I looked ahead and my hands moved swiftly and with purpose as though some other self possessed them. Chittering sounds reverberated off the walls behind me quickly growing into a cacophonous din which drowned out all but my basest instinctual actions. Fingers kept working but my mind wandered to the sound, that unstoppable force which barreled through the canals of my mind, churning all rational thought into a shattered heap of useless puss.

The sound broke the air; a perfect plane at the vertex of the muzzle flash. She staggered back a step thinking it was just surprise and fear that started her reflex to flee, but then the warmth hit her breast. It blossomed, a long-petaled flower of red with a black pit in the center. Her jaw hung slack and she reached for it before her mind could process what had transpired. knees buckled, hit dirt, and she slumped onto the ground.


david delfin cmfw 

hace tiempo que david dejó de ser transgresor para tener su propia esencia y seña de identidad. su ropa es más clásica en cortes y patrones de lo que a simple vista pudiera parecer.

agradezco su pureza de líneas y la sencillez de cortes. el color!

aunque prefiero siempre sus propuestas en hombres que las de mujer, que no siempre me parecen favorecedoras salvo que la naturaleza te haya dotado de buen físico.

Day 1: The whistling air slid past us calm and free in the tunnels we built to house it. A prison made by man to contain that which by nature roams free and the only product of such an olympian feat was millions of men trapped within their own walls.

Shine poured down their chins and they stamped the ground with legs like piledrivers. Dust billowed drying their mouths only to be whet again by more of that lightning whiskey. They shook their heads in a rhythmic orbital motion, each a heavenly body spinning through a drunken cosmos. Tonight was for forgetting, not for admitting the horrors they had and soon would commit again.

It was better to think of it as an ocean; waves soft and unobstructed arced and crashed in endless repetition, it slid beneath you and swallowed you up so softly you’d hardly notice until your horse was whinnying in panic. The only sign it wasn’t liquid was the straight line of bootprints cutting direct across the dunes.