Coming in fast like an arrow
I can hear it from far away
but where doth original emnity lie???
You know, Mrs. Merlin, dont you?
You predict the unknown with
all the confidence of an
aardvark rube.
But, what is this??
It was here the whole time.
Resting in my heart, waiting
to pounce
on....
an inflated sense of insight.
Soo.......here it is......
I give it freely without a heads up.
A present some deserve more than jewels.....
Let this be a lesson...to
predicting the future, lying benevolently,
and unconscious manipulation,
for blind naivety can still sin against
my nature.
And insulting my intelligence...well...
unforgivable..
even if done unknowingly.
No More Obsequiousness, No More Love.
Only a black hole left,
where once lived a dove......
I think this captures it.
fucking bitches man...
Saturday, November 17, 2007
a few random thoughts
Hug the live wire and appreciate
a jolt of gloom to be
your controoling mind's ego
exerting its obsession
over you.
a jolt of gloom to be
your controoling mind's ego
exerting its obsession
over you.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
iceus
broken ice so much is like us
melting away slowly in the serenity
of salinity
us is failing to stay afloat now
and growing smaller by the day
us will be no more soon
the sea ice is so
seasonal
a circle
of liquid
and solid
governed by the sun cycles, always knowing
the ice reforms
soon enough
but us is not so fortunate
now melted completely
melting away slowly in the serenity
of salinity
us is failing to stay afloat now
and growing smaller by the day
us will be no more soon
the sea ice is so
seasonal
a circle
of liquid
and solid
governed by the sun cycles, always knowing
the ice reforms
soon enough
but us is not so fortunate
now melted completely
Monday, October 29, 2007
is there an objective difference between your most real dream and your most surreal day?
At the very last minute
I swapped out my ticket
And soon found myself aloft
36000 feet and a Tom Collins neat
Didn’t know that night I’d end up in your house
The landing was fine, I wandered around
From casino, to headshop, to food
Somewhere on my way, lay my soul’s only mate
Of course I didn’t know it then
I think I saw you first
In a diesel or herrods
Or maybe while talking with tom
But you saw me, before I knew where I was
And I found love was too simple a word
I don’t when, but we both woke up in
You’re brown and white lain twin bed
You smiled and laughed
When I grabbed at that sheet
That didn’t keep me from tumbling off the edge
But then I woke up
In my own bed again
Nearly in tears when I found
All that had been
The perfect woman and all
Had just been a trick of my head
But it couldn’t have been
Really, what validates
One memory over the next
You’re just as real
As the cat in my lap
And recollections of my 4th grade desk
I went back to sleep
Screaming inside
For just one more glimpse of you
Little brunette, eyes on fire,
And the heart you put back into me
‘soul mate’ is a phrase, so tossed around
It’s almost meaningless
But after that dream
I knew what it meant
And that I would find it again
2 days and 2 nights and 4 bottles later
And I haven’t found you again
But I can’t stop trying
You’re my only chance
To reopen what little’s within
2 more weeks of nights
And too many pills
But your memory sits just as strong
Burned in my mind, with a brand of some kind
And I know I’ll never forget
The way that I see it
The more sleep I find
The more chances to reenter our dream
My friends will all miss me
But they’ll know I’m happy
As I sleep forever
In our little twin bed
They’ll even see
The smile on my face
Will persist long after I’m dead
I swapped out my ticket
And soon found myself aloft
36000 feet and a Tom Collins neat
Didn’t know that night I’d end up in your house
The landing was fine, I wandered around
From casino, to headshop, to food
Somewhere on my way, lay my soul’s only mate
Of course I didn’t know it then
I think I saw you first
In a diesel or herrods
Or maybe while talking with tom
But you saw me, before I knew where I was
And I found love was too simple a word
I don’t when, but we both woke up in
You’re brown and white lain twin bed
You smiled and laughed
When I grabbed at that sheet
That didn’t keep me from tumbling off the edge
But then I woke up
In my own bed again
Nearly in tears when I found
All that had been
The perfect woman and all
Had just been a trick of my head
But it couldn’t have been
Really, what validates
One memory over the next
You’re just as real
As the cat in my lap
And recollections of my 4th grade desk
I went back to sleep
Screaming inside
For just one more glimpse of you
Little brunette, eyes on fire,
And the heart you put back into me
‘soul mate’ is a phrase, so tossed around
It’s almost meaningless
But after that dream
I knew what it meant
And that I would find it again
2 days and 2 nights and 4 bottles later
And I haven’t found you again
But I can’t stop trying
You’re my only chance
To reopen what little’s within
2 more weeks of nights
And too many pills
But your memory sits just as strong
Burned in my mind, with a brand of some kind
And I know I’ll never forget
The way that I see it
The more sleep I find
The more chances to reenter our dream
My friends will all miss me
But they’ll know I’m happy
As I sleep forever
In our little twin bed
They’ll even see
The smile on my face
Will persist long after I’m dead
Friday, October 26, 2007
i'm still not dead, and i'm back blogging
(i'm back...sort of. i have a somewhat working internet and a broken-in-two-places pelvis. so, it only seems fitting, to post an odd poem. however, it does have a point, i promise)
drinking the half-empty glass
Mexican wizards
With avalanche hands
Bringing it down
With a vengeance
Small Fauvist purses
From antelope skins
Cost an arm and a leg
Or a pittance
It’s all about attitude
Do you want to base
Your material goods
On how much you make
Or would you rather have
As much as you can take
And believe, each of you, correct
Don’t assume or presume
That I’m selling a thing
Or giving away, it’s a given
we consume then resume
our preachings or protests
pretending we’ll all get to heaven
drinking the half-empty glass
Mexican wizards
With avalanche hands
Bringing it down
With a vengeance
Small Fauvist purses
From antelope skins
Cost an arm and a leg
Or a pittance
It’s all about attitude
Do you want to base
Your material goods
On how much you make
Or would you rather have
As much as you can take
And believe, each of you, correct
Don’t assume or presume
That I’m selling a thing
Or giving away, it’s a given
we consume then resume
our preachings or protests
pretending we’ll all get to heaven
Friday, October 19, 2007
You say the river is wide,
deep,
murky,
beautiful,
but surely it is
there.
Surely.
you reassure.
You say i am drenched,
soaked
in its sought after liquid.
You say
You say
But i just see another rain cloud
bleeding into a puddle-
a pothole.
Tell me when that feeling
is here.
I know i will miss it,
if it is as real as i know it
to be, but
BUT
If your melodies truly cascade
with the breeze,
then i will
jump
from the highest ledge.
deep,
murky,
beautiful,
but surely it is
there.
Surely.
you reassure.
You say i am drenched,
soaked
in its sought after liquid.
You say
You say
But i just see another rain cloud
bleeding into a puddle-
a pothole.
Tell me when that feeling
is here.
I know i will miss it,
if it is as real as i know it
to be, but
BUT
If your melodies truly cascade
with the breeze,
then i will
jump
from the highest ledge.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
who
the struggle within
i say "since when?"
just as i begin
to try and rescind
inexplicable sin
i made so
there we go
i said it, you read it
who knows
what it means
what this means
what's in between
these ears
's it fears
of tears
from tears
or years
of despair
so queer
this life i'm living
so trying and giving
i find it takes
poison, not from snakes
to keep the mind tripping
to places never seen
father than in between
the aforementioned scene
of nightmarish fiends
but not dressed in ghoul
but cashmere and wool
v-necked soul sheaths
that smile with same teeth
that clinch on my throat
through lies and deceit
this troupe, I spy
an improv of life
jokes at whose expense
yours mine, from whence
did they learn
or be able to discern
me from you from you from me
or even people on t.v.
who are we
what are we
you
me
i see
only what they want
maybe it's me
or maybe not
i say "since when?"
just as i begin
to try and rescind
inexplicable sin
i made so
there we go
i said it, you read it
who knows
what it means
what this means
what's in between
these ears
's it fears
of tears
from tears
or years
of despair
so queer
this life i'm living
so trying and giving
i find it takes
poison, not from snakes
to keep the mind tripping
to places never seen
father than in between
the aforementioned scene
of nightmarish fiends
but not dressed in ghoul
but cashmere and wool
v-necked soul sheaths
that smile with same teeth
that clinch on my throat
through lies and deceit
this troupe, I spy
an improv of life
jokes at whose expense
yours mine, from whence
did they learn
or be able to discern
me from you from you from me
or even people on t.v.
who are we
what are we
you
me
i see
only what they want
maybe it's me
or maybe not
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Dinosauria are we to be
Fight for the Top of the World
Wednesday, Sep. 19, 2007 By JAMES GRAFF
Enlarge Photo
Orange gas plumes from the Statoil Snow White project on the Melkoy island outside Hammerfest.
Allan Klo for TIME
Article Tools
Print
Email
Sphere
addthis_url = location.href;
addthis_title = document.title;
addthis_pub = 'timecom';
AddThis
RSS
var ad = adFactory.getAd(88, 31);
ad.setPosition(8)
ad.write();
At the end of August, a wisp of flame suddenly appeared in the Arctic twilight over the Barents Sea, bathing the low clouds over the Norwegian port of Hammerfest in a spectral orange glow. With a tremendous roar, the flame bloomed over the windswept ocean and craggy gray rocks, competing for an instant with the Arctic summer's never-setting sun. The first flare-off of natural gas from the Snohvit (Snow White in Norwegian) gas field, some 90 miles (145 km) offshore, was a beacon of promise: After 25 years of false starts, planning and construction, the first Arctic industrial oil-and-gas operation outside of Alaska was up and running. Norway's state-owned petroleum firm Statoil could finally exploit once unreachable reserves, expected to deliver an estimated $1.4 billion worth of liquefied natural gas each year for the next 25 years.
