2Cellos - Where the streets have no name
The sun shone bright
Covering the earth
In a warmth
That never felt so cold
Life erupting as a world prepared to enter spring
Fell deaf on his ears
And on hers
Soon would mark the time for departure
The dance to keep alive
What could have been
Rose fierce
She desperately wanted him to stay
He
Knew he had to leave
Though
He desperately wanted to stay
Ruby red lip
Started to quiver
She had already pledged her loyalty
A promise
She didn't have to speak
So desperately fearing
The inevitable
He knew
In rumbling through
As she reached for a scrap of paper
A quick tear
Her eyes could not leave his
Begging for a way
An e-mail
A phone number
Anything
To contact
His heart broke
He couldn't not give
She asked "Why?"
He said, "Because I so desperately want."
"I so desperately want to give it to you."
"But I can't."
He hoped she would understand
Yet her eyes
So filled with a warmth
So filled with a promise
So filled...
A shelter where he
Could rest
Be young again
Be bold again
Be...
Again
Clouds began to billow
With the mist of tears
Welling
He hoped she knew
Or would discover
Why
In her continued travels
His heart broke
As the turn began
Leading to shattering steps
Piercing with every fall
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Shadows
Alanis Morissette Thank You
She was beautiful.
She was mad.
Excuse manic ever so depressive. In a corner ever so pressed she would whisper. Excuse offered, to cover any sin she might partake. Little more than a victim. Could you help her to finally be a victor? Could you?
Meetings clandestine. Finding in the shadows somehow a reality. For you, perhaps, she would take a break from her medications, perhaps. Memories blotted. Times she was revealed. Standing naked, like some girl, caught in a closing door, skirt ripped away. Confusion caught. The boy, ever so coy, she wanted to see, and the disgrace, so delightful... to her.
They would see.
They would know.
Her. For what she was.
Naked, before all. Salud. My one. So afraid of a realty consuming. One that doesn't play fair. Or show pity. Welcome your entry into a world that owes you nothing. Never eared your papers, but got your degree. Ever so precious. Selling little more than promises. Hopes. Banked... backed... by nothing.
Lithe form, ever so precious, could remain hidden in the shadows. Distract with the slight form revealed. All her scars, so safe, so hidden, on the inside. The slit in the skirt. The permissive opening of the robe. A promise contained, a reality constrained. As long as you are in control.
Of nothing.
And in a moment...
the queen...
is reduced....
to standing...
in her street..
clutching her robe...
as she watches him drive...
away.
Salud.
She was beautiful,.
She was mad.
Somewhere the fates laughed.
She was beautiful.
She was mad.
Excuse manic ever so depressive. In a corner ever so pressed she would whisper. Excuse offered, to cover any sin she might partake. Little more than a victim. Could you help her to finally be a victor? Could you?
Meetings clandestine. Finding in the shadows somehow a reality. For you, perhaps, she would take a break from her medications, perhaps. Memories blotted. Times she was revealed. Standing naked, like some girl, caught in a closing door, skirt ripped away. Confusion caught. The boy, ever so coy, she wanted to see, and the disgrace, so delightful... to her.
They would see.
They would know.
Her. For what she was.
Naked, before all. Salud. My one. So afraid of a realty consuming. One that doesn't play fair. Or show pity. Welcome your entry into a world that owes you nothing. Never eared your papers, but got your degree. Ever so precious. Selling little more than promises. Hopes. Banked... backed... by nothing.
Lithe form, ever so precious, could remain hidden in the shadows. Distract with the slight form revealed. All her scars, so safe, so hidden, on the inside. The slit in the skirt. The permissive opening of the robe. A promise contained, a reality constrained. As long as you are in control.
Of nothing.
And in a moment...
the queen...
is reduced....
to standing...
in her street..
clutching her robe...
as she watches him drive...
away.
Salud.
She was beautiful,.
She was mad.
Somewhere the fates laughed.
Thursday, January 25, 2018
News
Alanis Morissette - "Hand In My Pocket"
He got up that morning. Like so many others. Travel to the kitchen. Flip of the switch and the morning manna of coffee began to brew.
Like so many times, so many days, he turned on the computer. Simple clicks to check media ever so social. Ever so.. That is when he saw. A tiny message. So small it could almost be considered secret. The rolled piece of paper so carefully stuck: missing masonry in a wall so tall, so tall.. The careful unfurl showed that there was to be a meeting. Friends, young and old would be in attendance. Would he come? Could he? Should... he?
He laughed It would be good to see. Time had passed. Allowing each to see the others as little more that each themselves. The struggles. The travelers. Same road. Same paths. Destinations ever returning. They all were continually moving, if not forward, they were moving at least. Each lost in a madness that was singularly their own, but one shared by so many.
So it goes
He knew the assemblage would have all those who had done their part... in building who he was. Changes were overlooked. They knew it was merely cosmetic. They knew the deeper.
They knew the souls.
Each
To each.
In the crowded muzzled mass he knew... he wouldn't set sight of her. As the crowd passed he would never see her form, filtered through the passing shadows. Don't worry. She would be on vacay, Or busy with her brother. She couldn't stay. Couldn't stand. Her life, had been a shadow. She believed that she was little more. As such... perchance she gave a little more... than she should. She had arrived at her hollow victory. Unwilling to face the valley of promises so hollow... she wouldn't arrive. But she would ask. Those who had gone. Perhaps she wanted to know if she was mentioned, and how, by whom.
So it goes.
We were a family...
and they knew the souls.
May she...
Enjoy her hollow victory.
While he...
He has one hand in his pocket...
and the other ones flicking a cigarette.
He got up that morning. Like so many others. Travel to the kitchen. Flip of the switch and the morning manna of coffee began to brew.
