Consonant Artistry: A Poetic Exploration of Sound and Expression

I don’t even care about breathing air. A) It’s clearly a mission. B) Decided not to get angry today. It’s barely a decision. I think life should be grander than it is, but it isn’t. Can’t have regrets with being wrong; that’s why I love indecision. Sweater against chins, found myself looking for trouble. I love when the thread gets hooked to the stubble. Every day that awaits is merely a presence. Trepidation dismayed. Come on, spare me a second. Deliriums weighed out of space, a variable essence. Just savor today and take care of the present. A valiant way to go about positive pulses, to distract any and all cognitive focus. Bottled emotions are false; I recycle with candor. Light a candle for the fervor, yeah, I’m slightly enamored. Find me an ember, then signal me over. Superstar to the black hole you stitched in the nova. Pray to thy father for all lucrative sin. Indifferent with my efforts to feel human again, making deliberate errors to feel human again. I don’t feel human again. Oh my god, I don’t feel human again.

A crippling endeavor, how loose can I get? Mixing leisure with whenever = how’s the hubris in print? Ballad of blueprints I script; valid Freudian slips. That the entire, massive audience gets. Parrying my worries off with a quart of vodka and gin. Cocky with grins, cordial to the ghosts that I sleep with. Blood alcohol at about .8 for a better portion of the week. Speaking in harbingers, cohesive volume bleep. The final cut of “Lost in Translation” in scene, ironically explains my solitude deeper than any audible scheme. What a phenomenal feat, I still dream about the hairs on your neck. To tell this real boy that he’s still a marionette. Cut my heartstrings, in all fairness, respect. Your stare down had me speechless at my ventriloquist act. Webbing off surrealism, with tarantulan siege. Gargantuan in a glass jar, with nothing to reach. With nothing but handprints on the outside that acted as speech. Palpable. Weak.

I wish when I talked, that my words drew circles with supersonic aplomb. And my vowels would nonchalantly evolve through a canvas, through a gospel of songs that I draw within language. Go into a lobby, as if I’m talking to God, to what I embody; through an army of my consonant art.

Published by Cristian Leonardo Gajardo

Welcome to Cristian’s Cafe, a website where I showcase my various forms of expression and happiness. Here you can find poetry, podcasts, personal blogging, research articles, open mic, comedy, and art. Whether you are looking for inspiration, entertainment, or information, you will find something that suits your taste and mood. Enjoy browsing through my content and feel free to leave your comments and feedback. Please note that the Wi-Fi connection may be slow or unstable at times, so please be patient and look at the art instead. Thank you for visiting Cristian’s Cafe

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