Related Articles
tiiQuigoWriteAd(755777, 1290689, 180, 200, -1);
But in a place where the aurora borealis normally provides celestial beauty, Snow White's luminous apparition also signals caution. What will a new era of exploitation bring to the Arctic, one of the earth's last great uncharted regions? The vast area has long fascinated explorers, but it has just as long been the site of folly and exaggerated expectations. Over centuries, hundreds died in the doomed search for an ice-free Northwest Passage between Asia and Europe, many of them victims of ill-fated stabs at national and personal glory.
This summer, however, saw something new: for the first time in recorded history, the Northwest Passage was ice-free all the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic. The Arctic ice cap's loss through melting this year was 10 times the recent annual average, amounting to an area greater than that of Texas and New Mexico combined. The Arctic has never been immune from politics; during the Cold War, U.S. and Soviet submarines navigated its frigid waters. But now that global warming has rendered the Arctic more accessible than ever — and yet at the same time more fragile — a new frenzy has broken out for control of the trade routes at the top of the world and the riches that nations hope and believe may lie beneath the ice. Just as 150 years ago, when Russia and Britain fought for control of central Asia, it is tempting to think that — not on the steppe or dusty mountains but in the icy wastes of the frozen north — a new Great Game is afoot.
Gas and Global Warming
Russia is at the thick of the new game. In an expedition that lacked nothing in patriotic bluster, a Russian-led team descended to the seabed on Aug. 2 and planted a titanium Russian flag directly on the North Pole. In early September, Russian bombers launched cruise missiles during Arctic exercises. But it isn't only the Russians who are staking their claims. On Aug. 10, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper flew to Resolute, a hamlet of 250 souls on Cornwallis Island in the northern territory of Nunavut, and announced plans for an Arctic military training facility and a refurbished deep-water port on the Northwest Passage. Then Danish scientists set sail on an expedition to map the seabed north of Greenland, a Danish dependency, and — not to be outdone — the U.S. Coast Guard dispatched the cutter Healy on a similar mission north of Alaska. The flurry of activity has prompted the Senate Foreign Relations Committee to schedule hearings this month to push for U.S. ratification of the international treaty on the Law of the Sea, which came into force in 1994. Ratification of the treaty has long been opposed by conservatives, who consider it a shackle on U.S. sovereignty, but it now has the support of the Bush Administration, largely because its terms would allow Washington to weigh in with its own claims in northern waters.
Wednesday, Sep. 19, 2007 By JAMES GRAFF
Enlarge Photo
Orange gas plumes from the Statoil Snow White project on the Melkoy island outside Hammerfest.
Allan Klo for TIME
Article Tools
Sphere
addthis_url = location.href;
addthis_title = document.title;
addthis_pub = 'timecom';
AddThis
RSS
var ad = adFactory.getAd(88, 31);
ad.setPosition(8)
ad.write();
At the end of August, a wisp of flame suddenly appeared in the Arctic twilight over the Barents Sea, bathing the low clouds over the Norwegian port of Hammerfest in a spectral orange glow. With a tremendous roar, the flame bloomed over the windswept ocean and craggy gray rocks, competing for an instant with the Arctic summer's never-setting sun. The first flare-off of natural gas from the Snohvit (Snow White in Norwegian) gas field, some 90 miles (145 km) offshore, was a beacon of promise: After 25 years of false starts, planning and construction, the first Arctic industrial oil-and-gas operation outside of Alaska was up and running. Norway's state-owned petroleum firm Statoil could finally exploit once unreachable reserves, expected to deliver an estimated $1.4 billion worth of liquefied natural gas each year for the next 25 years.
Related Articles
tiiQuigoWriteAd(755777, 1290689, 180, 200, -1);
But in a place where the aurora borealis normally provides celestial beauty, Snow White's luminous apparition also signals caution. What will a new era of exploitation bring to the Arctic, one of the earth's last great uncharted regions? The vast area has long fascinated explorers, but it has just as long been the site of folly and exaggerated expectations. Over centuries, hundreds died in the doomed search for an ice-free Northwest Passage between Asia and Europe, many of them victims of ill-fated stabs at national and personal glory.
This summer, however, saw something new: for the first time in recorded history, the Northwest Passage was ice-free all the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic. The Arctic ice cap's loss through melting this year was 10 times the recent annual average, amounting to an area greater than that of Texas and New Mexico combined. The Arctic has never been immune from politics; during the Cold War, U.S. and Soviet submarines navigated its frigid waters. But now that global warming has rendered the Arctic more accessible than ever — and yet at the same time more fragile — a new frenzy has broken out for control of the trade routes at the top of the world and the riches that nations hope and believe may lie beneath the ice. Just as 150 years ago, when Russia and Britain fought for control of central Asia, it is tempting to think that — not on the steppe or dusty mountains but in the icy wastes of the frozen north — a new Great Game is afoot.
Gas and Global Warming
Russia is at the thick of the new game. In an expedition that lacked nothing in patriotic bluster, a Russian-led team descended to the seabed on Aug. 2 and planted a titanium Russian flag directly on the North Pole. In early September, Russian bombers launched cruise missiles during Arctic exercises. But it isn't only the Russians who are staking their claims. On Aug. 10, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper flew to Resolute, a hamlet of 250 souls on Cornwallis Island in the northern territory of Nunavut, and announced plans for an Arctic military training facility and a refurbished deep-water port on the Northwest Passage. Then Danish scientists set sail on an expedition to map the seabed north of Greenland, a Danish dependency, and — not to be outdone — the U.S. Coast Guard dispatched the cutter Healy on a similar mission north of Alaska. The flurry of activity has prompted the Senate Foreign Relations Committee to schedule hearings this month to push for U.S. ratification of the international treaty on the Law of the Sea, which came into force in 1994. Ratification of the treaty has long been opposed by conservatives, who consider it a shackle on U.S. sovereignty, but it now has the support of the Bush Administration, largely because its terms would allow Washington to weigh in with its own claims in northern waters.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
another Dylan wordplay
| Oh the time will come up when the trees will rot and the world will cease to be spinninglike eulogy air floatin high from a dull stare, the hour that our train comes in. and the tracks will unfold like a pathway for the soul for your dreary eyes to devour and the men living on the wall will scream from the hall that even Gods sometimes falter. Oh the waves of grain will sing in the rain and they'll ask for the destruction of all thats unholy like the end of fall when a fire is raging tall, the hour that the train comes in. and the birds of prey will fight desperately to stay in the boxcar that holds deaths secrets but the railman likes to fight and he does it every night so he checks for all the dirty numbers and they know he comes, so they binge on lifes sweet rum and try to forget they're about to be trampled but he arrives with a cane, to soften up their brains for messing with his bag of essentials and they run and hide like coyotes in the night, the hour that the train comes in. So now every hand is with hammer and all souls begin to clamor that the end may not be so violent. And the sky's blue hue envelops and validates all thats true, the hour that the train comes in .And the train's stone faced men will see the path of zen and will lock the brakes and walk into the field. when they lay in the grass, history's shadow of death will pass, the hour that the train in. |
Saturday, September 15, 2007
How can i rise
above
beyond
this petty
unimportant
influence
that is
life.
experiences
images
words
tendencies
advertisements
play a role
in the destruction
of my capability
to channel
truth.
Feeling the brazen ideas
burning my
fingertips,
burning with
impatience,
burning with pollution,
is torment.
Collusion btw. light and dark
is perpetual
when life's
oil
is incessant in
its
demanding influence.
Ideas cheapen
truths break
incendiary thoughts
turn to
proletarian
refuse.
Clear now.
environment is the
real death.
the death of originality
the death of free will
we are NOTHING
but what
we see.
and what we
see
is shit
ABSOLUTE
shit
where is the world i have been looking for
and expected
above
beyond
this petty
unimportant
influence
that is
life.
experiences
images
words
tendencies
advertisements
play a role
in the destruction
of my capability
to channel
truth.
Feeling the brazen ideas
burning my
fingertips,
burning with
impatience,
burning with pollution,
is torment.
Collusion btw. light and dark
is perpetual
when life's
oil
is incessant in
its
demanding influence.
Ideas cheapen
truths break
incendiary thoughts
turn to
proletarian
refuse.
Clear now.
environment is the
real death.
the death of originality
the death of free will
we are NOTHING
but what
we see.
and what we
see
is shit
ABSOLUTE
shit
where is the world i have been looking for
and expected
Monday, September 10, 2007
study of abstract wordplay
They are drying blood on sheets of amber
they are defecating on a statue of Cl. Sanders.
And while all the sleeveless politicians are begging for anal,
the farmers wives are killing babies while eating cheese triangles.
Now everyone who sees this is mortified but secretly has a chubby,
and instead of going to church and praying they go out and whore for money.
Who is they, and what is them in this sphere of egocentric monkeys throwin shit?
I can tell you where they came from but it is difficult as the story is written in sanskrit.
They come from a land of muddy bogs and retarded clowns with herpes lips that glow.
They come from a land where grass that can be snorted, and the preference is to smoke snow.
All this seems strange to the average killer with a love for cheerios and muscadine wine withbrie
But this land of pedo-nymphos and sticky mud is bloody and that is why it is a second home for me.
they are defecating on a statue of Cl. Sanders.
