When you were falling from my tree,
I was not scared.
I thought you'd
meet me back up there.
It never dawned on me
you were home free.
It never dawned on me, no.
The pallor might seem incidental, just a waning bit of sunlit green as the cab sweeps past. Incidental being the odd word amongst the varied and harried disarray of punitive fragments. We don't deal in this concrete infestation, invectification, no mob or mop, no syndicate or programming syndication. Ideas are a currency, a spun sugar web thoroughly manifesting itself as a plaster cast to mold to. There's that canvas flap that goes rigid in the wind, a snickering parasite in slate gray soup mix packet. The spare came off, the reality set in. A year wasn't much more than a winter dream brooding in the flame.
In such a way we form the soil, the highlight beams the sun seems to sag under our feet, crunching on the stilt-legs, cos heights are for fear, leave egos to their own.
Samuel is a good name, or so they may one day say, and Jack might be a better to that of Jennifer or jade or quartz. Not that the watch face is the final place the wretched seem to desire to etch. Defy time, or merely wave at it and shrug. A complimentary fashion to it I may admonish. All the while the girl next to you might be humming to the driver about the deer straight ahead in the road. But I'd all the same be more concerned of the sand in the glove box and her left earlobe being shorter than the right because what man drives himself mad about the details?
The price of all this vanity is getting way too high
The maintenance of my sanity is taking too much time
Simple feathers, falling feathers, 7000 reasons to dream.
Cheers, mates.
29 June 2005
1 June 2005
Juliette on a Longwave Radio
give me the colours of a different light
give me the colours grey and blue
So you learn. You find that at 50 you're twice as randy as at 20 and there's no explanation that you can think of between the beginning episodes of alzheimer's that plague your swiss cheese brain, the folds stuck together, overstarched and ironed, locked down portholes. It's only fair to hate life at that point, so you join a 12 step program only to find that there's more than 37 steps up from the sidewalk [irony]. The door opens and you smell the alcoholics and realise this isn't the room for you, because no one ever thought that a desire to be alive could be an addiction, unhealthy in its insistence upon existing, in complete denial that addiction is a possibility.
and blah blah blah, yakkity schmakkity, swing the golf club, wave, smile, try not to trip off the stage.
She swirled two coppers around each other as if milling about in the corner of a square, around each other in a planetary scraping on the formica following the indentations with her eyes, the milk-laden, black-scarred flashes of intelligent emotion that she allowed flit for momentary distraction from the scrolling circle to the hovering colors that registered around her. People move in and out of us as this, shapely and dull. Rainstorms drown out roses with the crackle and trickle-down damp, sheeting away the vivid taste of poppies and crocuses.
I never said I was the perfect child, and if I had, I was grossly mistaken. I treat my life as if it were a set of errands, a list of tasks that attain something often unrelated to the final destination. I do as I go and I go as I please. Never claimed that I would complete even the smallest bit of what everyone asked me to, never claimed I would take the best or fastest route from a to b, z to l, London to Newark. That is the way to be lived and to live. You must breathe incidentally, fall purposely, act madly, and never be afraid to be inane or cheeky. It'’s costly to be regretful, making all those witnesses disappear, David Copperfield only works at prime rates. I may have said I loved or was loved, but that was my entire fault for being caught up in the language. I may have mentioned that I was happy or thrilled, but I might have felt that tomorrow was going to be my last incidental breath. I might have overlooked my chance to say screaming that I would be a jackass, roller-skates, shopping carts, and all, but I always figured I had the charm. I never said what it was going to be, but always was kind enough to do a play by play with afterthoughts. I never said that id never say, just how i was intending it to be coherent. A little faith would be nice.
give me the colours grey and blue
So you learn. You find that at 50 you're twice as randy as at 20 and there's no explanation that you can think of between the beginning episodes of alzheimer's that plague your swiss cheese brain, the folds stuck together, overstarched and ironed, locked down portholes. It's only fair to hate life at that point, so you join a 12 step program only to find that there's more than 37 steps up from the sidewalk [irony]. The door opens and you smell the alcoholics and realise this isn't the room for you, because no one ever thought that a desire to be alive could be an addiction, unhealthy in its insistence upon existing, in complete denial that addiction is a possibility.
and blah blah blah, yakkity schmakkity, swing the golf club, wave, smile, try not to trip off the stage.
She swirled two coppers around each other as if milling about in the corner of a square, around each other in a planetary scraping on the formica following the indentations with her eyes, the milk-laden, black-scarred flashes of intelligent emotion that she allowed flit for momentary distraction from the scrolling circle to the hovering colors that registered around her. People move in and out of us as this, shapely and dull. Rainstorms drown out roses with the crackle and trickle-down damp, sheeting away the vivid taste of poppies and crocuses.
I never said I was the perfect child, and if I had, I was grossly mistaken. I treat my life as if it were a set of errands, a list of tasks that attain something often unrelated to the final destination. I do as I go and I go as I please. Never claimed that I would complete even the smallest bit of what everyone asked me to, never claimed I would take the best or fastest route from a to b, z to l, London to Newark. That is the way to be lived and to live. You must breathe incidentally, fall purposely, act madly, and never be afraid to be inane or cheeky. It'’s costly to be regretful, making all those witnesses disappear, David Copperfield only works at prime rates. I may have said I loved or was loved, but that was my entire fault for being caught up in the language. I may have mentioned that I was happy or thrilled, but I might have felt that tomorrow was going to be my last incidental breath. I might have overlooked my chance to say screaming that I would be a jackass, roller-skates, shopping carts, and all, but I always figured I had the charm. I never said what it was going to be, but always was kind enough to do a play by play with afterthoughts. I never said that id never say, just how i was intending it to be coherent. A little faith would be nice.
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