Like so many times, so many days, he turned on the computer. Simple clicks to check media ever so social. Ever so.. That is when he saw. A tiny message. So small it could almost be considered secret. The rolled piece of paper so carefully stuck: missing masonry in a wall so tall, so tall.. The careful unfurl showed that there was to be a meeting. Friends, young and old would be in attendance. Would he come? Could he? Should... he?
He laughed It would be good to see. Time had passed. Allowing each to see the others as little more that each themselves. The struggles. The travelers. Same road. Same paths. Destinations ever returning. They all were continually moving, if not forward, they were moving at least. Each lost in a madness that was singularly their own, but one shared by so many.
So it goes
He knew the assemblage would have all those who had done their part... in building who he was. Changes were overlooked. They knew it was merely cosmetic. They knew the deeper.
They knew the souls.
Each
To each.
In the crowded muzzled mass he knew... he wouldn't set sight of her. As the crowd passed he would never see her form, filtered through the passing shadows. Don't worry. She would be on vacay, Or busy with her brother. She couldn't stay. Couldn't stand. Her life, had been a shadow. She believed that she was little more. As such... perchance she gave a little more... than she should. She had arrived at her hollow victory. Unwilling to face the valley of promises so hollow... she wouldn't arrive. But she would ask. Those who had gone. Perhaps she wanted to know if she was mentioned, and how, by whom.
So it goes.
We were a family...
and they knew the souls.
May she...
Enjoy her hollow victory.
While he...
He has one hand in his pocket...
and the other ones flicking a cigarette.
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Good night.
Blade - bloodbath (New Order - confusion
There are two. One, she told him to reserve a booth, not a table. Perhaps somewhere in the back. He went. He sat. In the wait he ordered a water. She entered. As always, it made an impressionistic entrance.. Long brunette hair, hanging, hiding. The laugh. The pause. As if the key to salvation somehow hung in her brown curls.
Jacket matched to a split open shirt. Torn just so. The cleaving rise of her breasts were obviously apparent, though the observer was supposed to overlook the obvious. How the subtle fabric barely contained, constrained, that which cried for caress. Soft supple curves, hanging inviting, crying, but denying, any touch. C'est la vie. He had heard it before. He was ready to enter the game. The game with no winners. All victories were empty. Were hollow.
Such is the bacchanal.
In her purse she carried a copy: Marquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores. Not sure if they served as reminders of what she wanted to be... or she was. The Spanish soul, caught in the Colombian. Her smile split, as she talked of her own art. Fighting in he struggle to breath life into, and the fear that someone else might take it away. He didn't really know, if he knew that as she looked to the side, to check the messenger on her phone, that he could see the light. Not that it really mattered. He knew her for what she was... and that was fine. Others would be allowed to decieve themselves. But not him. He had lived to long. Seen too much.
The day of lies, or maybe disbelief had passed.
He had bought her one of his favorite works from Bukowski. Not his best... but still pretty damn good. She would probably never get. That's alright.
He walked her to her car. She prepared to get in. As his car was only fifteen feet away, he continued to approach her in an attempt to pass by. She sated "Oh, I don't need any help." This was an attempt to dissuade him from making any romantic gesture. He didn't know if he should feel sorrow, or contempt that she would think so little of him. "I'm walking to my car," he stated. "Your car? Where is it?," she stated as if she believed that there could be no other logical conclusion that he was somehow trying to desperately feel that which she so valued... her form. A simple point... a simple distance. No more than fifteen feet from her car.
He laughed. A laugh, perhaps a quarter, perhaps a half filled with disgust, "I'm on my way to my car." She had heard this line so many, too many times in the past reveals the reason to her response. "Where?" He pointed, only fifteen feet ahead, forward, in the other isle, to his cat.
"Oh," was all she had to say as she stumbled, crumbled into her car. He passed. Thinking, but not. Good night. Good night.
Safe travels.
Safe harbor.
Good night.
There are two. One, she told him to reserve a booth, not a table. Perhaps somewhere in the back. He went. He sat. In the wait he ordered a water. She entered. As always, it made an impressionistic entrance.. Long brunette hair, hanging, hiding. The laugh. The pause. As if the key to salvation somehow hung in her brown curls.
Jacket matched to a split open shirt. Torn just so. The cleaving rise of her breasts were obviously apparent, though the observer was supposed to overlook the obvious. How the subtle fabric barely contained, constrained, that which cried for caress. Soft supple curves, hanging inviting, crying, but denying, any touch. C'est la vie. He had heard it before. He was ready to enter the game. The game with no winners. All victories were empty. Were hollow.
Such is the bacchanal.
In her purse she carried a copy: Marquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores. Not sure if they served as reminders of what she wanted to be... or she was. The Spanish soul, caught in the Colombian. Her smile split, as she talked of her own art. Fighting in he struggle to breath life into, and the fear that someone else might take it away. He didn't really know, if he knew that as she looked to the side, to check the messenger on her phone, that he could see the light. Not that it really mattered. He knew her for what she was... and that was fine. Others would be allowed to decieve themselves. But not him. He had lived to long. Seen too much.
The day of lies, or maybe disbelief had passed.
He had bought her one of his favorite works from Bukowski. Not his best... but still pretty damn good. She would probably never get. That's alright.
He walked her to her car. She prepared to get in. As his car was only fifteen feet away, he continued to approach her in an attempt to pass by. She sated "Oh, I don't need any help." This was an attempt to dissuade him from making any romantic gesture. He didn't know if he should feel sorrow, or contempt that she would think so little of him. "I'm walking to my car," he stated. "Your car? Where is it?," she stated as if she believed that there could be no other logical conclusion that he was somehow trying to desperately feel that which she so valued... her form. A simple point... a simple distance. No more than fifteen feet from her car.