And while all the sleeveless politicians are begging for anal,
the farmers wives are killing babies while eating cheese triangles.
Now everyone who sees this is mortified but secretly has a chubby,
and instead of going to church and praying they go out and whore for money.
Who is they, and what is them in this sphere of egocentric monkeys throwin shit?
I can tell you where they came from but it is difficult as the story is written in sanskrit.
They come from a land of muddy bogs and retarded clowns with herpes lips that glow.
They come from a land where grass that can be snorted, and the preference is to smoke snow.
All this seems strange to the average killer with a love for cheerios and muscadine wine withbrie
But this land of pedo-nymphos and sticky mud is bloody and that is why it is a second home for me.
Dylan1 and 2
"money doesnt talk, it swears"
"and if my thought dreams could be seen, they'd prob'ly put my head in a guillotine"
"and if my thought dreams could be seen, they'd prob'ly put my head in a guillotine"
people
my view
is clear
and unbiased
from this spot.
from this spot
the faces
are the same
but not.
nice moon-faced girl
in the deli
speaking farsi
eating ham.
tall, gaunt creature
on his phone
talking about money
and his new tie.
small child pissing
on a building corner.
hobo watching intently
slurping nectar
mother scolding son
for whatever.
businessman plucking
a penny from the
sidewalk.
old woman lays
lifeless from the steel
carriage
brains spilled
intestines ruptured in street
shit stained pants
teenager driving
cursing the old woman
"i will be late" he bellows
all look on
life moves and moves
past, beyond all.
dont notice the chains
never
is clear
and unbiased
from this spot.
from this spot
the faces
are the same
but not.
nice moon-faced girl
in the deli
speaking farsi
eating ham.
tall, gaunt creature
on his phone
talking about money
and his new tie.
small child pissing
on a building corner.
hobo watching intently
slurping nectar
mother scolding son
for whatever.
businessman plucking
a penny from the
sidewalk.
old woman lays
lifeless from the steel
carriage
brains spilled
intestines ruptured in street
shit stained pants
teenager driving
cursing the old woman
"i will be late" he bellows
all look on
life moves and moves
past, beyond all.
dont notice the chains
never
importance
3:45 am
i am drunk
writing poems
writing.
this prostrate
position
always gets my back
hurting.
i look on the veranda
and see fucking
nice blonde
mean looking thug
fucking
i am writing
i like to fuck too!
i should do that instead
fuck
but who?
i make the call
dirty blonde
fishbucket hair
i finish
lay
think
"get out whore"
i say to the
door
she listens good
but smells bad.
ahhhh life!!!
more fucking?
or more writing?
that is always my
burden
to bear
i am drunk
writing poems
writing.
this prostrate
position
always gets my back
hurting.
i look on the veranda
and see fucking
nice blonde
mean looking thug
fucking
i am writing
i like to fuck too!
i should do that instead
fuck
but who?
i make the call
dirty blonde
fishbucket hair
i finish
lay
think
"get out whore"
i say to the
door
she listens good
but smells bad.
ahhhh life!!!
more fucking?
or more writing?
that is always my
burden
to bear
every morning
Cold
i wake up
shaking.
eyes burning
head floating
stomach crying red
tears.
This is what i love?
This IS what i love.
more than the rush of a spiked crimson wave
from the darkest black hole
of space.
double edged swords are
sooo much fun.
i wake up
shaking.
eyes burning
head floating
stomach crying red
tears.
This is what i love?
This IS what i love.
more than the rush of a spiked crimson wave
from the darkest black hole
of space.
double edged swords are
sooo much fun.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Reasons
We are all looking
for reasons
reasons to fight
reasons to die
reasons to
live
in the end
what reasons were true
and which were
obligatory
make about as much difference
as an apology
for dropping a
nuke.
We use reasons for hate
for injustice
for honesty
for
deception
and they mean nothing.
the sun has froze
soon it will fall
into barren earth
men are eating children
their women
a thousand screams from the labyrinth
of time
overtake
and maime
this
all this
10000 year
testament to
nothingness.
and dust now forms the clouds
and jackals are
adorned with jewels
and adoration
from all.
all is destroyed
for progress
in the name of progress
or is it movement?
I forget....
When the ferry ride is over
There will be no parades
no rosy cheeked strippers
no jubilant cries
no happiness
no unhappiness
but there will be something
something
perfection
PERFECTION
is prior
to the voices
constructed into language,
the funny shapes
on wood pulp.
earths natural function
will reign
supreme
for reasons
reasons to fight
reasons to die
reasons to
live
in the end
what reasons were true
and which were
obligatory
make about as much difference
as an apology
for dropping a
nuke.
We use reasons for hate
for injustice
for honesty
for
deception
and they mean nothing.
the sun has froze
soon it will fall
into barren earth
men are eating children
their women
a thousand screams from the labyrinth
of time
overtake
and maime
this
all this
10000 year
testament to
nothingness.
and dust now forms the clouds
and jackals are
adorned with jewels
and adoration
from all.
all is destroyed
for progress
in the name of progress
or is it movement?
I forget....
When the ferry ride is over
There will be no parades
no rosy cheeked strippers
no jubilant cries
no happiness
no unhappiness
but there will be something
something
perfection
PERFECTION
is prior
to the voices
constructed into language,
the funny shapes
on wood pulp.
earths natural function
will reign
supreme
Nike
This day
that day
which day
are you looking for?
they are all the same
same opportunities
for disgrace
for enlightenment
for
change
so make it now
now
and now
hugging pillows will
keep you
in bed.
that day
which day
are you looking for?
they are all the same
same opportunities
for disgrace
for enlightenment
for
change
so make it now
now
and now
hugging pillows will
keep you
in bed.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
another open forum
Is nature vs. nature exactly just that- exactly proportionate? Is the theory that genetics and environment play against each other to form our respective selves in an exact equation that exists in every human on the same level true, or is that even it? Are some children less likely to be susceptible to replicating the violence they were privy to at young ages than, say, a child with genetic characteristics of an antisocial that was brought up in a good home and never exposed to traumatic violence? How do we put a formulae on genetic behavioral theory?
days, weeks, yesterday begun
Grass tall
deathly still now
no breeze to inspire its flailing, bending danceno life in this stone
only names
maybe ours?
probably
written yet?
centuries agoeons ago
as unwavering as monochromaticity
INHERENT.
We are in this process
just wait
this monsoon of inevitability
which we know as abstract and far away
will rape our daughters
and fuck our wives while we watch.
howling
"bless unwavering ignorance"
Cliche' to say
but end is a beautiful word
and is near.
not how we want
but how we
FEAR.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
open forum
which will come first (and why):
jesus's return
or
nuclear holocaust
(that's to say that jesus's return is NOT in the form of nuclear holocaust)
jesus's return
or
nuclear holocaust
(that's to say that jesus's return is NOT in the form of nuclear holocaust)
Sunday, September 2, 2007
All hail Mr. Bukowski.- not mine
There is enough treachery, hatred,
violence,
absurdity in the average human
being
to supply any given army on any given
day.
AND the best at murder are those
WHO preach against it.
AND the best at hate are those
Who preach LOVE.
AND the best at War-finally-are those
Who preach PEACE.
Beware
THE Average Man
THE Average Woman
BEWARE their Love.
Their love is average, seeks
Average.
But their genius is in their hatred.
There is enough Genius in their
Hatred To kill you, to kill
anybody.
Not wanting solitude,
Not understanding solitude,
They will attemp to destroy
ANYTHING
That differs from their own.
Not being able
to create art,
They will not
understand art.
They will consider their failure
as Creators
Only as a failure
of the world.
Not being able to love fully
They will BELIEVE your love
incomplete.
AND THEN THEY WILL HATE YOU.
And their hatred will be Perfect
Like a shining diamond
Like a knife
Like a mountain
LIKE A TIGER
Like Hemlock
Their finest
ART....
So i know this isnt my poem, but i couldnt help but put it on the page because it is so relevant and true to life. The king is dead, long live the King---Mr. Bukowski.
violence,
absurdity in the average human
being
to supply any given army on any given
day.
AND the best at murder are those
WHO preach against it.
AND the best at hate are those
Who preach LOVE.
AND the best at War-finally-are those
Who preach PEACE.
Beware
THE Average Man
THE Average Woman
BEWARE their Love.
Their love is average, seeks
Average.
But their genius is in their hatred.
There is enough Genius in their
Hatred To kill you, to kill
anybody.
Not wanting solitude,
Not understanding solitude,
They will attemp to destroy
ANYTHING
That differs from their own.
Not being able
to create art,
They will not
understand art.
They will consider their failure
as Creators
Only as a failure
of the world.
Not being able to love fully
They will BELIEVE your love
incomplete.
AND THEN THEY WILL HATE YOU.
And their hatred will be Perfect
Like a shining diamond
Like a knife
Like a mountain
LIKE A TIGER
Like Hemlock
Their finest
ART....
