Collecting oysters without pearls,
become a shoreline refuge, escape peril
an ex-convict breaking parole
all ending up in the undertow
constantly spiralling
out of control
but there are motives motivations
moments killed by hesitations
we are all so deeply in this together
turning shoulder to the headwind
in the wake of other generations betrayal
the basic human spirit, kindred
as are all the others.
gregarious, whimsical.
you are a hybrid of so many elements
a painting with no color scheme
no planning
a self portrait on the cover of an autobiography
exposing self to natural environments
staining the moral air
vibe strongly to all notions
a man addicted by the feeling of allowing all doors open
the floodgates filling avenues with good feeling
a free spirit and a meditative state constantly
no reason to seem aggravated
hearing self on the phone that emotional prick
all advice gone from his eyes
in the grey twilight without scissors to cut the ribbons
the rivulets and capulets
all of the perfect words
combinations of syllables
in one language out of all the rest
am I using the most beautiful?
probably not. but the appeal is simply the unknown
learn harder, better, stronger words in native tongue
and fall in love with sentence construction
how the building blocks are arranged
with proper grammatical punctuation
like a vocal chord striking a chord on a grand piano
all laid and perm-pressed with awkward correlation
elation from the core.
- - - - - - -
Side table. Shiny dark brown surface like an iced over pond originally full of filthy weather run off. Shines with signs of a full live. Scratches, scrapes, dents and all sorts of accidents cause by the standard clumsy weed-smoker. Leaving messes where others can never fix. The finish is ruined and the cost to reproduce nearly little enough to exchange straight up. Multiple shades of gold and tan wooden embroidery, standard column designs, cannot tell which architectural school any more, my memory of physical equations is entirely gone, sadly. feeling that anxiety of forgetting something I was paying to learn. standard floral curves, natural designs, a open seashell shape in the front center, with curves and depth, space in between very ambient and spacious in between sections reminding me of certain jewelry found in egyptian tombs. nerfiti never involved in those catacombs.
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Feeling stupid and anxious earlier this over hot day. Progress, painted in. Bass riffs learned too quick. Book finished. Art contracted and set for execution. A week long process to double time a search and a discovery. We are a machine. We are eager.
I want to burn my sheets. Feel that shame-red glare of shoegaze glitz. There are articles of clothing laying about intermixed with articles of clothing torn free from magazines. The glamor in a psychedelic haze, but I will protest too eagerly for us to look good in our respective ways. Never looking forced or over sold or untrue. I am afraid of having an appearance of trying to hard. The boys went out for a 21+ night at the bars and worried about wrinkled shirts and if there collective color schemes matched. They said in a few months this can be you. They said. And I replied inwardly that I don't want to be like that. I don't want to waste all of my money on dumb girls in overpriced over hyped shit holes. I want a genuine experience and to get all dolled up as a man in the world is disquieting. I wish to spend my birthday with friends. Old and committed. Not frauds spiking hair. I am ashamed of these words as they happen. But the repetition. The lethargy is awful and consuming. I wish to burn my sheets. To remove myself from this isolation aside from the studio magic. I wish to enter deeply into a life outside. But who gives? I am simply wishing the ability to network. Suddenly, damn it to hell, grace me with a curiosity to seek after relationships. Head counts at shows. Real work. Stage names. Fake smiles and faces. Finding you fascinating in a sexual way. Isolation kills you in a turmoil of strife. Whiskey on the breath with gun in hand.
Is this all worth it? What do I have to show? I hate the barrier of the internet and the computer. Play it safe and get high without talking. Always playing it safe. Attempts to be professional at the expense of constantly coming off as too serious then stepping back and acting silly to lighten the sore mood caused. Or the horrendous ego that surrounds. They are infectious like the plague, passing viral through blogs and images of society reflected back onto itself until it crawls back up into its own huge asshole. We talked of album art and I was told to trust someones opinion. What? I say. Expose me to some new and great idea. 'Brand yourself.' Never respected for buying onto a tour. Into a career as a musician. Buying new shirts. Lying to temporary girlfriends. The scum of the earth. How can I separate myself?
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a night for sleeping pills and sunny day real estate, avoiding sadness by confronting a darker night head on. soon to be passed out entirely. a repeated soundtrack to my nights rest. close that minds eyes and dream of pretty things. lose consciousness with beauty in mind