He laughed. A laugh, perhaps a quarter, perhaps a half filled with disgust, "I'm on my way to my car." She had heard this line so many, too many times in the past reveals the reason to her response. "Where?" He pointed, only fifteen feet ahead, forward, in the other isle, to his cat.
"Oh," was all she had to say as she stumbled, crumbled into her car. He passed. Thinking, but not. Good night. Good night.
Safe travels.
Safe harbor.
Good night.
Monday, January 22, 2018
Bulldog
The Prodigy- Roadblox (Fury Road)
Life is a battle
Love is war
Those who don't fit
Relegated
Outlaw
or victim
and society...
Loves the victim
For the outlaw
Not so much
The victim is one who is supposed to be given pity
Weak
Supplicant
The outlaw
The one who awaits
The gods
To delight
In him
Something pithy
To rise against
For
The rebel is never admired
During the rebellion
He knows
Yet goes
Anyway
The winter soldier is forever hungry
They must fight
Continue to risk
Continue to hope
Continue to believe
Continue to live
Without
In the face of
A society bent
On quelling
His hopes
His dreams
Yet he continues
With whiplash smile
To proceed in his direction
Fear
He knows
Pain
Is that all you got?
Roadblocks
Futile
He will smash through
Obstacles are only what you see
When you take your eyes
Off the goal
Determination
Unknown
Bulldog
Focus
With a smile
He only says
"No...
You move."
He is on his way
Moving
If only
One step
at a time
Beat him
He returns
With a bloody grin
"Is that all you got"
Is it?
Life is a battle
Love is war
Those who don't fit
Relegated
Outlaw
or victim
and society...
Loves the victim
For the outlaw
Not so much
The victim is one who is supposed to be given pity
Weak
Supplicant
The outlaw
The one who awaits
The gods
To delight
In him
Something pithy
To rise against
For
The rebel is never admired
During the rebellion
He knows
Yet goes
Anyway
The winter soldier is forever hungry
They must fight
Continue to risk
Continue to hope
Continue to believe
Continue to live
Without
In the face of
A society bent
On quelling
His hopes
His dreams
Yet he continues
With whiplash smile
To proceed in his direction
Fear
He knows
Pain
Is that all you got?
Roadblocks
Futile
He will smash through
Obstacles are only what you see
When you take your eyes
Off the goal
Determination
Unknown
Bulldog
Focus
With a smile
He only says
"No...
You move."
He is on his way
Moving
If only
One step
at a time
Beat him
He returns
With a bloody grin
"Is that all you got"
Is it?
Sunday, January 21, 2018
As she Chokes on hello
Hopelessly Hoping Crosby, Stills, & Nash
When you stand on the shoulders
of giants
Trying
Longing
To make your words
Meet
Match
That which has come before
Only to discover
Your own charlatan glance
Do you dare
Take chance
Knowing that your words
Will not penetrate
Strike though
To the one
That you
Want
so desperately
To hear
Not accepting
That if she didn't hear
She was little more
Than deaf
To the cries of the world
That lies
right outside
Her window.
So it goes
May she follow the trip
Obligated
Exacerbated
Longing only to tell her
That she chokes
On hello
When you stand on the shoulders
of giants
Trying
Longing
To make your words
Meet
Match
That which has come before
Only to discover
Your own charlatan glance
Do you dare
Take chance
Knowing that your words
Will not penetrate
Strike though
To the one
That you
Want
so desperately
To hear
Not accepting
That if she didn't hear
She was little more
Than deaf
To the cries of the world
That lies
right outside
Her window.
So it goes
May she follow the trip
Obligated
Exacerbated
Longing only to tell her
That she chokes
On hello
Savor
Mary J. Bliege, U2 - One love
Was
She just afraid
That she would loose
Her toy precious
That laid on the shelf
So long
So forgotten
So overlooked
As she reached
For the toy new
Just a toy
To play with
Until
It knew
It was little more
Than a toy
Despite
His deprivations
Pure
Asking her too only look
But that was too much
Too much
So she
Placed him
in some gracious trophy case
While refused to remain frozen
A trophy forgotten
Filled with disregard
It reminded too much
of what
Could never be
So welcome
The success
to she
Willing
To abandon all
to the leapards in her head
So it goes
I can't keep holding on
When all you'v got is hurt
And I can't keep holding on
Enjoy the victory
hollow
Oh so
Hollow
Turn to a love
That
Is hollow
With a touch of the goose
So grey
Celebrate
The Victory
Savor
The price paid
For that which seen laid
Before
You
Though hollow
It still looks
So pretty
So beautiful
Perhaps
In the glossimar guild
They would forget
an you would emerge
Victorious Q
Was
She just afraid
That she would loose
Her toy precious
That laid on the shelf
So long
So forgotten
So overlooked
As she reached
For the toy new
Just a toy
To play with
Until
It knew
It was little more
Than a toy
Despite
His deprivations
Pure
Asking her too only look
But that was too much
Too much
So she
Placed him
in some gracious trophy case
While refused to remain frozen
A trophy forgotten
Filled with disregard
It reminded too much
of what
Could never be
So welcome
The success
to she
Willing
To abandon all
to the leapards in her head
So it goes
I can't keep holding on
When all you'v got is hurt
And I can't keep holding on
Enjoy the victory
hollow
Oh so
Hollow
Turn to a love
That
Is hollow
With a touch of the goose
So grey
Celebrate
The Victory
Savor
The price paid
For that which seen laid
Before
You
Though hollow
It still looks
So pretty
So beautiful
Perhaps
In the glossimar guild
They would forget
an you would emerge
Victorious Q
Monday, January 15, 2018
Dolores
The Cranberries - Linger
A poem motivated by the passing of Cranberries singer Dolores O'Riordan
Dolores: The Virgin of Sorrows
So much had changed
Save nothing
Black & White
Good choice
Separation concise
To that in the light
And those suffocated by the darkness
I saw her you know
Closeted cabaret
Similar lighting
Contrasted
Caught
Time
Past and present danced
Eagerly awaiting a future
That was sure
So much had changed
Save nothing
