Dance in fire and you will be rewarded with pain and a story.
Stab at the nest that bore you and you will find the gears that move your heart will stutter.
Performing atop the sensational golden clocktower is enough to make any woman quake and tremble, be sure to curtsy after you are done, or you may be pushed to the garden below.
My blood has clogged with evolution
The curved teeth of the key clacked when I turned it, it was sloppy but it got the job done. I had found her, hiding in the white light behind the oak wall.
I climbed the radio tower because I wanted to find the voices, but I found only the choir where God lives.
Regular wars are boring but they are cathartic, men must fight and women must weap.
Stabbing out of the ground were bamboo shoots carved into sharp spears, I was afraid to go any further. Keep your distance children, he is around here somewhere, the liar and the cheat that had spooked the townspeople, the traders with the two humped turbans, the blasphemed.
The mist is therapy, the sand is destitute.
The lethargic old man at the corner store had told me where I would live and where I would die, he read my palm and laughed, I pointed to the streetpost down the street and he nodded. I fell to my knees and clung to the asphalt, and a strong gust of wind flung him into it.
Monday, October 26, 2009
(Freewriting) Trust and Poison
Every time I come home you're still there waiting, like a leper waiting for a cure, or an old artist waiting for supplies, neglected. Try to forgive me in this city, I need to stand on this broken glass and do things I know aren't easy, release the time frame or we will never be happy. Walk a path to the end of life, it will crack your skin and send chills down your throat, when the winter splashes over us we will be frozen and die like dogs, keep on moving forward, keep grabbing, rock by rock we will make it. Don't make me turn back or Hades will grab you again, make me trust you, make me believe, Orpheus would be proud.
Choking on pipes is not a life, its a fate. A decision we think we have made, thinking of you as we huff and we puff, as we cry and lie, maybe shake hands with the devil, sign a deed to a new body, withered and broken, hollow and beaten, eyes sunken and skin clawed and pale. Hypnotized.
Champagne tears, flowing like the amazon into a sickly basin. Where the basin lies are the natives, drunk off of sorrow. Above the natives the Gods watch, horrified, but too intrigued to intervene. Why do these creatures love such self harm, lets see what other harm they might enjoy.
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Now playing: Cunninlynguists - KKKY (Remix] (Feat Skinny Deville & Fishscales, Young Chu & Sheisty Khrist)
via FoxyTunes
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tidbits part 2
Airborne lentils glide like diamonds, sorry for the confusion.
We walked for a mile or two and then she stared at the sky above her, waiting for a piano to fall. A feather fell gently to her left.
Out of the box and into the rain, run for the shade, sad sad fox.
The stagnant aroma of old orange peel hung like shame. It clung to the old man's face like a trophy, and controlled him like a tired puppy. His wife was shallow and scorn, her grapes lay in the grass uneaten.
The fist in the sky had finally unclenched and extended its index finger an inch away from my face. It was time for me to make a move.
The lamb had crawled up into the pipes and gotten sick, but had made friends with the bats and other strange creatures that lived there. They told the lamb not to be afraid, but the lamb was still terrified. Her wool had uncurled and grown dingy and bright red with fear. To this the other creatures widened their eyes and howled, they mauled the lamb to silence before the creature could cause any further harm.
Arguably the most passionate existence is that of the sea turtle.
When your lungs are stuffed with money, all you exhale is poison.
There used to be a man who fell asleep inside of a bee's hive. He was taken captive and was found one day to be eating the honey to stay alive.
At the edge of the world another universe begins, one with no wards and no toothbrushes. It takes a while to get there but if you do you will be incredibly glad you did, the animals there are friendly and will give you directions when you get lost. Don't talk to the skunks there though. Tthey will stab and kill you, they rob the graves at night and will put curses on you and your family. Not that anyone would want to talk to a skunk anyway.
I swam through a sea of glitter to get here, why am I not overjoyed with glory and blossoming into a rose?
I am startled to note that the patient has only one working eyeball. The other one sees only the good in people, and will be removed thursday evening.
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Now playing: Guns 'n' Bombs - Riddle of Steel
via FoxyTunes
We walked for a mile or two and then she stared at the sky above her, waiting for a piano to fall. A feather fell gently to her left.
Out of the box and into the rain, run for the shade, sad sad fox.
The stagnant aroma of old orange peel hung like shame. It clung to the old man's face like a trophy, and controlled him like a tired puppy. His wife was shallow and scorn, her grapes lay in the grass uneaten.
The fist in the sky had finally unclenched and extended its index finger an inch away from my face. It was time for me to make a move.
The lamb had crawled up into the pipes and gotten sick, but had made friends with the bats and other strange creatures that lived there. They told the lamb not to be afraid, but the lamb was still terrified. Her wool had uncurled and grown dingy and bright red with fear. To this the other creatures widened their eyes and howled, they mauled the lamb to silence before the creature could cause any further harm.