So i know this isnt my poem, but i couldnt help but put it on the page because it is so relevant and true to life. The king is dead, long live the King---Mr. Bukowski.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
fuck
i fuck
we fuck
together
each other
others
other countries
other planets
our planet
a nation of fucking
a nation of fucks
like animals
fucking
eating
dying
nothing
no soul
no land
nothingness abounds
fucking remains
always
fuck
we fuck
together
each other
others
other countries
other planets
our planet
a nation of fucking
a nation of fucks
like animals
fucking
eating
dying
nothing
no soul
no land
nothingness abounds
fucking remains
always
fuck
Sunday, August 26, 2007
good friends
I feel this slow death creeping
creeping
it touches me with brevity
with sincerity
I feel alone in the crowd
this crowd, right now.
all crowds
and I dream of golden days
shining through dull windows
but i just feel sad
and alone
and know that all grass is brown
everywhere
My stars are fickle
my loves obtuse
all my connections are
nothing more than burning piles
of leaves
destined to turn to ash
red embers
and follow the swirling breeze
home
away
I fight for my hands and feet
but they tell me to
grow up
to understand these impish
insults
but the torpid, latent reaction
of analyzation
is quiet and certain
as death by drowning
and is my weakness.
creeping
it touches me with brevity
with sincerity
I feel alone in the crowd
this crowd, right now.
all crowds
and I dream of golden days
shining through dull windows
but i just feel sad
and alone
and know that all grass is brown
everywhere
My stars are fickle
my loves obtuse
all my connections are
nothing more than burning piles
of leaves
destined to turn to ash
red embers
and follow the swirling breeze
home
away
I fight for my hands and feet
but they tell me to
grow up
to understand these impish
insults
but the torpid, latent reaction
of analyzation
is quiet and certain
as death by drowning
and is my weakness.
untitled, III
glass challenges me
for clarity of transparency.
in this fresh wrought hole,
things fall from the floor.
and in this mind, flailing,
are the beasts used to scaring
any lost enough to see this creature.
Goodness, his most frightening feature.
for clarity of transparency.
in this fresh wrought hole,
things fall from the floor.
and in this mind, flailing,
are the beasts used to scaring
any lost enough to see this creature.
Goodness, his most frightening feature.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
rest in pisces
how can such these empty things
present,
and yet maintain,
such a convincing façade
of depth
and breadth
remaining so
for years on end
deceiving this
once-young
sacrificial lamb
on toward and atop
this cross of stone
heart mended so
often now
as to resemble a newly
skinned baseball
but no heart
now the lingering thread
of that final slipknot
has presently been pulled
yarn curls down
and coils itself
at hoof level now
as mary knits a crown
present,
and yet maintain,
such a convincing façade
of depth
and breadth
remaining so
for years on end
deceiving this
once-young
sacrificial lamb
on toward and atop
this cross of stone
heart mended so
often now
as to resemble a newly
skinned baseball
but no heart
now the lingering thread
of that final slipknot
has presently been pulled
yarn curls down
and coils itself
at hoof level now
as mary knits a crown
________
no scapegoat
this
man of no man
no means
no mean feat
this tumble of miles
myself, burning in effigy
as i smile
drill bit firmly attached
to it's new found
now-created home
bone can be homely
for something so lonely
and pieces of "only"
and "if"s fall so slowly
this
man of no man
no means
no mean feat
this tumble of miles
myself, burning in effigy
as i smile
drill bit firmly attached
to it's new found
now-created home
bone can be homely
for something so lonely
and pieces of "only"
and "if"s fall so slowly
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Liquid Dreamssss
Running and running and running as fast as newton knows i can
my legs feel like jelly and my seemingly sensitive tastebuds are bland.
Where am i going to on this dreary, rainy, trepidacious aft of the noon?
I am headed to the place i know so well- definitely not the dark side of the moon.
But what is it for sure? And how do i know when i get to my mind's bastille?
All i can see is the dark, and my taste for the more sordid of passions is not gentille-the fear of jeckyll is real.
Then i think Flying through personal demons is never the same as trying to find a lost kid.
And burying the photos will leave me feeling like an unexpected encounter with uncle Cid.
So i chase the multi-colored midgets through fields of size 12 tennis shoes suspended in air.
And while picking up bird seed i see the townspeoples help-to me-will ensnare.
The big guy says for me to stop by the door and beg for the right to Die.
But I look over the pink haired tranny and exclaim that all i want is pie.
Thoughts like these make me think of the anthropomorphic authority figures facade.
But who among us can say what of our reality is the truest of the true fraud.
I will Bury these ambiguous steely black clouds into the stitch of time that i hate
AND Dont tell me that everything has meaning or that we are here because of fate.
FUCKERS
my legs feel like jelly and my seemingly sensitive tastebuds are bland.
Where am i going to on this dreary, rainy, trepidacious aft of the noon?
I am headed to the place i know so well- definitely not the dark side of the moon.
But what is it for sure? And how do i know when i get to my mind's bastille?
All i can see is the dark, and my taste for the more sordid of passions is not gentille-the fear of jeckyll is real.
Then i think Flying through personal demons is never the same as trying to find a lost kid.
And burying the photos will leave me feeling like an unexpected encounter with uncle Cid.
So i chase the multi-colored midgets through fields of size 12 tennis shoes suspended in air.
And while picking up bird seed i see the townspeoples help-to me-will ensnare.
The big guy says for me to stop by the door and beg for the right to Die.
But I look over the pink haired tranny and exclaim that all i want is pie.
Thoughts like these make me think of the anthropomorphic authority figures facade.
But who among us can say what of our reality is the truest of the true fraud.
I will Bury these ambiguous steely black clouds into the stitch of time that i hate
AND Dont tell me that everything has meaning or that we are here because of fate.
FUCKERS
Deer tastes goood
well ever since I was twelve
I have loved the sport of hunting
dad and I would go with our guns
and try to get some animals a-jumpin
we left the house at around three
before the sun had even woke
we walked for hours throgh the brush
and neither one of us spoke.
The sun began to break through the trees
and the thaw began to melt through the frost
the birds had started chirping
and the feeling of early morning drowsiness was lost.
My spirits began to warm
and the excitement of the hunt had set in
the nerves were now jumpy
and my eyes scoured the area again and again
It seemed like it had been hours
how long had I been waiting?
I felt compelled to look at my watch
I could feel the prime time fading.
Just then I hear the noise
hopefully a beast lurking nearby
my eyes devour the landscape
but all I see is a bird flying by
It really has been hours now
I feel my conciousness wanting to sleep
the birds chirping, the bees buzzing
I keeping jerking awake,but try to be discreet
Finally! I hear the noise I have wanted
bushes are shaking just at the end of the clearing
I raise my gun to point at the culprit
but my patience is definitely not endearing.
I loose my cool! I get buck fever
firing into the bush without a second thought
the movement stops immediately
as if I hit it directly;there was no fight to be
I get out of my stand
run with all of my body I can demand
I get over to the bush
start to look in and see a hand.
Because I killed this being with a name
panic hits me like a fucking train.
what was I to do? Where was I to go?
I am definitely headed to hell below.
Fuck it I say- just look again
while pulling back the branches of the death bush
I feel the crreep up my spine
as I look upon the spectacle of my fathers head crushed.
The sickness sets in; I get dizzy
I will never be able to live with what I have done
my mother, my sister, brother!
How will they feel when their blood runs.
There is nothing left to do
my fate is sealed in the stupidity of my impulsive deeds
I place my teeth on the cold steel barrel
as I slowly pull the trigger and dream of egyptian reeds.
I have loved the sport of hunting
dad and I would go with our guns
and try to get some animals a-jumpin
we left the house at around three
before the sun had even woke
we walked for hours throgh the brush
and neither one of us spoke.
The sun began to break through the trees
and the thaw began to melt through the frost
the birds had started chirping
and the feeling of early morning drowsiness was lost.
My spirits began to warm
and the excitement of the hunt had set in
the nerves were now jumpy
and my eyes scoured the area again and again
It seemed like it had been hours
how long had I been waiting?
I felt compelled to look at my watch
I could feel the prime time fading.
Just then I hear the noise
hopefully a beast lurking nearby
my eyes devour the landscape
but all I see is a bird flying by
It really has been hours now
I feel my conciousness wanting to sleep
the birds chirping, the bees buzzing
I keeping jerking awake,but try to be discreet
Finally! I hear the noise I have wanted
bushes are shaking just at the end of the clearing
I raise my gun to point at the culprit
but my patience is definitely not endearing.
I loose my cool! I get buck fever
firing into the bush without a second thought
the movement stops immediately
as if I hit it directly;there was no fight to be
I get out of my stand
run with all of my body I can demand
I get over to the bush
start to look in and see a hand.
Because I killed this being with a name
panic hits me like a fucking train.
what was I to do? Where was I to go?
I am definitely headed to hell below.
Fuck it I say- just look again
while pulling back the branches of the death bush
I feel the crreep up my spine
as I look upon the spectacle of my fathers head crushed.
The sickness sets in; I get dizzy
I will never be able to live with what I have done
my mother, my sister, brother!
How will they feel when their blood runs.
There is nothing left to do
my fate is sealed in the stupidity of my impulsive deeds
I place my teeth on the cold steel barrel
as I slowly pull the trigger and dream of egyptian reeds.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Soooo retarded
Girls Really Do Prefer Pink
The attraction may owe to evolutionary influences, researchers say
By Ed Edelson, HealthDay Reporter
Find More
Vaccine Stops Alzheimer's Brain 'Tangles'
Doctors Often Miss High Blood Pressure in Kids
One Surgery Often Enough for Peritonitis
Today's Health News
MONDAY, Aug. 20 (HealthDay News) -- As the mother of a newborn baby girl, Dr. Anya C. Hurlbert wondered why all the products aimed at her daughter tended to have a pinkish tint.
As a professor of visual neuroscience at Newcastle University in England, Hurlbert was able to create a scientifically sound study to determine whether girls really do prefer pink. The answer, as outlined in a report in the Aug. 21 issue of the journal Current Biology, is "yes." Females do have a preference for pinkish colors that males don't.