As long as one didn't notice
Between her laughs
Checks towards the phone
Silent swipes
The walk
Outside
Press towards the shadows
To hide the light that burned fierce
At the slightest touch
Life erupted
With each move kinetic
Each caress
Primal
So much had changed
Save nothing
Words spoke
Bodies screamed
For the moment
Til she walked away
It was a game you see
So much had changed
Save nothing
A poem motivated by the passing of Cranberries singer Dolores O'Riordan
Dolores: The Virgin of Sorrows
So much had changed
Save nothing
Black & White
Good choice
Separation concise
To that in the light
And those suffocated by the darkness
I saw her you know
Closeted cabaret
Similar lighting
Contrasted
Caught
Time
Past and present danced
Eagerly awaiting a future
That was sure
So much had changed
Save nothing
As long as one didn't notice
Between her laughs
Checks towards the phone
Silent swipes
The walk
Outside
Press towards the shadows
To hide the light that burned fierce
At the slightest touch
Life erupted
With each move kinetic
Each caress
Primal
So much had changed
Save nothing
Words spoke
Bodies screamed
For the moment
Til she walked away
It was a game you see
So much had changed
Save nothing
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Ny våg
Gary Numan - Cars Remix
Possessor of a secret knowledge
She
Taught me
In frozen moments burning
As her head turned
Toward some horizon
Or toward some thought
Within
The Laugh
The cry
Matched
By his move
Along the thigh
Slow
Close
Heat
Rising
Eyes turn
Back
Eyes reveal
Primal press
Forward
Faster
Ever
Fast the
Ever
The laugh
The cry
Turning back
A bite on the bottom lip matches the
Arching towards her
Desperation
To feel
Something real
Desperate to be touched
To Live
If only for a moment
When she
And he
Could
Break through
Turning
Turning back
Matched only with the press
The burn
To turn
her face
Towards
Meanwhile
The press
Ever
Higher
Greeting by
Her half-opened eyed press
into
You.
The touch
The feel
Draw
Life
Into
Enveloping heat
To match the beat
Of life
Primal
Possessor of a secret knowledge
She
Taught me
In frozen moments burning
As her head turned
Toward some horizon
Or toward some thought
Within
The Laugh
The cry
Matched
By his move
Along the thigh
Slow
Close
Heat
Rising
Eyes turn
Back
Eyes reveal
Primal press
Forward
Faster
Ever
Fast the
Ever
The laugh
The cry
Turning back
A bite on the bottom lip matches the
Arching towards her
Desperation
To feel
Something real
Desperate to be touched
To Live
If only for a moment
When she
And he
Could
Break through
Turning
Turning back
Matched only with the press
The burn
To turn
her face
Towards
Meanwhile
The press
Ever
Higher
Greeting by
Her half-opened eyed press
into
You.
The touch
The feel
Draw
Life
Into
Enveloping heat
To match the beat
Of life
Primal
Saturday, January 6, 2018
Bones in a box
Shutter Island (best) flashback scene - You have to let me go
So it was. The night. He called upon her. Her answer so deafening in its silence I'm just bones in a box Teddy. She desperately cried. You have to wake up.
You have to let go.
You have to let me go.
Nothing more than bones in a box.
You have to wake up.
You have to face that.
So it was. The night. He called upon her. Her answer so deafening in its silence I'm just bones in a box Teddy. She desperately cried. You have to wake up.
You have to let go.
You have to let me go.
Nothing more than bones in a box.
You have to wake up.
You have to face that.
Excuse me
Foo Fighters - Times Like These
Times like these
I may not have been clear. To the one. The one who taught me. But time goes on. Sometimes you find your teachers to be false. Those you used to call master, are now little more than equals. Or perhaps less. You took their lessons at face value. You learned. You savored the precious lessons taught... till you learned... that to them it was little more than hollow. Miscreant words emerging from little more than a hollow mouth. Lies so beautiful, that even they could not believe in the images.
Yet...
he did.
Fool? Perhaps. Or perhaps the greatest holder of a notion of what was true in this cast off world. Beliver in little more than myths. So be it. Others, much greater than you have tried to bring him to his knees. Guess what? He still stands. So proud. He clutched close what lessers so desperately tried to clutch from him. Like a fool he protects it from them, yet gives to his students so freely. Those are the ones.
They could be the ones so desperately clutching onto the little they have gained. They could be the ones desperate to display that ignorance isn't false. Sit back, cower, they could. But they are my students. They are the future. Not the stagnant, decadent ones, glorified, ratified, satisfied with the half-lives lived. Growing mold is not paid attention to as movement might cause disruption.
Movement behind murky waters might cause revelation. Might cause renaissance. If one is to be reborn they must go through the pain. A pain too great for her. Her body made all too frail, all too human. Go girl! Burn fierce!
While you still can.
Times like these
I may not have been clear. To the one. The one who taught me. But time goes on. Sometimes you find your teachers to be false. Those you used to call master, are now little more than equals. Or perhaps less. You took their lessons at face value. You learned. You savored the precious lessons taught... till you learned... that to them it was little more than hollow. Miscreant words emerging from little more than a hollow mouth. Lies so beautiful, that even they could not believe in the images.
Yet...
he did.
Fool? Perhaps. Or perhaps the greatest holder of a notion of what was true in this cast off world. Beliver in little more than myths. So be it. Others, much greater than you have tried to bring him to his knees. Guess what? He still stands. So proud. He clutched close what lessers so desperately tried to clutch from him. Like a fool he protects it from them, yet gives to his students so freely. Those are the ones.
