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Before yesterdayHoning skills and loving the ride

Manicly Depleted. A love Story.

15 April 2018 at 09:09
By: Naonato

Deplete, the daily prompt.

It’s dark and the lights are on.

The TV’s on but not even Friends can cheer up the mood.

There’s no appetite but plenty of food:

sugar sachets and peanut butter with banana.

Fifty three minutes go by and it feels like three hours. No text back means you’re dead, or worse, you’ve abandoned me like crumbs on a counter.


Living far away makes it so much harder,

I’m depleted of all that makes any sense.

Depleted of you, and depleted of me.

You’re left with nothing but raindrops on a tin roof,

with no one inside to hear the symphony.

It’s all just a mess, and I have not the energy to clean.


What happened?

I woke up and you were well,

by sunset, you were in distress.

Nothing I did eased the pain:

I whispered and it hurt you, I kept silent and you’d fill it with hate,

I screamed, and you’d fill me with guilt:

How could I scream to you when you’re so dark and deep you don’t even have the energy to breathe? How could I be so insensitive?!

“I can’t teach you how to treat me! I can’t spare the energy! Don’t you see I’m holding on by my teeth! Just leave!”

But I didn’t leave…. I didn’t. I wanted to, but I was too scared you’d hurt yourself. I’d leave the next day, yes… The next day, once the storm’s settled, and the weather is fair… I’m not made for this torment, and it’s not my burden to wear.

Day broke, later than most days.

The Sun came out again, and those words that were screamed and yelled were depleted of meaning,

And loving and caring rose from its ashes, like a merry go round, like the roller coaster that lives constantly in your mind, with no one at the controls…

And I was filled with compassion because it’s easy to feel compassion when the other apologises, but that’s not a true test of character. It’s when it’s dark and ugly that we need to be our brightest and our best.

So I promised to you, and to myself, that the next time this happens, and it will happen, I’ll be ready. I’ll be quiet, but present, I’ll listen and I’ll ask questions until you answer them, because I know that if I sense you’re bad, you’ve been bad for long, and I know that you need to talk, but are scared to be the burden, scared to deplete me, and the words you scream, are not you but the depression…

I love you in dark and in light and in every shade between.


Después De La Tormenta

28 January 2019 at 14:52
By: Naonato

Búscame en el arroyo,

allí donde los ríos de lodo se llevaron todo.

Búscame en los despojos,

allí donde el viento le ganó la batalla al molino.

Búscame en el callejón,

allí donde te troqué por alquitrán en mi corazón.

Búscame despues de tí

tormenta sin frenesí,

búscame despues de tí

tonalidades de gris,

búscame despues de tí,

arcoiris de azufre y zinc.

Desastre natural sin tregua

proclamo en todo lo alto

un estado de emergencia!

Adiós al éxtasis,

Desastre Natural.

Falso elixir,

tierra sin mimbreral.

Hiciste del altar

un desguace,

y de mis labios

– enterrado de pie –

un ataúd.

Encima del alúd,

lee mi lápida:

“Perdóname Vida,

por no saberte querer”.

Quien te quiere hoy, no es el de ayer.


Atrevete o vete

21 September 2018 at 07:09
By: Naonato

Dejame leerte los labios mientras duermes,

buscando suspiros entre las sabanas sudadas,

arrepindiendome de volver, sin saber como huir…

La puerta está abierta, y pasa el aire,

estoy atrapada en mi jaula de marfil?

Quien quiere ver mas allá de su dolor,

y meter el dedo en la llaga,

como Santo Thomas el Apostol?

Ya no quiero mas.

No te quiero mas, no puedo contigo.

No me atrevo…

pero te veo.

Atrévete o vete… Pero me tengo que atrever para irme, asi que te ruego..


Even fairies grow up

22 August 2019 at 10:02
By: Naonato

I learnt how to dance to the sound of underground fireworks,

legs, burnt boots and clenched jaws drop around me,

like grotesque confetti.

I’m carefree, in peace with my maker, as I wonder between poisonous ivy

and twitchy mines… Must keep low and under the barbed wire;

I use it as a clothes hanger.

Occasionally the fur of a clumsy mammal is left on it,

like a tibetan flag, like a hunters clothes line.