"We find very clear differences between the males and females we have tested," Hurlbert said. "We haven't yet found any exceptions."
In more formal terms, females in the study showed a preference for the reddish side of the red-green axis of colors, while males didn't. There was no gender difference in preferences on the blue-yellow axis, with everyone tipping toward blue. The study included 208 participants, ranging in age from 20 to 26.
That bluish preference seems natural, Hurlbert said -- blue skies and all that. The female tilt toward pink, she speculated, arose from evolutionary influences millions of years ago. "Females were the ones who gathered red fruit against a green background," she said. "Red is healthy in faces and in fruits."
Cultural influences may have accentuated this natural female preference, she said.
The study Hurlbert did asked several hundred young men and women to make quick decisions on which color they preferred as pairs of colors flashed on a screen in front of them. "We did about a thousand different pairs," she noted.
Some Chinese people were included in the study along with native Britons, to get evidence that the results were true in more than one ethnic group.
While there has been speculation about a possible female preference for pink, "there has been very little hard evidence for sex differences," Hurlbert said. "We now have provided pretty robust and reliable evidence."
Kathy Mullen, a professor of ophthalmology at McGill University in Montreal, said, "I wouldn't be surprised at all that there is a gender difference. That's not to say that it's genetic. It might be a cultural thing."
Color preferences are also known to change with age, Mullen said.
The "nature-versus-nurture" controversy about favorite colors can be tested by studying infants, Hurlbert said. There are plans to use a modified version of the color-choice test in young babies at her institution, she said.
The attraction may owe to evolutionary influences, researchers say
By Ed Edelson, HealthDay Reporter
Find More
Vaccine Stops Alzheimer's Brain 'Tangles'
Doctors Often Miss High Blood Pressure in Kids
One Surgery Often Enough for Peritonitis
Today's Health News
MONDAY, Aug. 20 (HealthDay News) -- As the mother of a newborn baby girl, Dr. Anya C. Hurlbert wondered why all the products aimed at her daughter tended to have a pinkish tint.
As a professor of visual neuroscience at Newcastle University in England, Hurlbert was able to create a scientifically sound study to determine whether girls really do prefer pink. The answer, as outlined in a report in the Aug. 21 issue of the journal Current Biology, is "yes." Females do have a preference for pinkish colors that males don't.
"We find very clear differences between the males and females we have tested," Hurlbert said. "We haven't yet found any exceptions."
In more formal terms, females in the study showed a preference for the reddish side of the red-green axis of colors, while males didn't. There was no gender difference in preferences on the blue-yellow axis, with everyone tipping toward blue. The study included 208 participants, ranging in age from 20 to 26.
That bluish preference seems natural, Hurlbert said -- blue skies and all that. The female tilt toward pink, she speculated, arose from evolutionary influences millions of years ago. "Females were the ones who gathered red fruit against a green background," she said. "Red is healthy in faces and in fruits."
Cultural influences may have accentuated this natural female preference, she said.
The study Hurlbert did asked several hundred young men and women to make quick decisions on which color they preferred as pairs of colors flashed on a screen in front of them. "We did about a thousand different pairs," she noted.
Some Chinese people were included in the study along with native Britons, to get evidence that the results were true in more than one ethnic group.
While there has been speculation about a possible female preference for pink, "there has been very little hard evidence for sex differences," Hurlbert said. "We now have provided pretty robust and reliable evidence."
Kathy Mullen, a professor of ophthalmology at McGill University in Montreal, said, "I wouldn't be surprised at all that there is a gender difference. That's not to say that it's genetic. It might be a cultural thing."
Color preferences are also known to change with age, Mullen said.
The "nature-versus-nurture" controversy about favorite colors can be tested by studying infants, Hurlbert said. There are plans to use a modified version of the color-choice test in young babies at her institution, she said.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Guilty as charged
Culpability is enough and willing
for you
for me
but never for the potentate weeds
they divert to the block
your head
a head
any figure head.
Robespierres
for a new
generation
for you
for me
but never for the potentate weeds
they divert to the block
your head
a head
any figure head.
Robespierres
for a new
generation
Conformity
Leave your name tags in the mud and find what really lives in you
And when you have lost all sense of compassion keep following through
You will see the pale faced stranger with bungee cords on his legs
He tells you that the ever rising tide will keep you from the dregs
Don’t wish for all his glitter and family pets or you will evaporate
Into the clear glass screen that boxes in the huddled masses- they decimate.
Your wishfull thinkers, lemmings and cooper tires bend to the force of the wind.
They are the gasoline to the fire that burns for your creativity to rescind.
Fuck it! That’s what I say as I drink from the tear-shaped pillowcase
And think that fighting for a dodo bird will, to me, never be a disgrace.
So take your drunken preacher another rock to throw in his big cloudy bag.
Make him feel like he owns your boxers and that you will always fly his flag.
And when you have lost all sense of compassion keep following through
You will see the pale faced stranger with bungee cords on his legs
He tells you that the ever rising tide will keep you from the dregs
Don’t wish for all his glitter and family pets or you will evaporate
Into the clear glass screen that boxes in the huddled masses- they decimate.
Your wishfull thinkers, lemmings and cooper tires bend to the force of the wind.
They are the gasoline to the fire that burns for your creativity to rescind.
Fuck it! That’s what I say as I drink from the tear-shaped pillowcase
And think that fighting for a dodo bird will, to me, never be a disgrace.
So take your drunken preacher another rock to throw in his big cloudy bag.
Make him feel like he owns your boxers and that you will always fly his flag.
atlas shrugged, and so did i
i think i should get off her
but we're fun sometimes
and she loves me so
and i don't care
holding her back
so tired of i love you
holding me back
so tired of i love you
but i tried
i didn't lie
i told her what i was
i cannot be held responsible
for this
not this time...
...shit
yes i am
holding her back
so tired of i love you
holding me back
so tired of i love you
so tired
but we're fun sometimes
and she loves me so
and i don't care
holding her back
so tired of i love you
holding me back
so tired of i love you
but i tried
i didn't lie
i told her what i was
i cannot be held responsible
for this
not this time...
...shit
yes i am
holding her back
so tired of i love you
holding me back
so tired of i love you
so tired
brandie wine
hold me until i feel you
or until you feel me
i never asked for you
you just begged for me
i am not what you think you want
or maybe you just want it
maybe you don't care
anyway, i don't.
give it freely
but don't expect me in return
i never lied to you
buy you may have
ok, that's enough
i've had all that you could give me
or all that i could take
so cry some
but don't say i did it
what could you expect
from what you tried to be?
i never told you that
not once indicated attachment
somehow what you think you saw
materialized from this
these little trysts
there was no more,
probably less
so forget about me
now
or until you feel me
i never asked for you
you just begged for me
i am not what you think you want
or maybe you just want it
maybe you don't care
anyway, i don't.
give it freely
but don't expect me in return
i never lied to you
buy you may have
ok, that's enough
i've had all that you could give me
or all that i could take
so cry some
but don't say i did it
what could you expect
from what you tried to be?
i never told you that
not once indicated attachment
somehow what you think you saw
materialized from this
these little trysts
there was no more,
probably less
so forget about me
now
Untitled, II
all too soon
you'll just be
another set
for me and my guitar,
a few beautiful memories,
and another gorgeous scar,
another piece of me missing,
another little bit gone,
and,
all to soon,
i'll be
just some one you used to know.
you'll just be
another set
for me and my guitar,
a few beautiful memories,
and another gorgeous scar,
another piece of me missing,
another little bit gone,
and,
all to soon,
i'll be
just some one you used to know.
turkeyneck
40 and 80
shades of black and blue
on that left arm
jaws sore from the rubber band
some life slipped out each time you withdrew
spending like you've got a job
you never even looked up to see our outstretched hands
yellow and green dreams
send you
then the world is yours
but you fall back harder
each time
shades of black and blue
on that left arm
jaws sore from the rubber band
some life slipped out each time you withdrew
spending like you've got a job
you never even looked up to see our outstretched hands
yellow and green dreams
send you
then the world is yours
but you fall back harder
each time
Ophelia, please don't kill me
i've got a friend and now she scares me so
i love when she's here, and i hate when she goes
i feel so attached and so empty without her
so i swallow down and i'm normal for hours
when will i take her away? if ever
i'm so afraid
that she'll never leave
i'm so attached and tounge tied unto her
she makes me so happy, and i feel so
so fuzzy and warm as long as the blood flows
i long for her while i've not yet reached afterglow
i know this is wrong
and i almost know why
and i almost can care, but really, i don't
i'm so enamored of her and so seldom
can i go for more that an hour with out her
i love when she's here, and i hate when she goes
i feel so attached and so empty without her
so i swallow down and i'm normal for hours
when will i take her away? if ever
i'm so afraid
that she'll never leave
i'm so attached and tounge tied unto her
she makes me so happy, and i feel so
so fuzzy and warm as long as the blood flows
i long for her while i've not yet reached afterglow
i know this is wrong
and i almost know why
and i almost can care, but really, i don't
i'm so enamored of her and so seldom
can i go for more that an hour with out her
Haikus #3 #4 #5 #6
why do i wish so
to be away from all things
i crave only sleep
______________________________
treading so softly
on another's trodden path
i've nothing to add
_____________________________
don't look at me now
i am not quite ready yet
my mask is not placed
____________________________
i'm treading water
sculling hands, softly i float
not far from under
to be away from all things
i crave only sleep
______________________________
treading so softly
on another's trodden path
i've nothing to add
_____________________________
don't look at me now
i am not quite ready yet
my mask is not placed
____________________________
i'm treading water
sculling hands, softly i float
not far from under
heaven
the sun sets every day
the winter comes next month
the butterflies die in the fall
but some think more of us
some say the man, he never dies
his soul is neigh eternal
some say the man shall live throughout
tis little help come funerals
the sun has set again today
his soul, mayhaps, alive
the butterflies died just last week
and here his mother cries
the winter comes next month
the butterflies die in the fall
but some think more of us
some say the man, he never dies
his soul is neigh eternal
some say the man shall live throughout
tis little help come funerals
the sun has set again today
his soul, mayhaps, alive
the butterflies died just last week
and here his mother cries
Haikus #1 and #2
don't tell anyone
i know what i am not now
i am not afraid
___________________________
i can't recall now
the causes of all my scars
but i still see them
i know what i am not now
i am not afraid
___________________________
i can't recall now
the causes of all my scars
but i still see them
untitled, I
trying to feel my days with something:anything
to fill my head
or clear it again
i kno i'll go back to the drugs
fake hugs and shrugs
make up my societal times
my social life
my socital eye isblinded
cataracts and clouds
is it so bad to be senseless?
