When.
syncopate
a stop and a start
tick tock heart;
I.
bite marks
and blood stains
give me a cigarette, please.
Go.
and excoriate
to make sense
of the stillness and
the stasis
of an ever frozen still frame.
Monday, November 14, 2005
sound of silence.
hello darkness, my old friend,
i've come to talk with you again.
because a vision softly creeping,
left its seeds while I was sleeping.
and the vision that was planted in my brain
still remains
within the sound of silence.
in restless dreams i walked alone,
narrow streets of cobblestone.
'neath the halo of a street lamp,
i turned my collar to the cold and damp.
when my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
a neon light
that split the night
and touched the sound of silence.
and in the naked light I saw
ten thousand people, maybe more.
people talking without speaking,
people hearing without listening,
people writing songs that voices never share
and no one dared
disturb the sound of silence.
"fools" said i,"You do not know,
silence like a cancer grows.
hear my words that i might teach you,
take my arms that i might reach you."
but my words like silent raindrops fell,
and echoed
in the wells of silence.
and the people bowed and prayed
to the neon god they made.
and the sign flashed out its warning,
in the words that it was forming.
and the signs said, The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
and tenement halls.
and whisper'd in the sounds of silence.
Simon and Garfunkel
verbatim 5:00 PM
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Tuesday, October 25, 2005
gates of the country
april
back in new york
the 31st floor
it seems somehow everything's changed.
the kitchen too small
plates on the wall
the sound of machinery.
may
where have you been?
who were you running with?
wasn't he someone you used to call home?
where is the ring?
where is the boy who went traveling alone?
she is much better without me.
she walks through the gates of the country,
hands at her side.
and i smile as i watch her walk by,
somehow i see there are ships in her eyes.
she is better off now.
june
the curtain is shut
the patterns are cut.
the maid who will wake you at dawn
pulls out a chair,
pulls down your hair.
it's just like you wanted.
july
what's going on?
what are you running from?
why are you sleeping alone on the floor?
some people change,
others hang on till they can't anymore.
she is much better without me.
she walks through the gates of the country,
hands in the air.
and i smile as i watch her walk by,
somehow i see there are ships in her eyes.
she is much better now.
Black Lab
verbatim 9:52 PM
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Tuesday, October 18, 2005
(it's me.)
tomorrow, i'll dream of gold, and verdant and azure and fuschia.
(it's me.)
and there's hope.
(it's me.)
love.
(it's me.)
beauty.
(it's me.)
freedom.
(it's me.)
and dreams. orgasmic dreams. white-out and truths.
(yes, it's me.)
i need faith.
(yes, i need it.)
concupiscience.
(i need it, and damn it's a long word. must look up the dictionary.)
concupiscience is you.
*it's you, it's you..*
this is me.
(if i want it.)
my desire.
*you're an individual. you're unique.*
me. me. me.
(yes. i love me.)
there's a space between my ears. i need love, i think.
*advertising. coffee and cigarettes. pop and play. children*
(let the children die.)
tomorrow, i'm the white rabbit.
(what's your name again?)
i'm black and white.
(let tomorrow die.)
verbatim 2:41 PM
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Friday, September 30, 2005
the daisy chain
now, now,
you're a porcelain doll
even without the makeup.
but daisies are not only for
pansies.
(real men do love it!)
where the angels fear to tread
but the world still isn't yours, yet.
they may call your name now
(but you wished they call it out in bed).
you're angry, a little too insane.
a few daisy girls want you dead
with unrequited passions
of the wunderkind.
you can hold it back,
till you are fit to burst
a dam brimming, of
mercury, and solace,
in some distant arms
that pined and loved (you)
and picked you up.
and tucked you away at night
we can't all have our
(fruit)cake and eat it. just as you
bit off more than you could chew.
with more attention
then poor you could afford,
a cowboy shoots of stray (blank) bullets tonight.
sexy as it may sound,
the world is still your oyster tonight.
lap it all up in your greed,
shake, rattle, to the symphony
or rhymthm of sweaty bodies
and paint the town
in your unchained melody.
verbatim 3:07 PM
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"You yielded to one who not has the four S's(as if we should say, sightly, sprightly, sincere, and secret.), which are required in every good lover, but even the whole alphabet; as, for example, he is, in my opinion, agreeable, bountiful, constant, dutiful, easy, faithful, gallant, honourable, ingenous, kind, loyal, mild, noble, officious, prudent, quiet, rich, secret, true, valiant, wise; the X indeed, is too harsh a letter to agree with him, but he is young and zealous."
what do you know, Cervantes DID know something about writing romance.
verbatim 2:41 PM
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Thursday, September 22, 2005
updates on the links section. for your undivided perusal.
Danke!
verbatim 4:59 PM
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Friday, September 02, 2005
An unopened letter to God
Dear God, I have a problem
Something that I have no answers to
Perhaps I need to be vatic
in order to answer these very same questions
that I would raise up from time to time
to you but no one else in particular.
It might have been the signs
that it was something not meant to be
but would having schizophrenic conversations
with myself counts as a very good question?
Obsidian, the darkness as a monolith
the angel tilts and pours
burn a revelation into your eyes.
Cinders fallout.
radio shout outs,
people talk so damn loud.
I can't listen with all those noise
My head, or someone else's. Maybe
but I don't know.
Dear God, I have another one.
I still don't know anything
No one's getting smarter
nor getting the score
But they all know the answers
and I'm left shredding sanity in my hands.
Is it right, to be righteously wrong?
And is it wrong, to be rightfully unjustified?
May I murder you, from time to time
since you are eternal
I can do anything and you're still interminable.
I would be fine with the reverse
Just make sure you finish the job.
Dear God, please answer my questions,
because I might kill myself tonight.
verbatim 6:34 PM
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Wednesday, August 17, 2005
an idolised bang for the industry killer.
and it was war, and we charge forward in heed of our masters pulsing, maggots, throbbing and pounding and emascalating the sickness of torpidity. burn, we murder promises, and we are the manchurian cnadidates, here to push fingers into our eyes to dull the ache. the walls came down, and we fought for the unconventional. unconditional, the new diabolic, the black, bitter, bucolic. we are the life, the anti-life, the existence of an alliance in defiance. and it was the virus, cold, a synergy of a blister bursting into death and of a new beginning of a pain.
Maggots.
Slipknot was a blast.
verbatim 4:57 PM
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l'effet de papillon.
arrêtez le début. je vous mettrai par les pas. vous tisserez, vous développerez, et prendrez le vol en matin couvert de rosée.
une tache floue chromatique. dans la joie grandiloquente et splendide. mais, arrêt d'arrêt vous avez un coeur de chronomètre. vous avez essayé de commencer, mais vous vous êtes arrêté.
quelqu'un d'autre prendra vos ailes très légères.