The best thing about the military exclusion zone, is how peaceful it is at night;

there are no planes flying over my sky to interrupt my star gazing right.

I dance between two lands; my light step heals the World,

I steal from one and give to the other.

I carry stories from the outside in, and vice versa.

I smuggle love letters from those that don’t forget.

Many tried to stop me, but they stand still

when they see Death’s head over yellow paint,

they stay well away…

Their military boots are like magnets to my jumpy friends,

even the ones made of clay…

So let me dance and dance,

I know one day I’ll grow too heavy,

and my feet will disturb those that kept me safe,

and then it will be my end,

and I’ll be one tiny bleep among the stars,

and my confetti will nourish the land.


Tales from the mind of Kristian: Zone

From Flirt to Hurt

18 August 2019 at 03:54
By: Naonato

It’s a late summer evening in Cyprus. A daughter and mother sit alone in a hospital room.  Mother sit’s on a plastic covered recliner while Daughter perches herself up in bed.

Mum, I don’t know why I did it.

I thought it would be fun.

Ok, this is as much as I can remember of the third night.

Yes, there were two nights prior. I don’t know, peer pressure I guess.

So the third night I got dressed,

I went for drinks, I met with one guy

yes just the one, for now.

We flirted heavily.

He asked me if I wanted to meet with his friends again, I said yes, why not.

We ended up being four people.

yes mum, three men and me.

I DON’T KNOW WHY MUM! Do you want me to tell you or not?

So the four of us went for drinks. We drank alot.

No, I can’t remember how many drinks I had.

No, I wasn’t drugged.

We went to my room, and we agreed that we would all have sex. Yes, the three men and me. Well, boys.

Well, they’re like 16 more or less.

I know that’s young!

Mum, I can’t do this if you keep interrupting me like this. It’s hard enough as it is.

We closed the door and we had sex. Please don’t make me tell you the details.

Well two at a time and one was waiting.

Ok, good.

At some point, someone knocked, I was very drunk at the time.

And 9 more guys arrived.

I don’t know if all at the time. I was confused and distorted.

It all started to spiral. It all started to move really fast. I wanted to puke, and I wanted it to stop, I just didn’t know how to do it.

It was like being pounded by waves, submerged in the break water. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t get a moment to realise that things had gotten out of hand.

I just wanted it over, but they kept on coming, one after the other. It never ended.

I know I did wrong, I know I shouldn’t have put myself in that situation. I wanted to explore and I wanted to be liked, he’s a famous football player you know, in his country anyway.

I know it doesn’t matter what he does for a living!

But I just wanted to see what was going on with this, it seemed like a fun idea, when it was just the four of us. I never agreed to twelve! You have to believe me, Mum!

You can shout at me, and blame me, and tell me that I’m stupid, I don’t care, I know what I lived, and it’s been filmed for crying out loud! I never consented to that either!

Some years later, when Daughter could speak freely about this with her Mum she said this:

What I don’t understand is how their country men hailed them as heroes because the courts report stated they didn’t rape me, but no one bat an eye for the act itself! 12 boys fucked one girl. There’s nothing wrong with that? How sick are they? And I’m the whore? If I’m a whore, then they’re just as much to blame as me, regardless of the rape.

But let me be clear, I consented to three men, the rest I did not. And the moment they all came in the room, that was rape. From all.

tales from the mind of Kristian: Flirt

Brood Mood

2 August 2019 at 10:12
By: Naonato

Brood mood son,

it’s not what you do with your time, it’s how it’s perceived by the ones around you. Your time ain’t valuable, the appearance of work, costs more than working itself, because people pay you on their perception of you, and not on the result. You think I’m kidding, tell me what all those influencers have done, and why they’ve made the money they’ve made? It’s about the perception of work, rather than work itself.

So brood mood,

Let it go smooth,

I’m sailing away in my sloop,

waiting for the right kind of coup.

when walls fall,

and passports are pass-alls

and we cross borders

playing hop-scotch.

Brood mood,

I’m in a dark place.

But when I think of this,

It give me some mental space.

I’m not gonna brood

lets leave that to the flocks,

I’m gonna rise to the struggle, and

let booze

take care of the days that become too long,

and weed

of the days that are just too short…

Love you.