or should i sense this
as what it is
could this be/ whatever?
not be
something that should or should not
something nice
something weak
something easy
to fill my head
or clear it again
i kno i'll go back to the drugs
fake hugs and shrugs
make up my societal times
my social life
my socital eye isblinded
cataracts and clouds
is it so bad to be senseless?
or should i sense this
as what it is
could this be/ whatever?
not be
something that should or should not
something nice
something weak
something easy
s l e e p
sunburn is the morning,
aloe is the night.
sleep, to me, is opiate.
my drug to fight the light.
so on to dreams of happiness,
or better still, no dreams.
on to darker pastures
of feeling only sleep.
aloe is the night.
sleep, to me, is opiate.
my drug to fight the light.
so on to dreams of happiness,
or better still, no dreams.
on to darker pastures
of feeling only sleep.
A Month Laments Its Failure
twelve of me,
times twenty-two
have yielded such
a rotten fruit.
tis enough summers,
others say,
for one to ripen
pleasantly.
but this one's bitter,
rough in places.
soft and damaged.
many faces
of our failure,
look back neigh.
when at our boy,
we turn an eye.
it looks up
as if to say,
"face the compost;
toss away."
times twenty-two
have yielded such
a rotten fruit.
tis enough summers,
others say,
for one to ripen
pleasantly.
but this one's bitter,
rough in places.
soft and damaged.
many faces
of our failure,
look back neigh.
when at our boy,
we turn an eye.
it looks up
as if to say,
"face the compost;
toss away."
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Torn
all the times you faked
all the times you pretended to reciprocate
everything i didnt really want
but it comes through anyway
holding onto a faux flower
plastic
thats what i have done since genesis
pretending the reality could be designed
by words and labels and stories
but my affinity for language has never
helped
my situation in the now
has never pushed anyone to
bow
bend
accept
trust anything unknown
all the real stars in my
sky
have never been more than
my passions
drowning in temerity
from the opposite pole.
so what? you say
they change with time
change with rings
with moons.
And know its
OK
nothing is as it seems
when only you, to you, are
REAL
the only genuine grain
it seems
But look through the
hourglass
to see that you
are not less but CERTAINLY
not more than just
a name
all the times you pretended to reciprocate
everything i didnt really want
but it comes through anyway
holding onto a faux flower
plastic
thats what i have done since genesis
pretending the reality could be designed
by words and labels and stories
but my affinity for language has never
helped
my situation in the now
has never pushed anyone to
bow
bend
accept
trust anything unknown
all the real stars in my
sky
have never been more than
my passions
drowning in temerity
from the opposite pole.
so what? you say
they change with time
change with rings
with moons.
And know its
OK
nothing is as it seems
when only you, to you, are
REAL
the only genuine grain
it seems
But look through the
hourglass
to see that you
are not less but CERTAINLY
not more than just
a name
Friday, August 17, 2007
Fragment
(a short story)
The images flashed before my eyes. It was like a strobe light of memories seen through some drunken haze. Remnants of the past and future somehow fell together and painted a picture I never wanted to see. I awakened prostrate and began to drag my sweat-covered body off the sand. Something hurt. I didn't remember much. I could feel death creeping behind me in the darkness. Then I heard a scream. I saw myself a million miles away, or maybe ten feet. The sand rushed up to meet my face. Nothingness. Days, hours, seconds. I couldn't tell. The sun burning my neck awakened me. The rawness of the morning chaffed what was left of my broken spirit. I stood and watched my dreams roll in the sand as they fell in saline vessels from the corners of my eyes. I saw the sun. And then, like a choking dream it faded behind some black demon.
Her voice again, a silk thread against my ear. "The eclipse is tomorrow." Her dark hair shone in her soft grey eyes. I could almost see through her. But her words had broken me before and I felt no need to fight again. I knew tomorrow would feel the same, but I played again like we always do. Somehow, the air was electric, almost like love. Or maybe just rain. I held her, pretending I wanted to. I just needed it. Not her. I couldn't see her eyes anymore, a mask of smiles held them hostage. I wanted her to cry just once and somehow melt what served as a face into some semblance of reality. These dreams only served to upset me. Reality hit like a falling tower. I almost pushed her away, but the tide of false happiness overtook my drifting body yet again. She told me she loved me. She loved me, she thought she loved me, maybe she lied and said it. I didn't care. At that moment I was more alone than ever before. "I'll see you tomorrow," I told her with a falsetto smile. "You had better," she said, her synthetic emotions sickening me. She kissed me as I left but I didn't feel it. I had already been absorbed into the mist that had become this little glade. I smelled the rain as I walked to my car. The fog had condensed on it like a crystalline coach from some fantasy. There was still a footprint on the dash from a few weeks before. She. I had almost known her. But with the swiftness of a departing dove she was now gone. I held no ill will for her. It was her choice, her life. But in a way it was my life as well, a part I had freely given her. She wasn't spiteful, rather, a genuine sadness had overcome her. I had let her go.
The sun burning my back awakened me. I now saw the blood on my shirt. My blood? I discarded the shirt like the painful half-memory it was and stepped into the sea. The water stung as I soaked in the brine. It only served to make me dirtier. I no longer bled, if I had bled at all. Even now I could see the thunderheads rolling away atop the foam-crested waves. Had it been that short a time? Now blinded by the shadows and deafened by the silence, I hid in the light. Seeing only the wet road and water. Water. The light began to break around me. Darkness again, my ever present acquaintance. I could see...I could see the truth, I could see it all in this moment. Every locked door I'd ever seen came crashing open filling me with all I could ever need. The light, the light now blinded me from without, not within. In this moment all is well. I reach out to the truth and am welcomed home.
The images flashed before my eyes. It was like a strobe light of memories seen through some drunken haze. Remnants of the past and future somehow fell together and painted a picture I never wanted to see. I awakened prostrate and began to drag my sweat-covered body off the sand. Something hurt. I didn't remember much. I could feel death creeping behind me in the darkness. Then I heard a scream. I saw myself a million miles away, or maybe ten feet. The sand rushed up to meet my face. Nothingness. Days, hours, seconds. I couldn't tell. The sun burning my neck awakened me. The rawness of the morning chaffed what was left of my broken spirit. I stood and watched my dreams roll in the sand as they fell in saline vessels from the corners of my eyes. I saw the sun. And then, like a choking dream it faded behind some black demon.
Her voice again, a silk thread against my ear. "The eclipse is tomorrow." Her dark hair shone in her soft grey eyes. I could almost see through her. But her words had broken me before and I felt no need to fight again. I knew tomorrow would feel the same, but I played again like we always do. Somehow, the air was electric, almost like love. Or maybe just rain. I held her, pretending I wanted to. I just needed it. Not her. I couldn't see her eyes anymore, a mask of smiles held them hostage. I wanted her to cry just once and somehow melt what served as a face into some semblance of reality. These dreams only served to upset me. Reality hit like a falling tower. I almost pushed her away, but the tide of false happiness overtook my drifting body yet again. She told me she loved me. She loved me, she thought she loved me, maybe she lied and said it. I didn't care. At that moment I was more alone than ever before. "I'll see you tomorrow," I told her with a falsetto smile. "You had better," she said, her synthetic emotions sickening me. She kissed me as I left but I didn't feel it. I had already been absorbed into the mist that had become this little glade. I smelled the rain as I walked to my car. The fog had condensed on it like a crystalline coach from some fantasy. There was still a footprint on the dash from a few weeks before. She. I had almost known her. But with the swiftness of a departing dove she was now gone. I held no ill will for her. It was her choice, her life. But in a way it was my life as well, a part I had freely given her. She wasn't spiteful, rather, a genuine sadness had overcome her. I had let her go.
The sun burning my back awakened me. I now saw the blood on my shirt. My blood? I discarded the shirt like the painful half-memory it was and stepped into the sea. The water stung as I soaked in the brine. It only served to make me dirtier. I no longer bled, if I had bled at all. Even now I could see the thunderheads rolling away atop the foam-crested waves. Had it been that short a time? Now blinded by the shadows and deafened by the silence, I hid in the light. Seeing only the wet road and water. Water. The light began to break around me. Darkness again, my ever present acquaintance. I could see...I could see the truth, I could see it all in this moment. Every locked door I'd ever seen came crashing open filling me with all I could ever need. The light, the light now blinded me from without, not within. In this moment all is well. I reach out to the truth and am welcomed home.
