Gone

KT Tunstall - "The Boys of Summer"

She will wait
always
wait
Until

The female
Has replaced the male

So be it

In cloistered shadows
The laugh resounds

Was it a dream

Despite
Reviews glowing
Of the artist stuggling
How his move
How his pause
Makes
A difference
To someone
Will change
Someone

What did he know?

What did

Why did

It matter?

He spoke of the one
The struggle against
The machine
So powerful
So
Omnipresent

He made a differnce
He made a change
To hands clutching
Dismantiling
A system psychopathic
That rewards only those
Who cower

Should he
Speak of
The she?

Hair excellent
Body
Glorious
She knew
The touch
Shimmering in the half light
Who could afford to loose
Herself for a moment
Stolen
From herself
From society
She does not know
Or knows perfectly well
So many
Choices

So many

I never will forget those nights
Remember how I made you scream

So long ago

So long

As she waited for her boys
Of summer
The past
Collides
With the present

So much
So

So
She dances
As love
Dies
Slowly

Hidden pirouettes
Crying out for life
As the turn
Reveals
Nothing
Save the gasp
The cry
For fulfillment
She abandoned
So long

Ago

So they wait
Till the boys of summer
Are gone

So far

Gone

Spaniard

Gladiator: Are you not entertained?

Spaniard
They would call him
Rising amongst the others
The best
The ultimo
La prima
Who cares

While his fellows
Would cry out
of students
Who won awards
All the while
A little fatter
A little more hollow
Than the year before
He took pride in all of his students
Perhaps not glorious
Perhaps not beautiful
But the ones who had for fight
For each success
Step by step
Slice by silice
Carving out
Demanding of the world
What she would not revel
At first

So it was
Like his school
That didn't even call him for a first round
Despite awards won
Recognition by others
Decrying glory
His
To ears gone so deaf
To eyes so blind
Simply because
The people
Whom he elevated
Called Spaniard

So it was

Are you not entertained?
Are you?

The cry
Spaniard
Carries him out of the arena

Every time you smile

Arcade fire: Everything now

I'm in the black again
Can't make it back again
Can't pretend

Trapped
In a homogeneous hell
The smile fades
She made it
From her trip
driving with the headlights off
The loved her
They touched her
So distant
So despeerate

As the odemoeter
Clicked off
Every mile passed
Every Tuesday
Or Thursday
Depending on the presence
Of the other
The one
She was supposed to proclaim

Everything now

Unless it was at night
After a time
When she
Could
Contact
To give
The hollow promise
Of a touch
The heated bush
Across
The thigh
She would be
So supplicant
Parting
For a moment
A hidden moment

Everything now

Life desperate
Promise
So desperate
If they wanted
She would
Reveal
In half
The promise
Of making whole
The city cries
Wait
Until she
Can't
Fulfill
Her cry
Her promise
Hollow
So hoped
So promised
But until
Her reveal
Coquettish

Everything now

Longing for the rise
Passion devastating
The heated kiss"
rising along her thigh
Desperate to meet
The rising heat
From the apex
Golden
To bury
To press
To be home
For a moment

Daddy how come you're never around?

Everything now

Every time you smile

It's a fake

I know

Yet

Join the celebration
Can't make it back again

From everything now

Father's son

The Magnificent Seven Theme • Elmer Bernstein

Different age.

Perhaps.

Ferocious men stadning in the way of anyone who stood for the lesser men, the unknown men, the forgotten men.  Pier-stone on the periphery... could be aided. 

Maybe so.  Maybe not.

Father's son. 

That's me.

She walked into the office.  He caught her case.  It was happenstance.  Ragged, transient, son of Dixie proud.   Louisiana girl in all her glory.  Great with child, great with problems.  Not to be confused with the so many that had entered his office door before.  Yet he was a lawyer so filled with vim, so filled with vigor, take the case... fight for justice.  Justice was that he would serve.  The blind bitch... she would be forced to see those who were brought before.

If the tears swelled in her eyes, so be it.  She would see.  Her scales would tip in his favor.  The favor of right.  That is what our grand experiment was founded upon after all.  Wasn't it?  Even if you would make him travel all the way to the highest court of the U.S.A heDem would make you relent, realize, that you could do little less than offer the prize, to his client, wanting only to awake to the American dream.  If he must be the magic maker... so be it.

So it was.

Then came I.

His offspring.  Wanting more, demanding more, than no less.  All are equal, all are the same.  Beliefs, so simple... so naive.  Somehow believing that the order, so established, would let him get away.  With a simpleton belief that love was pure, that all would see, each other, as facets of themselves.  What a fool.  Simple.  He took the beats of his overlords.  So simple.  So caustic.  Simple lips  Standing so proud 

His films aroused such feelings from those.  The empowered unvoiced to which he had given a moment of voice... of choice.   Unwilling to remain victims... but victors.  This was not to be had. Not in hollowed sanctums where the oppressed would forever remain r the oppressed.  They preferred to remain in the stasis rather than fight for the advance.  Salud.  You have your own fathers.  And I am not your son. 

I am my Father's son.

The one who took a case to the Supreme Court.  The one that ensured equality for all. 

And just to let you know... I am his son.

And so far... by you...

I am not impressed.

Salud.

Three.

Mariachi Cover - Linger - The Cranberries

Three. 

That's what they say. 

One must fall in love three times.  The first.  Puppy.  So blind.  An introduction.  To a world... so Byzantine.  Alone traveling catacombs desperate for a light.  Yet believing the light cast out could suffice.  Just as the mayfly believes... in its short life, it would last forever.  For it's short life, be it a day... or two, it was forever.  The laughter, the elation, combined with the devastation, each were so short so fundamental if only to build to the number two.