My Bucolic

I’m not a big reader,


my Beard’s thick like a tome,

It’s like a mobile nest


tired birds with no home,

come for a little rest.

The leaves fall clean and crisp.

The Sun slips through and beams,


reflections bounce off the stream,

I love it when I can smell Spring

and here the birds in my beard sing.


a dwarf with a big dream:

To live in anarchy,

and swim above water,

and climb the canopy,

and mine under my river,


to be more than a gleam

– not just one of a team.


A Heart Melts Before Turning To Stone

4 April 2019 at 14:28
By: Naonato

My eyes burn from within,

I find myself burning from within.

I try to breathe, but flames dry out my tongue and cripple my lungs,

like dry leaves.


My blood scalds a veiny path,

flames take over in wrath

-licking my skin into deformation.

These ashes remind me

we’re alone on this brittle earth,

we all burn by ourselves.


No matter how much you give,

despair burns in solitude,

like a drifting leaf downstream.


And when the rapids surge

and the flames have fuel anew,

with just our power to hold onto

-we’re as strong as the moment is due:

porcelain freefalling, dry woods in the summer,

or hapless bugs in quicksilver.


Fighting an inevitable tide,

one must as the question:

Why can’t we embrace the flames?

Let them burn away all the weight we carry,

let them blister our skin until white pearls glow in perfect absence.

I need not my flesh if my flames take it away from me.

I need nothing that can be turned into ashes.

I need of love, and love alone.

alas, alone in love is no love at all,

for love needs to reach a heart, as a flame needs the air it burns.

And my heart is long gone,

Replaced by a mine of coal.

It will shine bright, too bright if you’re too close.

But it’s reach is not infinite.

Too far a distance is a nightmare.

Long distance dims lights

and exacerbates darkness.


I don’t fear solitude more than I fear the air we breathe…

We’re living in isolation surrounded by a dream.

Mallet To The Senses

21 April 2018 at 18:10
By: Naonato

Mallet, the daily prompt.

And then there was none,

no silence, no noise, no time… Nothing.

He opened the door, unlocked the screen.

She opened her eyes, and saw him between her thighs,

– it takes longer to die when you wish it hard…

I looked into his eyes, but he gazed my pants, I pleaded with my face,

since my voice remained estranged,

He said ‘let go, I want to take them off!’

What was I to do, but to obey?

After all, wasn’t my father the one who said ‘listen to men, behave like a woman, and speak when spoken to…. or you won’t be getting any dessert.’

But what to do when men behave like men? What to do then?!

What would a man say?

‘Put that mallet to my head, I have no cure for this disease’

But that’s not what he said. He pulled me back, I remained silent,

He thrust inside of me, as I reached with the tip of my nails

– The wood, smooth and polished, elegantly sitting in my palm…. the weight, noticeable when I closed my fist around the handle… I looked into his eyes again and saw nothing but a beast… And as such, the beast must be put down; by any means.

– A mallet to the head will do just fine. Closed fist, one last glance… Nothing, no humanity left. I bring my fist of iron down on his head as loud and clean as such mess allows..

His blood tastes like sour cherries on a Sunday afternoon.

I need a lack of sleep

15 November 2017 at 15:27
By: Naonato

I need a lack of sleep

it makes everything seem like a dream.

My mind melts like ice cream

in the midsummers nights;

I’m fighting that good fight,

but it’s all over now –

caffeine’s got me up and down

the walls,

where clocks are laced with TNT.


I’m following the rabbit hole…

No! Fuck that!

I’m carving it

with my nails and broken teeth.

But there’s no friction,

no sparks, no inhibition.

I want it to go


I want to want nothing but wantings gone.

It just seems impossible with all these ticks

and tocks, and gongs.

So hand me that bong for one more song.

And maybe just maybe, the sparks and cinders of this

left-to-dry revered weed

will ignite my TNT…

And maybe just maybe,

once the dust settles beneath my feet…

I can finally see what it means

to be just me.


Cuando el Mar Habla, las Olas Callan

23 September 2017 at 11:33
By: Naonato

Salgo a los bares, para beberme cuatro botellas de agua a tres euros la gracia. Me jode porque la cerveza sale a dos con cincuenta. Pero los que van colocados no beben cerveza. Sale caro ir de sano, pero sería más caro intoxicarme cada cuatro días.

