These Are Recent Posts From My Myspace Blog. Thought I'd Add Them Here For Your Reading Pleasure. Hope You Enjoy It. Please Feel Free To Comment On Anything, Your Feedback Is Wanted.
For My Possible Child(s)
Current mood: hat wearing
Be Aware Of The Facts! if i can't be tall or engaged or engaging a conversation with my better half of human, i'll settle down and reach for the dough. sending my tapering half empty apologies by way of will to the director who's got the most grammys. prone to the museum sickness and the laws of quantum wave function first before the immortal pills... i find the only fun thing about a coma is i go months on a single dream. sometimes awake i never dream. so i drop the coin in the head hole and try and help explain why i give up. why i run so far, so fast. cause the way you looked last night. knowing no man has memory so keenly in tact. i ask you to beware the facts. in which my contributions were magnificently insignificant. this love euphoria almost always turns into a power struggle of the addiction of energy. each others energy. you do count higher than i do, but i.. and...
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The scared-faced boy was all ameoba and pulled teeth after just one quick glance in her direction. a brief moment of eye contact and her rational wave went west to the water. like wet to the sand, my both feet sunk in the mud. was everyone too exploded to realize the glow in the room? the only shadow still to be standing at the end of your eclispe, HE promised you that one night after uttering to open sheers the end of his cope. it was even embroidered along the brim of his saddest of all fact. she carries her three hearts so close to the ground, dirty in the scream of whats to come. but she was born with unprecidented levels of control in her blood, so simple made it the fact the swing of her heart bag was so low. The worlds finest hard to find wing collection sits atop her closet space, gathering dust for a rainy day of reminising. he films the farside of sleep to give to her and she has the whole mass of it wrung between her breast corset. no thought of the frames, the careful captureing of rare species, the dark destined to possess the process of juicing her high blood sugar. nope, she doesen't even seal off the skull for living. so it is had that he was led to miss some million miles away, untill the truth sets them free. and so he sat thumbing through the bowels and flesh of a messy death, looking for a locket or amulet. only to find the reproduction button so famous in the 99%. the two 1%ers meet in space. he is honest in his armor. she is distracted by the scent of the death gathering dog.
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some girls...
some girls think they can and are. some think. i suppose to understand you'd have to live in their shoes. struggle for their breath of death. redhook esb and she thinks she can seduce me. i'm a bandleader. not only can she not, but i'm a veteran of foreign affairs and i've seen every social structure crumble into dust. i've seen the scene, lived it and i'm not easily seduced by methods of 208 year old dr. octo. brusies are right for my handstands defy all that is man. lock me up if you will. celebrate my departure by love wet wicked sex. i'll only be back worth more. once again defying the impossible. wink, wink. you'd only wish you have seen through me like you thought you knew me. tip of the tip of the iceberg my friend. of our elaborate plans, of everything that stands, no safty or surprise, i'll never look into your lies, again. the end. i can't! could you? well yeah knowing your one track mind, hell bent on being timeless. i'll tell you, i was never wrong. i saw it coming from the first time he knocked your door down. but a sneeky snake can't wait for bait, and i'm sorry for you, it was my fault. i was born on classic films and vintage morals. chrome and wax. i'm more of a cholo than you think i am. i'm just rock and roll. i'm pure soul. take it or fuck off. i know your reading this right now thinking, "who? me?" deliberate prose knows no actuality. but so far i refuse to make arbitrary abstract generalizations to satisfy a particular pink. who knows what you think. some girls do it for pleasure. some girls do it for pain. vaunted ida's long, long think roads. all retrospective passions passing by like the landscape's "indie" time trees beating a rythum i can't figure. almost techno in my head.... or the be bopest jazz ever known to deaf ears, and you can't hear. your all wraped up in your fancy farewell. my dear mate, my love. i'm going far far away. i know not where.... who shall i say i'm not? a happy genius of my household. telling truths as if i were psychic? i do not want to know the effect of expireience. the marvelous project for a sociologist, the seed of the menace. to hear the slaughtered cows cry for their skins at night, lady. let's elope from eath and tangle in heaven. i never said i was superior, but fuck, i can write all night, only, who's reading???? tell them i'm dying to sing with angels and all the addiction and life i've lived were in preparation for the big moment. i'm addicted to love. to human touch, to lips kiss, to you, my perfect partner in times when partners are paired. i must see the pope, broadcast my film on his chest, to say only, at best, that i'm a courtship heading for the bay. in the correct form, with letters and numbers: Sa7m0n 3gg5.
this is preliminary. you'll find the whole truth and nothing but tattooed in invisible, glow in the dark ink on my chest. done by the pope of the high solitude and veggie burgers. with the light sensitivity that even darkness is bright. i shine in his eyes... in his eyes i shine. jealousy is often mistaken for infatuation. i love you meat market and all of your slabs of mutilated heart. come over and we'll shoot the shit.
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Running through the forest.