They could be the ones so desperately clutching onto the little they have gained. They could be the ones desperate to display that ignorance isn't false. Sit back, cower, they could. But they are my students. They are the future. Not the stagnant, decadent ones, glorified, ratified, satisfied with the half-lives lived. Growing mold is not paid attention to as movement might cause disruption.
Movement behind murky waters might cause revelation. Might cause renaissance. If one is to be reborn they must go through the pain. A pain too great for her. Her body made all too frail, all too human. Go girl! Burn fierce!
While you still can.
Slainte!
Foo Fighters - Best Of You (VIDEO)
Today I had a friend... god bless him... tell me that I needed to see rightly. About her... what else.
Did he know.
Later that day a drive by. It could have been her. It could have not. Her friend in the passenger got a good look, while she, the driver drove on. Coward. If it it was her. Coward if it wasn't.
Does she think I don't know. Though she was nothing but the perfect lover to me... I am little more than fecal matter on the finger after she is done with the wipe. She believes disgusting. She must hide her shame... at having a piece of herself upon herself. However disgusting. Just a wipe. It will be gone. But it won't.
Ferocious wiping in front of the sink removes nothing.
Nights sleepless spent wiping a hand, a finger that has long proven blameless. Rubbed raw... rubbed red. Salud. I only stand in the truth. What do you stand in? Do you sink there? Do you stink there? Enjoy what you feel are all of your piecemeal victories. As Philip K. Dick said: "Reality comes back to haunt." Enjoy the victory. The hollow taste of Grey Goose as it elevates to a malformed reality that can be so easily hidden.
As long as you don't ride the streets of all the boys you sent away remain. Boys cower before the man... the one. Though your graduation gown lies in rags at your feet, carry on. Embellish yourself in half-truths, adorn the faulted glory! That way you can forget the clutching fecal matter that still hangs from your finger.
God Bless.
Salud.
Or as the fiery Scot, who never had to pretend, might say... Slainte!
Today I had a friend... god bless him... tell me that I needed to see rightly. About her... what else.
Did he know.
Later that day a drive by. It could have been her. It could have not. Her friend in the passenger got a good look, while she, the driver drove on. Coward. If it it was her. Coward if it wasn't.
Does she think I don't know. Though she was nothing but the perfect lover to me... I am little more than fecal matter on the finger after she is done with the wipe. She believes disgusting. She must hide her shame... at having a piece of herself upon herself. However disgusting. Just a wipe. It will be gone. But it won't.
Ferocious wiping in front of the sink removes nothing.
Nights sleepless spent wiping a hand, a finger that has long proven blameless. Rubbed raw... rubbed red. Salud. I only stand in the truth. What do you stand in? Do you sink there? Do you stink there? Enjoy what you feel are all of your piecemeal victories. As Philip K. Dick said: "Reality comes back to haunt." Enjoy the victory. The hollow taste of Grey Goose as it elevates to a malformed reality that can be so easily hidden.
As long as you don't ride the streets of all the boys you sent away remain. Boys cower before the man... the one. Though your graduation gown lies in rags at your feet, carry on. Embellish yourself in half-truths, adorn the faulted glory! That way you can forget the clutching fecal matter that still hangs from your finger.
God Bless.
Salud.
Or as the fiery Scot, who never had to pretend, might say... Slainte!
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
Incorruptible season
Dave Grohl - Walk & The Pretender (solo acoustic) - 3FM On Stage
or listen to the song I listened to when I wrote alot of it... Lady Gaga - Million Gypsies
It wasn't supposed to happen. Just like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
Lovely beast, coincidence. Or chance? Well that was her question. He found that the universe was not that beneficial or maleficent.
He found it. He wasn't looking for it. Truth be told, he was looking for something completely different. He thought it had been long lost. But there it was. A simple talisman from the fates? As they had enjoyed their pranks on him more than simple blessings, he didn't trust.. If you knew, you can understand.
It was in a Storage Unit. One of those metal chrysalis that holds possessions while one's life in transition; waiting to travel from one step to the next. The miracle of the mariposa. People marvel at the butterfly not remembering the work the caterpillar had to go through. All the while month by month, continual suffrage had to be paid.
It wanted to keep itself hidden. Crowded into a corner. He thought it had been lost so many seasons past. Just a corner was seen... the slight reveal. A moment... beyond belief. The cover was gently brushed. Maybe now was the time it chose to reveal itself to him. Maybe it knew he needed to see. Something. Secrets hidden exposed with only a simple reveal.
He couldn't open it.
She was the mockingbird, flying through his mind. Gentle chirps, so seductive, if only in his imagination. Memory had cast its golden hue off everything he thought he knew. It was precisely what he wanted to hear. That is why, he couldn't. Her flight would have to remain. He couldn't let her nest. He couldn't hear.
When she attempted to land, to rest, to spread her wings magnificent.... he respond by a violent shake of the tree. He had to dislodge. She couldn't land. It was too dangerous. Her song. A world too incredible... too impossible. She could not build a nest, with her song seductive sweet... though... he so longed for her to. To land. To relax. To rest. In him. Just like so long ago... in a land of never-was. Or nevermore. Depends I guess on how you look at it.
Regardless, he had found the tiny tome. A simple item really. Nothing more than a well worn and tattered scrapbook simple. Pithy sayings combined with memories frozen. Truth frame by frame. A moment, a declaration halted, for a time. Memories of a time, so distant, so far, yet so alive. That is why when he saw it, he feared it.
It contained her. His Gypsy. His wanderer. One who had been a fellow maverick... but then again... maybe he was only describing himself, or what he wanted her to be. Maybe she had been nothing but the mockingbird all along. Lover? Friend? Paisan? Love her memory for that. Salud. A rise of the pint.