Arguably the most passionate existence is that of the sea turtle.
When your lungs are stuffed with money, all you exhale is poison.
There used to be a man who fell asleep inside of a bee's hive. He was taken captive and was found one day to be eating the honey to stay alive.
At the edge of the world another universe begins, one with no wards and no toothbrushes. It takes a while to get there but if you do you will be incredibly glad you did, the animals there are friendly and will give you directions when you get lost. Don't talk to the skunks there though. Tthey will stab and kill you, they rob the graves at night and will put curses on you and your family. Not that anyone would want to talk to a skunk anyway.
I swam through a sea of glitter to get here, why am I not overjoyed with glory and blossoming into a rose?
I am startled to note that the patient has only one working eyeball. The other one sees only the good in people, and will be removed thursday evening.
----------------
Now playing: Guns 'n' Bombs - Riddle of Steel
via FoxyTunes
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tidbits
A Colorful wind, breathe it in and you can fly to her. It tastes like cherry gumdrops and curls around your lungs until it kills life and strangles you with happiness.
The walls are insulated with asbestos and strawberries, protect the children for they are the taste of life.
The whales are the most honest mammal you will ever meet. Sometimes they donate themselves to the hungry, and even the stuffed and full. They dont have much to live for so they have mutually decided to die off after saying their goodbyes to one another.
These days its fashionable to clip your own wings, said the ugly hairdresser.
The tone in her voice was dipped in smooth mercury. She told me one day that I would die, and I smiled and sat down on the white beach next to her.
In the blight of the city there is an old man that screams at the church bells. He defines himself as the only normal one left, and screams whenever someone knocks on his door. No one knows whether he is angry or surprised, but they know he is scared. His name is Abraham Nottinghill and he sings the songs of angels.
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Now playing: Bassnectar & Kyrian - Blow
via FoxyTunes
The walls are insulated with asbestos and strawberries, protect the children for they are the taste of life.
The whales are the most honest mammal you will ever meet. Sometimes they donate themselves to the hungry, and even the stuffed and full. They dont have much to live for so they have mutually decided to die off after saying their goodbyes to one another.
These days its fashionable to clip your own wings, said the ugly hairdresser.
The tone in her voice was dipped in smooth mercury. She told me one day that I would die, and I smiled and sat down on the white beach next to her.
In the blight of the city there is an old man that screams at the church bells. He defines himself as the only normal one left, and screams whenever someone knocks on his door. No one knows whether he is angry or surprised, but they know he is scared. His name is Abraham Nottinghill and he sings the songs of angels.
----------------
Now playing: Bassnectar & Kyrian - Blow
via FoxyTunes
Saturday, October 3, 2009
(Freewriting) Timid Emperors
On the inside my organs are cemented green and crusted with worry and age, And on the outside of my body the world buzzes unpredictably, eroding my skin with time and quarrels. I begin to speak but my mouth stays silent, I shall have to live with the emperors among the daisies and dance quartets. They act snobby but only when strangers are around, it is only a defense mechanism, and it is your fault they are so timid in the first place. Caught like sparrows in a tunnel of cobwebs, they chatter to one another confused and lost, afraid of their titles and the life they have chosen. Stop the silence, lift the gates and let in my family.
Friday, October 2, 2009
(Freewriting) Violent sex and murder-breaths
Her psyche was tinted colorfully with autumn as she slept. She breathed soft rainbows and murder, and winced as the end of the light hit her face. I have taken my sweet time remembering, but I forget often. She is less fortunate, and she inhales the sins and worries of the sky and exhales the ashes of people long dead, carrying the metaphysical weight on her shoulders with a helpless smile. Those iron tears will have stitched themselves to her face soon, and the rainbows will have hung themselves, but unlike me never will she ever forget.
The oxygen has been jerked from my brain, and I remember nothing of the life I once had. Below the sea, settled next to violent sex and pollution the fish riot and murder, unencumbered and ruthless in their hatred. Was this what Gaia had wished for, for at the simple lift of a finger she could stop it, she could kill us all in one blinding swoop.
The oxygen has been jerked from my brain, and I remember nothing of the life I once had. Below the sea, settled next to violent sex and pollution the fish riot and murder, unencumbered and ruthless in their hatred. Was this what Gaia had wished for, for at the simple lift of a finger she could stop it, she could kill us all in one blinding swoop.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
(Freewriting) Bleeding eyes and dancing souls
When the time comes one day I will race to the top of the skies and freeze my eyes shut in space. It will be cold and I may not survive but it will be worth it to see the planet in such an innocent and defenseless position. I might squish it between my thumb and forefinger like a red ant, I might spare it and fall asleep. I think I would rather travel to Mercury and build a home there out of Ash and soot, maybe burrow into the rock and look for a place to start a family there. I think when I hear the water rush through my brain and let the bells shatter my eyes and smack on my eardrums so loud it makes me nauseous, it proves something about myself. But what?