Current mood: Woody Allen
take a bow, it's not your feelings, it's what makes us say wow! i'm definitely complicated. contemplating puppets who come off the string. sing for me miss jean. ring the bell, we're not stars yet, but i definitely need a light. i show off my burgundy hand print, all wet mouthed and cobwebbed out. yet another farsighted, nearhearted fart. repeating, "You were born with it, you were born with it..." the speeding sleagh day bobsled. take your bra where it's never been, and take it off. besides, who cares what my epitaph reads, it all stands to be translated. art in the beholders thighs all worked down to bone. i'm prone to finding fat caterpillers and baby grasshoppers banging on the wall and selling it to those who tell you wrong. all dancing to my little read book. whats to be explained as " Well... legend has it...". none of your race has ever been there before and i'm here for your poisoning. techniques passed on for thousands of sands on hundreds of shores, i just want to be your love. believe that some went mad the day you fell off the table. thier mid-sections swinging wide open to reveal the outsides were on the verge of collapse. and there is lots of this, how we're only collided debris from the big gangbang. how we're in denial. how we're all attemping to swaddle perfection and it's only circumstance that allows us to move about these parts. i assume you've gotten used to the act of dying inside. i only ask of you to cry with me.
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I Do It All For Her
It's no longer feasible, or likely with my gun in mouth blues. "thats SOOO attractive". yet i'm still aching to touch her in her insides, deep insides, so much so that i pour my heart into my own mouth and swallow 4-5 times a week. i'm weak. and all this i realize is something that i'll no longer forgive myself for. but i just gotta do it. deal. cope. just till i reach that moving goal. that one step is three for me bastard goal blues. you can't buy love, you can't hide from your own love. help me, my legs are on fire! i'm burned beyond all recognition. but guess who's coming to diner, me and my skin graphts. we're gonna sit down on your table. drip cream and ointment all over your food. we're gonna talk to you, with my in need of repair blues. we're gonna speak italian and dance the charlston all over your matching diner set. we're gonna buy you everything we cant afford at the moment. we're gonna spend a lifetime telling you the same thing about you that every man has, and your gonna like us, but you aint gonna need us. you know you, but you don't know i am whats left. speaking of people who've snapped, just imagine the twigs flying in the air as i yelled "timber" once my soil has rotted long enough beaneth me and i became uprooted. it did echo through the forrest. i've taught a class about the biology of a yobb from the insides. outside in. you should have seen the look on thier faces. as i dripped ointment and oozed color onto the podium. my skin graphts peeled off by gravity, in a pile around me as i gave my speech. thier jaws hung like pendulums. swung like suzy on a makeshift tire swing.
i do it for me. so she can see.... so fuck off is my strategy. with my black and grey rainbow and exposed electric wires. "taking a patient out of water". i blame her for her electricity. i'm tired of being so put off by my lack of synergy. i'm out of sincronicity with my peers. thats why i think whats yours is mine. "speak to me bones". i see. holy shit, for the first time i see, i can control it and i can stop dripping on girls i love. so please girl, come a little closer. i'm open to your questions.
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afterward, we ate pretzels
No matter how crazy he usually sounds, it makes sense to me... since i am the only one who understands, he often only talks to me. and since speech is what impels me to write i often only write what he says. since he's got no fingers. and since he's got no name, i call him. we sit together for hours tip taping on the clingy clangy keys. we've got hours to read. i love finding peoples personal remnants in library books. i'd work there just to flip through all the returned book pages. i found a note yesterday that i taped to my screen, it reads: "Where did you find me? " and on the flip side it reads: " BUENROSTRO 3/3" I fell in love with it. i'm almost compelled to locate the last person who had the book. could buenrostro be his/her name? ugh, i love the mystery in it! so perfect in it's randomosity.
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"they clip you in your private parts to weaken all your public arts"
i really like that quote. for some strange reason.
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prose 97 million
May this filter through my flattened, black lungs and recycle itself into heaven while i sleep. May i never live a fleeting moment with her again, may she know the most beautiful sound i have ever heard, was her name sung by many birds. May i calmly and cooly pull this trigger and part my heart from my head.
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Mindfullness worry, mindless conception. i tremble to the bone and choke. You are to sabotage, infiltrate and cut off the exhibition. she is not for sale. wholesale witchs are on the third floor, your at the front door. I hear music, a long way from the strictly heavy mental metal. orange and amber embers patronising the ones he has emerged from. STOP IT! STOP! TURN OFF THE MUSIC! OFF IT! i want to hear the notes i've etched on the back of the seat i sat behind on the train. no don't even think about it doll. i could have changed seats. don't think about it, don't worry. "momma's only looking for her hand in the snow...."
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i don't play any gig's unless it's on the up an' up. going to pieces. going to peacefullness. solitary gigs, i've got expierence. wanna see my resume? my time cards? my badge? my torn outfit? my stamped hand? my wrist? i've got scars over scars, it's more complicated than that. a great burst of raw horsepower, does that tell you whats going on? going to peacefullness. going to pieces. i only play gigs if they're on the up an' up.