So it was.
Maybe. All is only a reveal, however simple, away.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Just like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
Toss into the backseat. To be. He wouldn't look, he couldn't look. His heart began to flare at recollections of lies too seductive and saccharine sweet. The laughter, the trust, the acceptance. Electricity static flew whenever they looked into the eyes of the other. Touches recharged, refueled and poured life each into each. Time spent together cleansed the dust from everyday life. The world shone. Or maybe in memory, he realized that he could only really tell you of what it was to him.
Reminders of a land, a time, too far away that Ulysses had crashed his ship into wave after wave steadfast. The mist of a rebellious sea only fueled his determination. But he feared that his fury at an earlier reveal would blind and tear. The rebuff cut him to the quick. She who had given him words, was able to silence him. For a moment.
Yet...
...he had placed in in his backseat.
After all...
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
He would have to wait for the moment. That time where he could look at it objectively. More objective at least than now, where its discovery had made his heart race. A place where he could bear to open, to see. Her thoughts frozen, if only for a moment, a season incorruptible. Before she had made any promises, or, more like it, before he made any promises to himself.
He knew.
And that is why. He didn't want to look. In the past, kept correspondence had only ripped his heart anew. Yet he had kept, these simple shadows of her soul. Why? Perhaps they were kept so he could dance in the delight of his own mockingbird song. As long as only the beginning and middle letters were read. But his eyes always burned so as he already knew... had lived though... pitiful ending anemic. Yet he had kept them, though he had not read any in ages. He supposed that to have was only a promised prize as some charlatan consolation for the pain he had endured.
Even if was pitiful, it was his. An ashen reminder of the season. A season where she taught him what it was to love. What it was to live. When he was, she was. The stoking of his primal flame. The courage... the strength... the acceptance she gave to him with little more than her upturned smile. He knew that he gave it to her as well. He would not listen to the whispering liar that emerged to him
Then came the day.
It was towards the end of the afternoon. He was exhausted and distracted from work. That is when he saw it sitting in the backseat. With apprehension he grabbed it. A deep breath was taken. He began to shuffle through memories frozen. Celluloid captures of truth frozen. He smiled. It was good.
It did bring back the memories of the season incorruptible. He found himself smiling. He began to see all with his eyes... not hued by some lost Kodachrome of the past that had warped so much.
It was enough to continue his curiosity to look at the testaments of his friends. So long as she wasn't seen. He wasn't ready to read that one yet. Filtering the pages back he began well a little bit beyond her. He read some. He laughed. But it was time for him to go back in pages and hope that he skipped her. Only one problem... as he grouped the pages to press back, the collection fell and left him staring straight at her.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
The magic of the fates... or their cruelty happened to hold fast on her page.
For a moment simple... his Cheshire cat was simply his calico.
What would her gospel be? Her elegant visage filled with the boisterous beauty of youth. Caught somewhere between uncertainty and certainty, at least at that time. Laughing, unknowing, uncertain, whatever the future might bring, she could handle. Below, her frozen words spoke. It was the time. It was the season incorruptible after all. That fraction of time where we were bold enough, proud enough, to believe that we could bend the world to our will.We were young enough, or fool enough to tell the truth. If only for a moment. That somehow the waves crashing could be faced, that we could take and be emboldened somehow by.
Like a rock, he stood, yet she... like the flotsam and jetsam tossed, became so consumed that one might find out she was nothing more than little more unfit for the main parlor, was willing to use her hands... her mouth... her anything, to prove that she was something more. In the seas tempest tossed, she forgot. Desperately she captured, captivated another. Then another. Desperate to keep afloat. Curious though what happened when the storm had ceased. Though alive, she was disgusted by herself and her own actions.
Salud.
To the season.
He didn't want to be alone forever.
But he could be tonight.
All he really knew now is that she has a dog.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did,
May she celebrate her day!
What if I say I'm not like the others? What if I say I'm not just another? What if I say you're the pretender? A laugh. So who,,,
...are you?
Always.
or listen to the song I listened to when I wrote alot of it... Lady Gaga - Million Gypsies
It wasn't supposed to happen. Just like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
Lovely beast, coincidence. Or chance? Well that was her question. He found that the universe was not that beneficial or maleficent.
He found it. He wasn't looking for it. Truth be told, he was looking for something completely different. He thought it had been long lost. But there it was. A simple talisman from the fates? As they had enjoyed their pranks on him more than simple blessings, he didn't trust.. If you knew, you can understand.
It was in a Storage Unit. One of those metal chrysalis that holds possessions while one's life in transition; waiting to travel from one step to the next. The miracle of the mariposa. People marvel at the butterfly not remembering the work the caterpillar had to go through. All the while month by month, continual suffrage had to be paid.
It wanted to keep itself hidden. Crowded into a corner. He thought it had been lost so many seasons past. Just a corner was seen... the slight reveal. A moment... beyond belief. The cover was gently brushed. Maybe now was the time it chose to reveal itself to him. Maybe it knew he needed to see. Something. Secrets hidden exposed with only a simple reveal.
He couldn't open it.
She was the mockingbird, flying through his mind. Gentle chirps, so seductive, if only in his imagination. Memory had cast its golden hue off everything he thought he knew. It was precisely what he wanted to hear. That is why, he couldn't. Her flight would have to remain. He couldn't let her nest. He couldn't hear.
When she attempted to land, to rest, to spread her wings magnificent.... he respond by a violent shake of the tree. He had to dislodge. She couldn't land. It was too dangerous. Her song. A world too incredible... too impossible. She could not build a nest, with her song seductive sweet... though... he so longed for her to. To land. To relax. To rest. In him. Just like so long ago... in a land of never-was. Or nevermore. Depends I guess on how you look at it.