Busco entre los escombros que me quedan por amigos (tras mi última manifestación contra el machismo y el adoctrinamiento de la población) un hombro donde dormirme unos segundos. La gente se aburre de mis charlas, y yo de sus gracias… Cada uno su camino, y cada cual mejor. Pero cada vez que sucede me encuentro mas sola, y con menos gente a mi alrededor que me oiga… Hay gente si, pero los que quedan están moribundos.. Los únicos capaces de escucharme son los que van tan colocados que no saben si la que habla soy yo, o la voz en su mente manifestada.

En fin, no sé por qué cuento esto, tal vez porque llevo dos dias intento limpiar mi casa, y no soy capaz de mover un solo dedo. Me gustaría poder tener algo en el mundo que fuese seguro, y que no me dejase colgada a la primera de cambio.

Tendría que sacar a mi gato muerto de debajo de mi cama, pero para ello tendría que organizar mi armario.

Absolutamente todo está bien en este Mundo; todo está en su sitio y todos somos perfectos. Asi que ¿porqué perder tiempo limpiando lo que no importa que esté sucio?

Buscadme en los bares, soy la voz dormida que no encuentra la salida, sujetando el pomo del baño en una mano y un billete enrollado en la otra.

Llevo meses gritando por todo lo alto, pero ahora solo soy otra loca mas, en un barrio lleno de cuerdos.

Swerve Toward Sympathy

12 September 2017 at 04:30
By: Naonato

Sympathy, daily prompt.

A few nights ago, while riding my e-bike home, I was nearly run over by a man driving a taxi (note how I don’t call him a taxi driver, the same as I would not call an ISIS member a Muslim). He had his lights off and turned them on at the last second as he swerved to miss me.

I chased him like a dog chasing a car, not too sure what to do if ever I managed to bite the spinning wheel, and in my case, to reach the drivers face. He wasn’t accounting for my battery powered wheels.

But I did catch up to him, and I did force his window down, and I did terrorise him with the row of 14 LED lights flashing from my bike helmet…

I shouted at him, as he recoiled further into his car, “You’re in a car! I’m on a bike! You could have killed me! Get out of the car and lets deal with this person to person!” Again, not too sure what I would have done if he had gotten out. But just as I was trying to pull him through the small opening of his window, another driver walked toward us.

I looked up, raised my other hand, made a fist, and waved my arm in the air as I shouted “You want some too? I’ve got a spare hand here!” And that’s when it hit me, the absolute ridiculousness of it all. And I giggled -which in all fairness must have scared the shit out of the man driving the taxi, and it sure stopped the other guy in his tracks.

I giggled, and then I laughed, and then thought it would be appropriate to lean into the car, let go of the man’s face, blow him a kiss, and say “Fuck you very much, sir” and rode away.

The remaining two blocks home were a combination of trembling and smiling…

We are what we put out, and sometimes we’re lucky enough to change course.

Free and Falling

Once we taken the step, all we can do is watch.

It’s supposed to go from a thousand revs to zero in a fraction of a second. We’re supposed to see every detail, of every aspect surrounding us, in a slow, and peaceful manner. Time’s supposed to stop, and you’re supposed to be able to observe everything in slow motion… But it isn’t so. Not at least for me, not this time. It was a rush, a sudden fury of dust, rocks and pebbles entering my vision, my crane, my hands, my legs… my mouth.

The car came to a stop, I walked out of the wreck. Took a few steps and smiled. Must have been the most out-of-place smile ever.

When I woke up the next morning, after spending the night going over the crash in my head, I came to one conclusion. It was a failure. I failed to commit suicide. There was no brake marks, the only thing obvious was the turn at the last second; the reason why I hit the wall on a slight angle, rather than straight on. That’s what “saved” me. Go figure, now that I know that’s what I was aiming for, I feel like the smile is even more out of place.

There’s always another time, and another chance… But I’m going to let fate decide when and how it happens.

Nothing makes life more intense than death.

Fill in the Gap


‘Existing only in the imagination’… Nothing exists without our imaginations prior approval,

I met a guy at a wedding. He looked like a Sicilian mobster; Italian suit, perfect fit, sunglasses, fedora, I mean he had it all except the Tommy gun, and the accent.