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You can't protect him from himself. stop trying.
when she walked into the room, everything stopped.
those who will do anything, picked up and split.
he stood there waiting for her to walk toward him.
his protector says " Beat It."
she sadly looks at the tattoo and says he's ruined his purity.
"beat it, i tells ya" the protector repeats.
she walks to him, towards the bar.
he lifts up his glass, the rim covers his eyes.
"i've got something to tell you, and then i'm off" she says.
"spill it chick" he replys.
" to this day, i don't know what it was that came over me. like a fever, or a spell of some kind. but i couldna get you offa my mind... i woke up this morning, and i had a feeling you'd be here, so i came, to tell you..." she spills.
he looks puzzeled and squeezes out a long burp. "Listen babe, whatevers it is, i'm not intrestud, now split doll beforz yaz gets hurt. you've said enough, now go home!"
she looks out the window ajacent to the bar.
"The thrill is gone."
The bold headlines on the papers the next day read : "REDHEAD DEAD!"
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In a room with winter walls, he carefully examines the inner nervous system. with instrument in hand, pokes and prods. in a room with mixed metal and plastic cubes, she slowly examines the conversation. comparing and disecting. they met in an elevator, she asks him which floor he will be getting off. he says 17. she presses the button. they hold hands and watch the sky come.
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i was not thinking at the time of this blog.
Current mood: uncomfortable
I was thinking, if she'd only put it to me straight, i'd maybe evolve into a lesser known self. i asked a match from a man walking down my way, he said to me " the birds are so noisy in this part of town, how can you stand it? my train is late." We stand in silence, examining our shadows, trying to block out the birds. time passes so slowly when your standing, examining your own shadow. waiting for it's subtle movement. waiting for it to jump, twitch, walk away, or explode into tiny shadow fragments of soul and stardust.
All of my grandparents are gone.
Words are often read backwards, it's so simple. The negative space between and often around, i can't help noticing my own lunacy. what does that mean when you notice, you, yourself are maybe crazy. Infantile. Obscure. Obsolete. Rise and Shine! wake up ready for new work and a handy excuse to skip it. ol' Hank Williams will save me today. "There's No Dreams But Bad Ones". Years gone and now i still long for her to be a we. It's like the man with the golden arm, and his dame who won't give up on him. she feeds him, locks him up, kicks the habit. I can't kick whats not physically there. or here depending on where. kindly rocked to sleep by folks who know of the musicians misery. I was thinking, if you could measure the speed at which i mourn, the velocity of lost faces, the gravity of my fall to superstardom, would i break the barrier? would i become sonic?
i was thinking of good ol' rosa, the marine. rumors said she died of a contagious poison. crawled to her plate, puked it out and passed on like a fresh breeze on a mountain top. let's see, is this real?? is it? this life that i'm living? i have no logo or living emblem. but i'd imagine it a fungi type organisum. it sorta spreads through all the rotten parts till the whole thing is consumed. i'm constantly being consumed. but wait! i'm not a product. not even of society. i can't blame society. it's too simple. i can't blame my parents. i can't blame genetics. i can only blame myself. my own heart. my own mind. my own rhythmic thump thumpering of my own diseased blood. if you were small enough to hear it, it'd sound like blues. the most low down, deep down, heart felt aquatic gospel ever heard by tiny ears. i'll die by 29. of a broken heart. and no, babe, it's not your fault. not you. not no woman. it was my own tragic suffering of this mental disorder. this creative complex. this flat-picking, strumming along gallop, backed up by the low down, rooten tooten, skeletons in the attic. no, don't feel that way. rejoice! celebrate the love we had. the love that never died. not within you. not within I. celebrate baby. CELEBRATE! and one day we'll eat the walls off this tin toy box and make our way to the corner store to buy some hard liquor and bag of sunflower seeds. yeah, you can get the bar-b-que flavor, i won't mind. i've grown to like it. It'll never beat those pistachios we got in tijuana, but fuck it. we're infinite now. we're en route. like a bus riding fool. packed with bags packed, no end of the road, just wind and a toad to lick upon. me and my puzzled teacher. we're infinite. wish us well. i've an eden of unspilt seeds. sure i've got my glasses on, but let me take them off and we'll have no more answers.
i was thinking of her red silk tounge, lovely and soft on my parts of skin. in her magic circle and held in my thoguhts. closely held. to hold and to be. that is the answer. that is the answer to not only your shakesperian conquest, but also the the question of love. i can only thank her once, in hopes she understands.
pardon me whilst i step off this planet for just one moment.
i was thinking about a way to write all my sins. i was thinking of getting my memoirs ready. that ought to do the trick. an interesting read for those interested. i'd, i dunno, i was thinking of giving it a title like: I Wasen't Thinking.
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