sit here and say:
i got in the way i stopped the bastards from advancing for as long as i could
¶ 2:00 pm 0 Comments
australia is about as far away as you can get and the bastards went all that way just to build a dreamland version of the european nightmare
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i am already business oriented and i am not sure where it is that you are heading with this you want to work for a dream factory there are compromises to be made in order to turn the dream into an income i have been down that road before and i no longer want to make that compromise i am happy being poor so long as i can what i will i keep a trickle coming in to pay caesar what i owe him otherwise everything else is merely an opportunity and here i see Opportunity it is washing up against the door and thrown out to see
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those were the good times when my looks could pay for everything but looks don't last
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i am searching for that intensity that you gave me yesterday you know stick it deep inside cause I'm loose she's got a tv eye on me blow out the candles on my tvc15 it is getting warm in here the timber is not enough the crockery is not enough the napkins are not enough the table the vinyl the surface the intent extra small excess
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no fate but what we make passionless heaven perfect sound forever get in on it synchronize from afar technology has destroyed physical distance but that does not bring us any closer together doing the same thing at the same time always in a different place do you believe in sound and vision the ritual come spiritual traveling the astral thinking on you thinking on me
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back in the day the cat no worry because of the cow farts keeping the place warm but now it is all empty nothing but the mice and they are good eating but not good heating
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large puniest are not capitalist friendly not enough product turn around not enough driving around not enough running out of the parking lot not enough frenzy at the waste recycling management system centre got to burn something to keep these houses warm not to switch those brains on and work up a sweat power the screens to keep the eyes from blank canvas threatening to bring this whole precarious system of eternal growth favors for favors toppling down around us and who knows what these new thinkers would start planting in the minds of the strong of the day
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babes my happiness comes out of a dark place i am at every occasion ready for a funeral the emptiness inside is as wild as the silence above i don't want to watch the fireworks i want to be the fireworks and i accept that once i burn out i am done but so long as i burn then there is something of a saturn return going on here a peace with my childhood of revision
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fall asleep on the wet street and awake upon a raft of kindness. why move myself when i am already in paradise. i am dead. no need to die again.
¶ 8:02 pm 0 Comments
i am simply a user of people. the ultimate consumer; identify, purchase, use and discard. there was a place for you, a purpose, a consumer desire to be fulfilled, in that time and i got a hold of you like not many people can or will and used you like a tube of toothpaste and when i left there was no need for you any more, but now somehow you need me. so i don't think i am going back to venice this year.
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who would want to live with those two junkies? always problems with money and then between themselves something would spill out and over into a becoming my problem when i don't want it to be my problem at all. how is this my problem? oh thats right because you made it my problem. why do you not just look after your own problems rather than come running to me? i am not your here for you any more. we tried that, i got sick and fed up with your bullshit, i cannot see through the ideology and the escapisms. there is a sensitive soul underneath there that does not level out with my nihilistic tendencies.
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i am going soft. ever so slowly the slaves awake from the drugged stupor and realize they are going to die. all this time looking upon the animals and judging them to be ignorant had them wrapped in a bubble of complacency. the animals in turn looking upon the slaves recognized discontent in their doped faces. sometimes an animal would free a place, but it was mostly to naught. those born in captivity possessed a captive mind and were no freer simply by virtue of a body free of physical constraint.
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i am tracing my thoughts. trying not to cut and run. something i do so well. there is a bottle of bordeaux i could pick up on my way out with the blonde and the keys are with the valet.
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no frivolous time wasting. bollocks, plenty of the as well. spend the time doing thet which makes you happiest. so happens the shape is this one sitting here making soft imprints on paper with recurring symbols machined out accuracy transforming page into image.
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this is the machine upon which i get the proof copy down. line it up and belt it out with slight of hand and draft fingertips. bring the sensitivity down just a tad, i feel the space bar is a little out of control. a double bar at times and other times not. this here machine is a real quick off the bat no effort from the fingers required type bringing a real beat of beauty into the office. no need for those big armed farming girls to come in and slam the key from over yonder down on that erfurt olympia. no wear and tear on the nails with this machine, so polish those claws for the dashing movement of color up and over the keyboard. a learn by color affair. each finger a different shade of red. here is my my period of indecisiveness lurking in the doorway. get to know where your keys are and type in the dark lights out.
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we are running out of time. the proposition deadline is drawing ever nearer. i write the date on paper so i can free myself from the words and the words can free themselves from me. i am not the desirable constant nor the stable home maker. i am the mental equivalent to the wanderer. i snatch onto the little physical stability i can find as some sort of worldly anchor. but this is no proposition and the water boils.
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i am a white rabbit on an open field. threats to life come at me from every angle.
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you know it is time to pack up and go when the spark jumps down into your pants and burns a hole in your impotency
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there is this drunk sitting in mort street with this poor girl. he says i am the stranger. i scream at him, what are you thinking, this is nothing like the north coast you wally, they will stab you and rape her and steal anything worth taking from here. yeh you are probably right he murmurs. i have made a big mistake. i am alive. i am dead. no difference standing in the sand with the sun in my eyes.
¶ 2:00 pm 0 Comments