Do Not Use Elevators
(a song)
fall, a time of slowly dying, cool and restful we find
our protagonist, prostrate in the peach grove cool and resting,
falling leaves cover his half-naked body
he'd have more clothes if he wasn't half-crazy
and just days ago, maybe wasn't
summer, the months of beauty and life,
between youth and death, among the flowers
and lightning and showers
the peaches still growing, a mind still unfolding
pretty pictures of people
leaving tall buildings,
direct from the top floors,
saves electricity, he thinks it’s pretty
and makes so much sense, and no one is crazy
until someone tells them
(instrumental interlude)
Spring finds our man half hungover from happiness
Of the particular
Kind spring is famous for
Wonderful colors embracing the canvas
Now glowing with glorious
Feelings so fabulous
Future so bright, holds more promise
Than children, who having
Intelligence rivaling Hawking’s,
leave adults gawking at
developed theories
of things still unsolved by
the best minds of elders
but promises die
and children don’t keep so well
so don’t make predictions
(temp drop, chord changes)
Winter is not quite
As cold as his body now
Floating so stiffly
Beneath the permafrost
Delicate beauty
Fed by the sunlight
A few flowers remaining
Despite the temperature
White silence settles
So cold and relaxing
No satisfaction
Is found in her face tonight
Black is so flattering
For such a frown
And a false form of peace comes
And shelters the family
fall, a time of slowly dying, cool and restful we find
our protagonist, prostrate in the peach grove cool and resting,
falling leaves cover his half-naked body
he'd have more clothes if he wasn't half-crazy
and just days ago, maybe wasn't
summer, the months of beauty and life,
between youth and death, among the flowers
and lightning and showers
the peaches still growing, a mind still unfolding
pretty pictures of people
leaving tall buildings,
direct from the top floors,
saves electricity, he thinks it’s pretty
and makes so much sense, and no one is crazy
until someone tells them
(instrumental interlude)
Spring finds our man half hungover from happiness
Of the particular
Kind spring is famous for
Wonderful colors embracing the canvas
Now glowing with glorious
Feelings so fabulous
Future so bright, holds more promise
Than children, who having
Intelligence rivaling Hawking’s,
leave adults gawking at
developed theories
of things still unsolved by
the best minds of elders
but promises die
and children don’t keep so well
so don’t make predictions
(temp drop, chord changes)
Winter is not quite
As cold as his body now
Floating so stiffly
Beneath the permafrost
Delicate beauty
Fed by the sunlight
A few flowers remaining
Despite the temperature
White silence settles
So cold and relaxing
No satisfaction
Is found in her face tonight
Black is so flattering
For such a frown
And a false form of peace comes
And shelters the family
P.S. I Wish I Were Here
(a song)
Running from an 8 year old monster
The faster I run
The more I know that nothing
Will ever be the same
So hard to run from an imbedded parasite
It must be so comfortable
In there for so long
(chorus)
I’ll trade you the sum
Of all I’ve become
And everything I’ve ever thought
Was important
For one chance to smile
Without medication
One tear
One touch without numbing me
So many years
I wish I were here
Plastic for so long
But decaying anyway
I won’t last forever
But apparently this will
I’ll leave it to only
No one at all
On one deserves this
Take me back home
(repeat chorus)
(bridge? Interlude?)
I want a ticket back to 13
I want a memory that doesn’t scare me
I want a feeling I know is mine
I want an easy way through all this difficulty
I want to know how to be alive
I want to enjoy life under the pyrosphere
I want to know what happiness is
Iiii…..I wish I were here
Running from an 8 year old monster
The faster I run
The more I know that nothing
Will ever
So hard to run from an imbedded parasite
It must be so comfortable
In there for so long
(chorus)
I’ll trade you the sum
Of all I’ve become
And everything I’ve ever thought
Was important
For one chance to smile
Without medication
One tear
One touch without numbing me
So many years
I wish I were here
Plastic for so long
But decaying anyway
I won’t last forever
But apparently this will
I’ll leave it to only
No one at all
On one deserves this
Take me back home
(repeat chorus)
(bridge? Interlude?)
I want a ticket back to 13
I want a memory that doesn’t scare me
I want a feeling I know is mine
I want an easy way through all this difficulty
I want to know how to be alive
I want to enjoy life under the pyrosphere
I want to know what happiness is
Iiii…..I wish I were here
ennui
to be thrown and stoned
by the place you call home
always the case in America
for a mind overgrown
seems to takes eons
for the crowd to wake
and its usually too late
to get back what they take
folding you into a box so clear
trying to turn u into something
they dont fear
trying to make things foreign
even when they are not
makes me feel those brains
are the size of a microdot
by the place you call home
always the case in America
for a mind overgrown
seems to takes eons
for the crowd to wake
and its usually too late
to get back what they take
folding you into a box so clear
trying to turn u into something
they dont fear
trying to make things foreign
even when they are not
makes me feel those brains
are the size of a microdot
boom chicka wa wa
Your taste
your kiss
your touch
you wrapped up in my hair and skin and spit and
spilled red wine
the curve of your neck
the waterfall of nerves on ur inner hip
that cascade..
your warmth..
your warm cunt
crying in-exhaustible waves of pleasure...
the inside of your svelte soft thigh..
the palpatating rhythmsssss that
inebriate..........and envelop
your heavy breath on my ear
....leaving its moist sensuality
heaving breathing as our bodies grind
towards elysium.
your teeth on my neck.....deep....
your claws in my back ......deep.........
I need it all.............
but the drama
any questions????
your kiss
your touch
you wrapped up in my hair and skin and spit and
spilled red wine
the curve of your neck
the waterfall of nerves on ur inner hip
that cascade..
your warmth..
your warm cunt
crying in-exhaustible waves of pleasure...
the inside of your svelte soft thigh..
the palpatating rhythmsssss that
inebriate..........and envelop
your heavy breath on my ear
....leaving its moist sensuality
heaving breathing as our bodies grind
towards elysium.
your teeth on my neck.....deep....
your claws in my back ......deep.........
I need it all.............
but the drama
any questions????
closed
burning up my brain are thoughts
your thoughts
why????
I cant feel you any more than i can see the
breeze
but i listen to your shit
your dumb shit
and for what, my sweet?
WEHELLLLLL....thats it, eh?
now i remember
a night of wrestling sublime
can leave you here
though
its never enough for me to really open
my ear.
your thoughts
why????
I cant feel you any more than i can see the
breeze
but i listen to your shit
your dumb shit
and for what, my sweet?
WEHELLLLLL....thats it, eh?
now i remember
a night of wrestling sublime
can leave you here
though
its never enough for me to really open
my ear.
Hardest or easiest job in the world??
Hokay, so now Tony Snow is resigning? Jesus man, this administration has had more press secretaries than Norman Mailer has stabbed people. I think it must be an extremely hard job, especially when for this dumb-ass, shoulda been a lame-duck pres. all along, but stress and guilt, which is why i am guessing Fleischer and Bush's fat mini-me resigned, are not the reason for Snow's leaving. Apparently Snow, a former pundit for the Fox faux news network, says he just doesnt make enought money. His 168,000 dollar a year check is not enough to pay the bills. He must be one of those Americans who dont have health insurance and is having to pay for all his chemotherapy out of pocket-yeah right. Bush must be gettin fucked up right now. I know i would if my third press secretary resigned due to lack of fundage. That is a horrible excuse. I mean, at this point, especially considering its Bush's 2nd term and he dont give a fuck anyway, shouldnt the press secretary have the easiest job in the world. He could stand up on the podium and tell every big-wig news correspondent to go fuck themselves every time they asked a question. It wouldnt really be that much different than what the administration has been doing. It would just be a little more honest. We all can appreciate honesty, Right?
bienvenudos, bitches
HELLO I AM AARON.......SORRY, IS THAT TOO LOUD?.....HERE....ill turn it down. Anyways, as i said, i am Aaron, but the mothership calls me Florizel Polixenes, Flox for short. And, yes, thank you riverman, I am a bit of a psychotic, but not a violent one. I would classify myself as a general watershed, walk-around-all-day-with-Magnum-condoms-on-my-feet-and-ask-people-if-they-have-seen-my-shoes type of psychotic, which is not scary at all but, rather, kinda funny, that is, if you have taken some time in your meaningless existence to abuse Acid, which i hope everyone that reads this has-it will help to be explanatory in the upcoming months of reading this blog.
All you need to know.......
I live in Nor Cal, you know, where the hippies come from. I like to tickle midgets with feathers, but not those freakish dwarfs, just the ones over 2 and a half feet. I like to go to the zoo and throw shit at the monkeys. I love to fill 32oz glasses with Hendrick's gin and a splash of vermouth and pretend I am classy cause i am drinking a martini. I like sex, but only with LIVE girls. Knife hits are the strongest form of inhalation for the sweet cheeba. Wild Turkey tastes best with water and ice. Loss is perpetual.....so fucking accept it. Cheese that isnt yours is.......survey says......nacho cheese. Wow, that was bad. Anyways, I drink every day, and, preferably, enough to kill a horse, which can be tricky to maintain if you are not dedicated to the cause of surrealism. I love to write and, mainly, i think it is because i love to offend people. . Excuse me, i meant to say i love to offend Americans, cause most foreigners are too laid back to piss off as they usually arent stupid. And I like to piss on Americans..............probably because it is soooo easy. I mean, come on, who has more taboos to exploit? thats right.....no body. I will stay proud of my attempts at expatriate status, that is, until we elect a philosopher pres. Anyways, check our shit out and comment. I promise you will be entertained and have a few thoughts provoked out of that databank of memories of Mtv videos and Jessica Simpson's tits.......Good Day.