At the age of twelve I had once strolled through the valley of the underground skeleton and took a job steering a very thin gondola. I watched the demons who rode them be romantic, I watched the fallen angels do what they had suppressed, I watched humans be humans. When I watched they did not care, they enjoyed it, they enjoyed the audience. I ran into rocks and nearly tipped once, but they did not care, they were nice. I wish the light would've been that nice, maybe I would've payed more attention in school, maybe I would have some more passion for things, maybe I would be much more humble. I take things for granted but one day this gondola will tip and take me to a grave so dark I will remember nothing but the bony molasses that I had drowned in.
I was old when a flowery young angel looked at me with eyes that screamed. She asked me to kill her but I refused, she was too beautiful. She asked me instead to put a knife in her hand and push on her forearm in such a manner that would impale herself. To this I refused again, and we sat and smiled and spun and smoked until our eyes bled dark crimson from corner to corner. To this we celebrated in high spirits.
It was a very dull day in the super center, so dull in fact that even the dogs yawned as they shopped for ties and suits. It was oftentimes that the dogs barked orders at the lazy cats behind the counters who counted their coins and looked at jewelery that was too expensive for them to afford. I miss the fat cat that used to do nothing but sit on the bench and wait for her grandchildren to be done with their shopping, I miss that feeble empty stare in her eyes as she watched the dogs and cats pass, and the pelicans flop and the chipmunks dance, whirring around her and unintentionally insulting her lack of esteem and ability. Sometimes if you looked close, past the leathery face and frigid eyes, the gawking, drooling feline had a beautiful soul behind it, that danced so wildly and so passionately you would think that she may be the heiress of God himself. It was a gray Tuesday when she died, hungry and dead on the cold tile while her granddaughters were trying on pump heels.
I regret the dirt I have rolled in to migrate this far out of our true home. One day we will sit in a shrine of green marble, of clay pillars and of brilliant ebony incantations, we will be no longer slaves to ourselves and what we feel to be right and wrong. We will be free, and we will roam the earth as free people, smiling from ear to ear for the world to see. Once we have done that then maybe we will return home and tell the others of what we have done, maybe we will be heroes and change the world forever, out of the gray pit boss who runs it with steel in his eyes and with fire dancing on his forked tongue. Maybe one day we will do that.
At the age of twelve I had once strolled through the valley of the underground skeleton and took a job steering a very thin gondola. I watched the demons who rode them be romantic, I watched the fallen angels do what they had suppressed, I watched humans be humans. When I watched they did not care, they enjoyed it, they enjoyed the audience. I ran into rocks and nearly tipped once, but they did not care, they were nice. I wish the light would've been that nice, maybe I would've payed more attention in school, maybe I would have some more passion for things, maybe I would be much more humble. I take things for granted but one day this gondola will tip and take me to a grave so dark I will remember nothing but the bony molasses that I had drowned in.
I was old when a flowery young angel looked at me with eyes that screamed. She asked me to kill her but I refused, she was too beautiful. She asked me instead to put a knife in her hand and push on her forearm in such a manner that would impale herself. To this I refused again, and we sat and smiled and spun and smoked until our eyes bled dark crimson from corner to corner. To this we celebrated in high spirits.
It was a very dull day in the super center, so dull in fact that even the dogs yawned as they shopped for ties and suits. It was oftentimes that the dogs barked orders at the lazy cats behind the counters who counted their coins and looked at jewelery that was too expensive for them to afford. I miss the fat cat that used to do nothing but sit on the bench and wait for her grandchildren to be done with their shopping, I miss that feeble empty stare in her eyes as she watched the dogs and cats pass, and the pelicans flop and the chipmunks dance, whirring around her and unintentionally insulting her lack of esteem and ability. Sometimes if you looked close, past the leathery face and frigid eyes, the gawking, drooling feline had a beautiful soul behind it, that danced so wildly and so passionately you would think that she may be the heiress of God himself. It was a gray Tuesday when she died, hungry and dead on the cold tile while her granddaughters were trying on pump heels.
I regret the dirt I have rolled in to migrate this far out of our true home. One day we will sit in a shrine of green marble, of clay pillars and of brilliant ebony incantations, we will be no longer slaves to ourselves and what we feel to be right and wrong. We will be free, and we will roam the earth as free people, smiling from ear to ear for the world to see. Once we have done that then maybe we will return home and tell the others of what we have done, maybe we will be heroes and change the world forever, out of the gray pit boss who runs it with steel in his eyes and with fire dancing on his forked tongue. Maybe one day we will do that.
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