.  

These sudden visions. 
Imagination runs wild. 
A stallion gone berserker. 
Scared.
Now thrusting against the wind like there’s no tomorrow. 
Stop.
Until muscles start to hurt.
Stop.
Out there.
Stop.
Experiencing pleasure and pain in unison. 
Stop.

Rushing through hilly lands. Boring conversations of what everybody would have for dinner were filling the air. The granola boys pulled out their iPhones. They texted friends they don’t like. They were trying to find a use for their new pocket toys. 

Just 10 more minutes. She will come. She said “Yes.” She wouldn’t lie to me. She promised.

By Thomas Samuel Corbeaux.

The shivering cold of the neverending blizzard got you locked up, the sky is falling and the landscape’s sharp edges disappear under unbalanced heaps of whiteness.

The yellow and white lights shine through the night’s gown. Illuminate various scenes close and far. Reflect the road and track. Extinguish inside of winter’s black.

Her beauty was a fragrance. 
She sun-danced across my sight. She got lost in silence for mere moments.
She twitched from time to time. When she came back to answer, another question was served. 
She was free falling within herself. 

By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.

In between.  Dancers on one side. Drunks on the other. Even though the music was blasting, he wasn’t disturbed by the racket. She was the only thing he could focus on. A stalker was born. 

The yellow tinted glass was his single point of focus. A throng of waving bodies cast shadows upon the dance floor. He separated himself to carefully examine the facts. He wanted to become invisible. Seemingly unapproachable. A night hawk. Feeding on silhouettes and banished impressions.  

The loud bass kicks hardly touched his well-built fence. He felt nothing.  No vibe.  No kick.  No melody. He was alone. Solitary. In this scarcely lit cellar his world darkened even more. He disappeared within his suffering visions. 

By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.

A beautiful Russian lady carried an enormous tacky purse in one hand and a blazing green bag filled with paint thinner in the other. She was heading for the university grounds where a black flag waved above its main campus building. 

Somebody should tell the kissing couples to stop and pay their last respects to the deceased.

The two lesbian roommates were spending more and more time in their 4x4 room. The increased junk food appetite rose with every other episode of Cougar Town. They couldn’t stop. They were caught in-between stereotypes.   

She got one yesterday. She will want one today. There’s no stopping her. She’s a maneater. The Goddess needs her daily man. Otherwise she will unleash her wrath onto the world. We will perish within her anger. Now go Corbeaux, be the next man sacrifice. 

By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux

One armed men always cross the road when the light turns red. 

My eyes betray me at every step. 
I make loud noises within the solemn concrete pathways.
Dull lights illuminate my pilgrimage.
I hope I won’t freeze to death.
I want to walk and never stop. 
I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of becoming a shadow.
I’m intoxicated. 

<Look at how I strangle literary climax to death>

Leave. Forget. Die.
             ~ 
Live. Remember. Stay.

Distance makes any kind of woman skinnier. Dimm light illuminates their beauty. Wine spreads their legs easier. 

Various shades hide edges of blades. 

An unmanned chair was placed on a vacant parking spot. The sing read: Looking for a home. Don’t want to be solitary no more. 

By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.