Regardless, he had found the tiny tome. A simple item really. Nothing more than a well worn and tattered scrapbook simple. Pithy sayings combined with memories frozen. Truth frame by frame. A moment, a declaration halted, for a time. Memories of a time, so distant, so far, yet so alive. That is why when he saw it, he feared it.
It contained her. His Gypsy. His wanderer. One who had been a fellow maverick... but then again... maybe he was only describing himself, or what he wanted her to be. Maybe she had been nothing but the mockingbird all along. Lover? Friend? Paisan? Love her memory for that. Salud. A rise of the pint.
So it was.
Maybe. All is only a reveal, however simple, away.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Just like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
Toss into the backseat. To be. He wouldn't look, he couldn't look. His heart began to flare at recollections of lies too seductive and saccharine sweet. The laughter, the trust, the acceptance. Electricity static flew whenever they looked into the eyes of the other. Touches recharged, refueled and poured life each into each. Time spent together cleansed the dust from everyday life. The world shone. Or maybe in memory, he realized that he could only really tell you of what it was to him.
Reminders of a land, a time, too far away that Ulysses had crashed his ship into wave after wave steadfast. The mist of a rebellious sea only fueled his determination. But he feared that his fury at an earlier reveal would blind and tear. The rebuff cut him to the quick. She who had given him words, was able to silence him. For a moment.
Yet...
...he had placed in in his backseat.
After all...
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
He would have to wait for the moment. That time where he could look at it objectively. More objective at least than now, where its discovery had made his heart race. A place where he could bear to open, to see. Her thoughts frozen, if only for a moment, a season incorruptible. Before she had made any promises, or, more like it, before he made any promises to himself.
He knew.
And that is why. He didn't want to look. In the past, kept correspondence had only ripped his heart anew. Yet he had kept, these simple shadows of her soul. Why? Perhaps they were kept so he could dance in the delight of his own mockingbird song. As long as only the beginning and middle letters were read. But his eyes always burned so as he already knew... had lived though... pitiful ending anemic. Yet he had kept them, though he had not read any in ages. He supposed that to have was only a promised prize as some charlatan consolation for the pain he had endured.
Even if was pitiful, it was his. An ashen reminder of the season. A season where she taught him what it was to love. What it was to live. When he was, she was. The stoking of his primal flame. The courage... the strength... the acceptance she gave to him with little more than her upturned smile. He knew that he gave it to her as well. He would not listen to the whispering liar that emerged to him
Then came the day.
It was towards the end of the afternoon. He was exhausted and distracted from work. That is when he saw it sitting in the backseat. With apprehension he grabbed it. A deep breath was taken. He began to shuffle through memories frozen. Celluloid captures of truth frozen. He smiled. It was good.
It did bring back the memories of the season incorruptible. He found himself smiling. He began to see all with his eyes... not hued by some lost Kodachrome of the past that had warped so much.
It was enough to continue his curiosity to look at the testaments of his friends. So long as she wasn't seen. He wasn't ready to read that one yet. Filtering the pages back he began well a little bit beyond her. He read some. He laughed. But it was time for him to go back in pages and hope that he skipped her. Only one problem... as he grouped the pages to press back, the collection fell and left him staring straight at her.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did.
The magic of the fates... or their cruelty happened to hold fast on her page.
For a moment simple... his Cheshire cat was simply his calico.
What would her gospel be? Her elegant visage filled with the boisterous beauty of youth. Caught somewhere between uncertainty and certainty, at least at that time. Laughing, unknowing, uncertain, whatever the future might bring, she could handle. Below, her frozen words spoke. It was the time. It was the season incorruptible after all. That fraction of time where we were bold enough, proud enough, to believe that we could bend the world to our will.We were young enough, or fool enough to tell the truth. If only for a moment. That somehow the waves crashing could be faced, that we could take and be emboldened somehow by.
Like a rock, he stood, yet she... like the flotsam and jetsam tossed, became so consumed that one might find out she was nothing more than little more unfit for the main parlor, was willing to use her hands... her mouth... her anything, to prove that she was something more. In the seas tempest tossed, she forgot. Desperately she captured, captivated another. Then another. Desperate to keep afloat. Curious though what happened when the storm had ceased. Though alive, she was disgusted by herself and her own actions.
Salud.
To the season.
He didn't want to be alone forever.
But he could be tonight.
All he really knew now is that she has a dog.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Like so much in life. But beyond all... it did,
May she celebrate her day!
What if I say I'm not like the others? What if I say I'm not just another? What if I say you're the pretender? A laugh. So who,,,
...are you?
Always.
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
"No you move"
Fatboy Slim - Praise You - Christopher Walken
So what is your job? To stand. To stand by the tree of truth. When the world tells you to move, all you have to do is smile. Curl your fists. Prepare your body, while you remain smiling. Then return with a quick "No... you move."
They are little more than hollow ghosts anyway. Simple men. Hollow men. Or women. Don't want to be accused of being sexist by little minds. The only minds that the hollow can possess.
What can they do? Really? Degrade you? That's good. When you are more powerful than you would ever know. How do you find out? Simple... say "No, you move." That... and laugh. The boisterous laugh of one filled with life. Be so filled with what they lack they grow envious. The best revenge is not necessarily living well... it is merely living. Being. Rising above.
Sometimes we hesitate. Others, we think are so important. We couldn't loose them. We might loose ourselves. But through supplication... how much of you remains. And why? Realize that some actually do not deserve you. You are too good. Heartache suffered. Why? If they will make you cry then guess what... they don't deserve your tears. Why would they...
Want...
You...
To cry?
I laugh as you tell me that I am the one who is messed up.
Live damn you.
Unleash yourself! Make even the pallbearers sad when death begrudgingly comes to pick you up. Laugh.
Hard.
And often.
Live.
And remember...
