Saturday, April 23, 2005
Cold Meat
Back again. Computer problems.
All those “1”s and “0”s messing about and getting funky.
You’d think it would all be simple.
You’d think so.
But you’d be wrong.
Simple Hi to the world today.
Kick in the nuts tonight.
And a tab to tell the tale tomorrow.
Ahhhhh.
Springtime and the legs are showing.
How can we choose to be Fucked?
More later.
All those “1”s and “0”s messing about and getting funky.
You’d think it would all be simple.
You’d think so.
But you’d be wrong.
Simple Hi to the world today.
Kick in the nuts tonight.
And a tab to tell the tale tomorrow.
Ahhhhh.
Springtime and the legs are showing.
How can we choose to be Fucked?
More later.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Maggots Love Subway
Slide your mind down my presence and feel the soul nudging greatness.
Blue lights turning black and the smiles of the liars are your only guild.
No music, yet the dance goes on and the heat breaks your heart.
Marked forever. Underlined. Stretched. Known.
No secret ending and no lost sessions.
Just days and nights and substance. Recycled and reused and redone until your bones break and your intellect withdraws, leaving you bent then dead.
The big dirt sleep.
The Worms crawl in. The do not Worms crawl out. Ever.
Naked.
Embraced.
But until then, the moments move.
Decided checkpoints to an unknown goal.
Who really cares if it is a happy or a sad time? It is both.
Right?
Isn’t that the real truth? Everything sucks and is difficult and it all ends darkly, but it is beautiful and exciting and everyday has the chance for something better and right, even when it just gets worse.
For some, the joke is that it isn’t wrong. In anyway. Never was. But they, we, can go hunting for a scraped knee. Because the smell of a Band-Aid, freshly opened, reminds them of that feeling of a kiss to make it better. Innocence is desire.
Blue lights turning black and the smiles of the liars are your only guild.
No music, yet the dance goes on and the heat breaks your heart.
Marked forever. Underlined. Stretched. Known.
No secret ending and no lost sessions.
Just days and nights and substance. Recycled and reused and redone until your bones break and your intellect withdraws, leaving you bent then dead.
The big dirt sleep.
The Worms crawl in. The do not Worms crawl out. Ever.
Naked.
Embraced.
But until then, the moments move.
Decided checkpoints to an unknown goal.
Who really cares if it is a happy or a sad time? It is both.
Right?
Isn’t that the real truth? Everything sucks and is difficult and it all ends darkly, but it is beautiful and exciting and everyday has the chance for something better and right, even when it just gets worse.
For some, the joke is that it isn’t wrong. In anyway. Never was. But they, we, can go hunting for a scraped knee. Because the smell of a Band-Aid, freshly opened, reminds them of that feeling of a kiss to make it better. Innocence is desire.
Friday, April 8, 2005
Passing Touch
Sweet whispers taunt and beg.
Day falls again for the night.
Smooth cool winds carry the wraiths around the city.
Bending in doorways to catch the sights.
Letters and numbers give way to touch and feel.
Less thinking.
More thoughts.
A peaceful understanding that the time is finally here.
This is one of those busy moments of nothing.
One of those times where stillness is exertion.
And the night is coming.
With its whispers.
Sweet and dead.
Day falls again for the night.
Smooth cool winds carry the wraiths around the city.
Bending in doorways to catch the sights.
Letters and numbers give way to touch and feel.
Less thinking.
More thoughts.
A peaceful understanding that the time is finally here.
This is one of those busy moments of nothing.
One of those times where stillness is exertion.
And the night is coming.
With its whispers.
Sweet and dead.