All you need to know.......
I live in Nor Cal, you know, where the hippies come from. I like to tickle midgets with feathers, but not those freakish dwarfs, just the ones over 2 and a half feet. I like to go to the zoo and throw shit at the monkeys. I love to fill 32oz glasses with Hendrick's gin and a splash of vermouth and pretend I am classy cause i am drinking a martini. I like sex, but only with LIVE girls. Knife hits are the strongest form of inhalation for the sweet cheeba. Wild Turkey tastes best with water and ice. Loss is perpetual.....so fucking accept it. Cheese that isnt yours is.......survey says......nacho cheese. Wow, that was bad. Anyways, I drink every day, and, preferably, enough to kill a horse, which can be tricky to maintain if you are not dedicated to the cause of surrealism. I love to write and, mainly, i think it is because i love to offend people. . Excuse me, i meant to say i love to offend Americans, cause most foreigners are too laid back to piss off as they usually arent stupid. And I like to piss on Americans..............probably because it is soooo easy. I mean, come on, who has more taboos to exploit? thats right.....no body. I will stay proud of my attempts at expatriate status, that is, until we elect a philosopher pres. Anyways, check our shit out and comment. I promise you will be entertained and have a few thoughts provoked out of that databank of memories of Mtv videos and Jessica Simpson's tits.......Good Day.
Blood Sister
Blood Sister, fixing
Each visit
Never long enough
Terror is
The very thought of you gone
You gone is
My certain, quick demise
Always leaving me, Blood Sister
Next to anything
You are everything; mine
only hope for the sunrise,
swelling my eyes, is your beautiful scent
smelling of nothing
just dust is your signature
only small footsteps is all you leave
footsteps, and me frozen
in fear
of my Blood Sister gone.
Each visit
Never long enough
Terror is
The very thought of you gone
You gone is
My certain, quick demise
Always leaving me, Blood Sister
Next to anything
You are everything; mine
only hope for the sunrise,
swelling my eyes, is your beautiful scent
smelling of nothing
just dust is your signature
only small footsteps is all you leave
footsteps, and me frozen
in fear
of my Blood Sister gone.
A Few Paces North Of The Fire Place
That brown southern water
Hiding, so deftly, the monster turtle.
In one quick snap,
Your finger is gone.
Just doing his job I guess.
I’m sure he’d have made
One hell of a defendant
At Nuremburg
Brown water
Showing me myself in shades
Darker than I should be
But it’s still, obviously, painfully,
Me.
Hiding, so deftly, the monster turtle.
In one quick snap,
Your finger is gone.
Just doing his job I guess.
I’m sure he’d have made
One hell of a defendant
At Nuremburg
Brown water
Showing me myself in shades
Darker than I should be
But it’s still, obviously, painfully,
Me.
Welcome
Hello one and all. i am the riverman. the posts below are by aaron. as you may've noticed, he, along with myself, are the designated psychotics (and i have the rx receipts to prove it)in The Triumvirate. just jerkin your chain there aaron. i'll leave you and san_ford to do your own introductions.
as i said, i am the riverman. i take enough opiates in one dose to kill a full grown man. i've been on psychotherapeutic pharmaceuticals for nearly a decade. i like sand walks in the long. i enjoy pretending to be important and visionary. my turn ons are 'on' switches, red brick dust extracted from the sinuses of my victims, and kitties. my turn offs are those damn, DAMN 'off switches...may they rot in hell.
as i said, i am the riverman. i take enough opiates in one dose to kill a full grown man. i've been on psychotherapeutic pharmaceuticals for nearly a decade. i like sand walks in the long. i enjoy pretending to be important and visionary. my turn ons are 'on' switches, red brick dust extracted from the sinuses of my victims, and kitties. my turn offs are those damn, DAMN 'off switches...may they rot in hell.
ADDICTION
The red eyed, white knuckled, heavenly demon.
He loves me.
He is always with me.
The intensity of his influence is
always searing my eyes.
The inevitable death he brings, was born to bring,
is clouding the oceans of my nerves
with the ever-increasing reality of his existence.
Let me move on!!! Please!
Just let me be!
Your presence causes my development
to freeze.
I sit in a room
all by myself
shivering in the lucidity of my fiendish tendencies,
the realism of their infusion into my persona, and all that remains
is the voice.
His Voice.
His incessant whispering
owns my thoughts
like a cat owns a goldfish in a bowl
Cringing.
CRINGING.
At the idea
of what I know I about to do to
myself.
Headed to the black hole now
to get the soul thief.
The dull brainwashing diamond
that gives me a sigh
with just one slight
prick.
Prior is the apprehensive sickness,
The nut-clenching tension that
can only be cured by one sordid nadir.
Quivering.....
Shaking......
The one track mind
with a junkie’s focus thrown in.
The sweat pours down my trembling spine
as I rest in a state of catatonic despair
that will not be dissipated until
the fat is in the fire.
I know the monkey has grown into my back
a mixing of the protons and electrons
and now my soul fucks and walks like quasimoto
Hopefully I will shake the invading colors
before I am overtaken.
I feel it totalitarian presence looming.
And I fear it will eventually become all-encompassing
Leaving nothing to me but the frail vessel in which I reside.
He loves me.
He is always with me.
The intensity of his influence is
always searing my eyes.
The inevitable death he brings, was born to bring,
is clouding the oceans of my nerves
with the ever-increasing reality of his existence.
Let me move on!!! Please!
Just let me be!
Your presence causes my development
to freeze.
I sit in a room
all by myself
shivering in the lucidity of my fiendish tendencies,
the realism of their infusion into my persona, and all that remains
is the voice.
His Voice.
His incessant whispering
owns my thoughts
like a cat owns a goldfish in a bowl
Cringing.
CRINGING.
At the idea
of what I know I about to do to
myself.
Headed to the black hole now
to get the soul thief.
The dull brainwashing diamond
that gives me a sigh
with just one slight
prick.
Prior is the apprehensive sickness,
The nut-clenching tension that
can only be cured by one sordid nadir.
Quivering.....
Shaking......
The one track mind
with a junkie’s focus thrown in.
The sweat pours down my trembling spine
as I rest in a state of catatonic despair
that will not be dissipated until
the fat is in the fire.
I know the monkey has grown into my back
a mixing of the protons and electrons
and now my soul fucks and walks like quasimoto
Hopefully I will shake the invading colors
before I am overtaken.
I feel it totalitarian presence looming.
And I fear it will eventually become all-encompassing
Leaving nothing to me but the frail vessel in which I reside.
BISEXUALS- they bug me.
Afraid to choose?
Or are u afraid to lose?
Does the existence of strange
inflict you like a dog with mange?
Why cant you pick a side?
Do you prefer the thrill of the ride?
I think you are afraid of rejection
inspired by all ur lack of inflection.
Sexuality is a preference- an attraction
appreciating all beauty is not worth the reaction
that u seem to inflict upon urself
put ur ideas where theybelong-on the bottom shelf
I understand your zeal
I share the same for veal
it’s a love u don’t understand
like being from alabam and going to kazakhstan
lost in translation, as it were,
it’s a hard decision-dick or fur
Now tis the end of it all
Maybe youll be able to admit your love of balls
but if you don’t and lose sleep over it
just be happy knowing you’d also like a clit.
Or are u afraid to lose?
Does the existence of strange
inflict you like a dog with mange?
Why cant you pick a side?
Do you prefer the thrill of the ride?
I think you are afraid of rejection
inspired by all ur lack of inflection.
Sexuality is a preference- an attraction
appreciating all beauty is not worth the reaction
that u seem to inflict upon urself
put ur ideas where theybelong-on the bottom shelf
I understand your zeal
I share the same for veal
it’s a love u don’t understand
like being from alabam and going to kazakhstan
lost in translation, as it were,
it’s a hard decision-dick or fur
Now tis the end of it all
Maybe youll be able to admit your love of balls
but if you don’t and lose sleep over it
just be happy knowing you’d also like a clit.
blaghhh
as the suns chains are broken
the grass’s trunks are smiling to the west
waiting for the familiar words to be spoken.
The wonky advice that lends guidance and instruction
to a collective unconscious that is headed for destruction
it is marketed as nutrimentum spiritus.
When it actually strikes fear in us.
From the depths of a heart ocean
comes the seemingly latent reaction
to all the conditioning that our hive endures.
These words are bark on a redwood
and they always dent my mattress
with the precision and effectiveness of a xanax
the grass’s trunks are smiling to the west
waiting for the familiar words to be spoken.
The wonky advice that lends guidance and instruction
to a collective unconscious that is headed for destruction
it is marketed as nutrimentum spiritus.
When it actually strikes fear in us.
From the depths of a heart ocean
comes the seemingly latent reaction
to all the conditioning that our hive endures.
These words are bark on a redwood
and they always dent my mattress
with the precision and effectiveness of a xanax
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Creation
Night is fading into dawn as somewhere near the doorway rests
A broken pencil,
Bloody point.
An average ending at its best.
But every night insomniatic, writing just to keep him sane
Is this creature,
Barely human
Failing to turn pain to gain
A broken pencil,
Bloody point.
An average ending at its best.
But every night insomniatic, writing just to keep him sane
Is this creature,
Barely human
Failing to turn pain to gain
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)