We spoke for hours and in various settings. We got close, fast, but not intimate. I enjoyed exploring his face, like a new toy, I guess he was doing the same with mine; but who knows, maybe the cleavage was too distracting.

Five hours into the wedding, ceremony over, and we’ve reached peak alcohol at the party. I’m just observing him make his way back from chatting to the groom when I see something odd on his face; he had half a beard shaved. I mean, his face was clean shaved on the left cheek, and a full beard on the right, all the way to the centre of his nose, so also, half a moustache -a halfstache.

He’d had an imaginary beard for hours, and suddenly it had gone. So if I’m capable of filling in a mans beard without even knowing it, what other imaginary elements am I surrounded by, that I just can’t differ from “reality”?

Everything exists in the imagination, and when the World doesn’t make any sense, we just make it up, so it makes sense in the parametres we’ve created. In my case, I filled the blank with a beard.

P.D: I asked around, asked people if they’d noticed anything particular about this fella… Nobody could see it, however the party was split between those that thought he had a beard, and those that thought he had a goatee.

Distant From Me

Distant, the daily prompt.

Do you ever feel like your body has woken up, and left you behind?

I do.

There’s mornings when I open my eyes, and I feel like I’m hundreds of metres away from my eyes. Like I can see what is going on, but I’m just miles away. The film ‘Get Out’, by Jordan Peele does an excellent portrayal of that feeling.

It’s as if the World happened around you, but not to you. It’s as if you noticed that nothing around you is real, and you’re comfortable in the black cocoon of space that’s in your head.

I always wondered if anyone ever felt this way, but now I know. Peele may have been thinking about hypnosis, but I know he’s seen the same thing I’ve seen. And suddenly, it’s not so scary anymore.

That’s the power of film, to connect us, to show us other ways of seeing the World, and if we’re lucky, to see that someone else sees the World just the way you do.

Loop, The Thirty Something

22 June 2017 at 07:09
By: Naonato

Loop Daily Prompt.

Clean the toy.

Find the lube.

Go to pee.

Forget the lube in the bathroom.

Get the lube.

Lock the door.

Close the curtain.

Put the phone on silence, but still on vibrate.

Play music, anything with a slow deep base will do.

Slip my underwear off.

Lie on the bed.

Grab the corner of the pillow.

Spit on the corner of the pillow.

Place it deep between my legs.

Lie on my chest.

Move over the pillow with vigor.

Press the pillow deep and hard between my thighs.

More vigor.

Pant with reservation.

Fumble for the toy.

Turn it on.

It’s vibration mimiks my phones, and a sudden burst of anxiety washes over me, but it’s soon gone. The funny thing is that I also get slightly aroused when I feel my phone vibrate in my back jean pocket.

Leave the toy on the bed, vibrating.

Grab the lube.

Open the lube.

Pour lube between my cheeks.

Thrust the pillow with more vigor.

Grab the toy.

Place the toy between my cheeks.

Push the toy deeper.


The vibration goes silent. But it’s still vibrating.

Leave the toy in place.

Spin onto my back.

Drop the pillow.

Stick three fingers deep between my lips.

Thrust vigorously up and down.

Up and down, faster.


Feel all the blood in your body vibrate with pleasure and anticipation.

“Mommy!! Mommy!!”

Ignore the child’s plea.

Focus on the sensation and the build up.


“MOMMY!!! Why is your door closed?! Mommy, I had a nightmare…”

Pull the toy out of your cheeks.

Hide the toy and the lube under the pillow – the other pillow.

Throw The Pillow to the other side of the bed.

Get up

“Ohh… You had a nightmare did you?”

Clean your hands with the wet wipes.

Put your panties on.

“Mommy!!! Open the door!”

“Coming, just give me a second”

But I never did come, did I? You little shit.

And thus, the inevitable loop of being a Mother will continue to come round and round.

Failure to fit in.

I tried so hard to fit in…

First: I straightened my hair. It wasn’t enough.

Second: I dyed my hair (burnt it in the process). It wasn’t enough.

Third: I sunbathed, and in the winter months, spent 39.99$ on a monthly tanning salon. (I would spray tan for parties, and events). It wasn’t enough.