He was there.  Gifts, one to the other.  For him it was Regatta del Blanc.  Hey, he thought it was cool.  She enjoyed.  Or at least she said so.  A month later, phone call from Paris, would signify that this ex-patriot should look for someone else.

So it goes.

Number two.  This is the one.  The burning fire that is supposed to forge the metal.  Blind beauty creates the most powerful of all.  The searing burn of every joy.  The utter delight of every dismay.  Smelting touches launch passion ready to ferocious flames leapt into so blindly.  So blind.  Siren's song crying each to each.  To feel the little death of each moment apart, to be repaid by the cataclysmic renaissance upon the reunion.  The rejoin of one to the other, to renew the one forged by the two.  In defiance of all... the one against all.

He knew this too.  The cataclysmal catalysist.  The one that forced him to drop is mask if only to feel the searing hot touch, as his hand rose.  Ever higher.  The hip.  The thigh.  The longing, the pulling, the shallow death just a moment from life.  And she... so it seemed.. longed to be made complete.  In the other.  Til the others, became the sedating placebo.  For the truth.

The truth.

Yet... 

This to...

must come to an end.

So they say.  In order to reach the third.  A love marked... scared by this world.  One is supposed to bow and accept.  Less than.  For nothing can be... settle for less.  Times.  Occurrences.  Her finger tracing along the book spine.  The clutching of hips, so soft, so subtle, so tight, that led his mind to wander... the tracing kiss along skin so soft, forever rising towards her heat.  Shallow, action following only action.  Quenchable fires surrounded by the difficulty... quenchable fires die.

The past.  The future.  All caught in a tense.  A tense that makes all that much more tense.

She might whiseper a secret, manic-depression.  He might believe. 

That is until he saw Goodwill Hunting once again.  One was a man caught in a past he could not escape, the other a man, such talent, who was afraid to let the future into his present.  Sociopath they called him.  One who could bend, others to make them think that he was there, all the while reserving, so they could avoid the pain... crushing... devestating... a pain he knew all too well.  Feeble blows showing fear, knowledge, that she had lost out so long ago.

He laughed. 

So it was.

     

Truth or consequence

300_there goes my hero

So it begins.  As always.  In the storm you can depend on none for your salvation.  It's all really in whatever redemption you earned from your own hands.

The one against many.  The one... against the world.  Who will support? One cannot worry.  They will come.  They will arise... or the won't.  The best will come regardless.  That is why you picked them.  The unwanted.  The scourged of society.  For by picking them, they would offer unto you the loyalty so fierce.  Shunned by the world... what did they have to loose.  What did anyone have to loose?

The world.

So piecemeal.

So lost wandering.

Unknowing.

What was worth something, and what was merely tinfoil.

A shiny new thing to distract.

The masses.

From the grind of life living.   Can you understand?  Do you understand?

She... oh don't bring up the She...

Was beautiful... but that could never be enough,  She listened to to the voices inside her head.  Crying out that her breasts were malformed.  With a doctors switch, a tiny cut... all would be well... in that which was so perfect.  Run from that which knows in imperfection was beauty.  All it took was money... ever so precious... to remove the human condition

The snip... the scalpel.  All under the doctors supervision.  Undergo that which made her human... to transform into a porcelain doll.

All the while... he fought.  Perhaps blindly to save her... the one beyond salvation... or perhaps for himself...  earning a redemption that was never needed.  Save the fight.  World you will not take me, I will not be supplicant to your travesty.  The travesty of your justice.

Obey.  Though you see the creation, supplication, of unequals surround.  Believe that you are somehow less than... though you are obviously excel.   Listen to the voices that tell you...

not that you are less than...
;
but rather       you are more powerful than you could ever know.

Remain defiant in defeat....

The world waits to delight in you

The gods wait to rejoice

You are their son

...or daughter

With each smite

Each hit

Rejoice...

For the world will never know.  What can you expect?  Drown yourself in your own laughter.  Stand and fight.  If not you... then who?  Forever remain the one who is just one step out the majority.  Civilization has never progressed, not without its dissidents.  Smiling.

Curving.

Waiting...

Only for the moment.

You are only the three hundred.  Standing against those that would make you bow.  Kneel.  Give an knee.  Your answer, all the while, is only your grip only is tighter on your sword.

One of these days

Foo Fighters - These Days

These days.

Is it worth it.

Even.

He looked at his phone,   Call from a number ever so private.  Could it be her?  He laughed.  He had thought so much in the past.  He had gotten calls so purposeful, so accidental.  He would hear her confess that even though she had supposed learned the language, Hell, even joined into it, she needed one who could speak her mother tongue. 

After all she was the perfect mother.

Or she would be...

One of these days.

It wasn't her.  It could never be her.

It would never....

be her.

She could, she would, turn her body... till the viewers eyes were caught... just right.  Just right.  Shadow dances with her self.  With her soul.  She had forgotten.  Or allowed herself to forget.  What it all was really for. 

Really...

For.

Yet reality would only remind...

How much

She gave up...

In a price...

She could not bear.

So she would dance in the window.  Bearing nightclothes clinging, translucent.  Who might she catch.  Don't worry... she would release them all.  To swim away, yet hover close, to see... if she... actually cared.  Ever actually cared.  If the dream was nothing more than a hollow reflection of that which was desired to be.  Ever so desired. 

One of these days...

If the dance ever stopped...

She would see...

Would have to live with...

What she had done...

So the dance would never stop.

It couldn't.

Hollow pirouettes casting out into the shadowlands, until...

One of these days...

You stop.  Which will happen.

And your heart will play its final beat.