Stand and say "No you move."
So what is your job? To stand. To stand by the tree of truth. When the world tells you to move, all you have to do is smile. Curl your fists. Prepare your body, while you remain smiling. Then return with a quick "No... you move."
They are little more than hollow ghosts anyway. Simple men. Hollow men. Or women. Don't want to be accused of being sexist by little minds. The only minds that the hollow can possess.
What can they do? Really? Degrade you? That's good. When you are more powerful than you would ever know. How do you find out? Simple... say "No, you move." That... and laugh. The boisterous laugh of one filled with life. Be so filled with what they lack they grow envious. The best revenge is not necessarily living well... it is merely living. Being. Rising above.
Sometimes we hesitate. Others, we think are so important. We couldn't loose them. We might loose ourselves. But through supplication... how much of you remains. And why? Realize that some actually do not deserve you. You are too good. Heartache suffered. Why? If they will make you cry then guess what... they don't deserve your tears. Why would they...
Want...
You...
To cry?
I laugh as you tell me that I am the one who is messed up.
Live damn you.
Unleash yourself! Make even the pallbearers sad when death begrudgingly comes to pick you up. Laugh.
Hard.
And often.
Live.
And remember...
Stand and say "No you move."
Monday, January 1, 2018
Long time gone
Dixie Chicks - Long Time Gone
I was told.
Return to my words.
You want them?
You sure?
You want to know America. Don't drive on the Interstate. Limited views, stops built for the flow. Always the pieces of communal knowledge. The McDonald. El Rey du burgesa. In seeing the sights you see nothing. Blanche banal. Take a turn.
To the Farmer to Market. You know it. Might be a little longer. But you will see. The greased stained pump fuel handle. The Stuckeys. Hot Biscuit. Houses, so ramshackle you wonder how they continue to stand. This my friend, is America. Not the houses in the city, running from $350- to who knows what. Downtown square shows the brief dream of prosperity that hit in the 50s, to be replaced by vacant storefronts by now. So different... yet so alike. Wheels press on.
Don't worry about yourself. You won't get invited in. Long time gone.
Don't worry about you. You have a covered front porch. Oh sorry. You don't. Don't want any reminder that you are part of a community. Or that you belong to others. Go to churches so large that your own little cell group is enough to satisfy. Sorry that I reminded.
We are more than ourselves.
Cloistered. Stuffed into our simple bungalows. Stiffed into our little pieces of earth. Neighbors little next to nothing, unless they are family. But how often does that happen? Maybe daddy invested in something that allowed you the privilege. Like some Steel Worker that sacrificed so... so much. His sweat would earn the redemption of the next generation.
They got money but they don't have cash.
I was told.
Return to my words.
You want them?
You sure?
You want to know America. Don't drive on the Interstate. Limited views, stops built for the flow. Always the pieces of communal knowledge. The McDonald. El Rey du burgesa. In seeing the sights you see nothing. Blanche banal. Take a turn.
To the Farmer to Market. You know it. Might be a little longer. But you will see. The greased stained pump fuel handle. The Stuckeys. Hot Biscuit. Houses, so ramshackle you wonder how they continue to stand. This my friend, is America. Not the houses in the city, running from $350- to who knows what. Downtown square shows the brief dream of prosperity that hit in the 50s, to be replaced by vacant storefronts by now. So different... yet so alike. Wheels press on.
Don't worry about yourself. You won't get invited in. Long time gone.
Don't worry about you. You have a covered front porch. Oh sorry. You don't. Don't want any reminder that you are part of a community. Or that you belong to others. Go to churches so large that your own little cell group is enough to satisfy. Sorry that I reminded.
We are more than ourselves.
Cloistered. Stuffed into our simple bungalows. Stiffed into our little pieces of earth. Neighbors little next to nothing, unless they are family. But how often does that happen? Maybe daddy invested in something that allowed you the privilege. Like some Steel Worker that sacrificed so... so much. His sweat would earn the redemption of the next generation.
They got money but they don't have cash.
Live
Lady Gaga - The Edge Of Glory
Evening. Time to break through. When the world tells you to bear sins you have not committed. It tries to stifle your power, yourself. Why? You shine too bright. You bring too much shame to a world so cold. So mundane. It tries to drag you down. Don't be as brilliant as you are. Don't rise above.
You know what? F--- them.
I have to tell you. You are.
More glorious than even you know.
Live unabashed. Live glorious. Live.
You are.
You are so much more than you think you are. You are glorious. Do it! Live. No one can stop you but yourself.
Cross over.
Time is a coin. Either you spend it, or life will spend it for you.
Fear not failure, the truth is you fear of how powerful you actually are. Take a chance. Thrust away your crutch. You know the one. That one that says I could have been if only it wasn't for... the ellipses were for whatever you wanted to fill in.
Live without excuses. The world doesn't care. So why should you?
Live unabashed.
Conquer all.
Carpe diem.
Live!
Evening. Time to break through. When the world tells you to bear sins you have not committed. It tries to stifle your power, yourself. Why? You shine too bright. You bring too much shame to a world so cold. So mundane. It tries to drag you down. Don't be as brilliant as you are. Don't rise above.
You know what? F--- them.
I have to tell you. You are.
More glorious than even you know.
Live unabashed. Live glorious. Live.
You are.
You are so much more than you think you are. You are glorious. Do it! Live. No one can stop you but yourself.
Cross over.
Time is a coin. Either you spend it, or life will spend it for you.
Fear not failure, the truth is you fear of how powerful you actually are. Take a chance. Thrust away your crutch. You know the one. That one that says I could have been if only it wasn't for... the ellipses were for whatever you wanted to fill in.
Live without excuses. The world doesn't care. So why should you?
Live unabashed.
Conquer all.
Carpe diem.
Live!
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