Fourth: I went on a diet. It wasn’t enough.

Fifth: Still had a big ass. I started smoking. Still not enough.

Sixth: Went to the gym to lose weight. It wasn’t enough.

Seventh: Went to the gym to enhance my breasts; somehow ended up with huge shoulders. Again, it wasn’t enough.

Eighth: Got my breasts augmented. It wasn’t enough.

Ninth: Went to the gym to increase my thigh gap. It wasn’t enough.

Tenth: Got my mons pubis reduced. It wasn’t enough.

NEWS FLASH! NEWS FLASH! THIS SEASONS FASHION IS OUT: Women with big bums, curly hair and thick lips are all the rave….


That was me ten steps ago. If only I’d just let it happen… I was enough.

No matter what’s the S.O.B, you’ll always be chasing it. That’s the name of the game.

You’re enough just as you are. I hope it doesn’t take you as many steps as it took me…

Be you, By you… and don’t let fashion tell you otherwise.

Control, The Twenty Fork


Control is an illusion forced over our eyes, by those with power. With the power we gave them, because we had no apparent choice.

That is the paradox of control.

Control is the result of fear, never of love. If you love something, you don’t feel the urge to control it, if you fear something, you want to domesticate it. No matter if thats an individual, or a nation.

Most of our free thoughts have already been planted by the Gods of Marketing. Do you really think that you were born with the mechanism that makes you feel good after buying a pair of new shoes? Do you think thats natural, and not done by design?

I used to date people, now I date profiles. People hide behind them, because they can control what is shown, and what isn’t…

I don’t have a profile, I barely have a gender; but maybe I’m just an extreme version of letting go of control.. Or maybe I’m too far down the rabbit hole to even know….

But I do know…. I know that it’s sick that my partner doesn’t want me to go out because they’re jealous of my friend, or of a stranger they’ve never met. I know that it’s sick that I need to give all my information to board a plane, when it’s been proven time and time again, that the TSA is a useless waste of space… But I do enjoy the groping.

The only thing I seem able to control, is to choose to let go of everything else. That seems like the only true thought that I have any power over. The rest, I just can’t trust the source any more. I have no idea if it’s love, desire or marketing motivating my actions.

Panicked, The Twenty Fix


we are all mistakes in one way or another, we are all fallen angels.

I don’t expect you to feel warmth, or extreme heat. I’m sure you don’t know what it’s like to leave a cigarette burning a hole in your skin. Just like you did to me.

I was always panicked by something or another.

Panicked by mere questions: What do you do for a living? What makes you happy? Where are you from? How much do you make? When are you getting married? Do you enjoy anal? Can we come in?

Panicked by knowledge: Everyone you’ve ever met, ever loved, every single person on the planet right now, will be dead in 120 years. What will be left of you in this cycle of the World? What will you leave behind? Ashes and virtual profiles?

Panicked by mundane experiences: When I flushed the toilet at yours and the flush wouldn’t stop, and the water level rose, and the turd danced around the rim, like a toad trying to get out of a slippery pond…

Panicked by life threatening events: The storm came without warning, and I was masturbating, and the sails flapped violently but I couldn’t hear it, because all the blood in my body was surging to my brain… But I felt the thud of the mast coming down. It was violent and unavoidable. And the crack and whipping sound is the soundtrack to panic in my mind, it’s always there, with every moment of arousal.

Panicked by you. I know what panic tastes like… You made sure to teach me every shade of it. But this time, it’s different. It’s not my panic, but yours. It’s in my mouth when I choked you, and kissed you, and you trusted me… How could you be so arrogant and think I’d forgiven you… You never saw it coming. The taste took longer to wash away than my memory of you. I sleep better at night knowing you can’t harm any of us anymore.

I used to panic for the smallest of things; do I have something between my teeth? Am I dressed accordingly to the event? Will someone laugh at how much I eat? Will I freeze when I’m on stage? Do I smell bad? But after you… After you put me through hell and after I sent you there… I don’t feel panicked by much anymore. I sometimes feel tension built in my neck and the hairs of my body go on edge when police officers walk straight toward me… But they don’t know. Nobody knows. They always walk past me after checking me out.

I do however miss that taste, and wonder if ever I’ll have it again.