The world is shutting out for us,
says Young, too inebriated to exist,
As the foamy white delirium comes in the midst of tourists,
"Where are we going?" asked Time.
To the place we just left, says the world.
We're not enemies; we just disagree,
Ascorbic was the acid, when the leaders of nations,
Shouted for a call that was unanswered,
Because fire only works when it's beautiful,
When noise does not come into action.
Shh, I can't see the sunshine,
Alas, the tens start with empty,
"If the moon takes shade in the silhouette,
Then I have the excuse of no regrets"
says Hope.
And our children will burn,
Help the saboteur when he shies out his words,
To the reckless zeitgeist,
I leave for this spirit a sense of irresponsibility,
Thank you MTV.
Pretend to be nice, so I can be mean
All masks off, it's time for a parade,
No mascara's violated, no party charades,
I am with you the whole way,
Without having anything more to say,
says Change.
I've got a new view, it's you.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Nine Eleventh Blade
Owh, the razor maid,
That's why I called her,
I bet you'd pick him up,
Mess around with him,
If I put it down,
It gets extremely complicated,
Anything to forget everything.
Got to take me out,
At least once a week,
And they amend your arms,
While I'm at your feet,
I know exactly what you're thinking,
You won't say it now,
Cause in your heart it's gone.
Oh, no, my feelings are more important than yours,
Top that, I do care, I will worry,
There you go.
Oh the racer's blade,
Wish it would snap this road,
The world is in your hand,
Or it's at your throat,
At times it's not that complicated,
Anything and fucking everything.
He will never talk,
But he was not tough,
She was a street smart girl,
But she could not laugh,
They were perfect for each other,
Say it now,
Cause in your heart it's love.
Oh God, my feelings are more important than yours,
Drop dead, I don't care, I won't worry,
Hey..
Streamline,
Your tears are more imported with gold,
Of course.
Everyone you wanted,
Every way that we were different now,
I don't wanna know.
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
No....don't
Okay.
I just nod,
I've never been so good at shaking hands,
The frozen suck themselves with fireballs,
The cities come together,
To hate each other in the name of sport.
America,
Nothing is religious if you're keen.
I looked up to you,
But you thought I would look the other way.
And they'll hear,
What you wanna hear,
And they'll take,
What you wanna take.
Don't be sad,
We'll never have to like this anymore,
So when's it coming,
This glassless great moment that I can join.
You want him here,
Your faith has to be greater than your fear.
Believe me,
Even if they're right,
I'm sorry,
All the vultures,
Will leave the dancers all waiting,
You are lucky,
Forty more points to your mother,
Well they'll use you,
Trapped in anothe dimension.
Drop your guard,
You don't have to be smarter than the Time,
I got a mind full of banks,
I'm late to go somewhere fast,
And don't be shy,
Oh no, at least deliberately.
No one really cares when it's right anymore,
Oh I got music,
Coming out from my hands and feet and prison.
There is how,
And what was done,
All my dreams,
Has all gone wrong.
Forgive me,
Even if they are out of glory,
All the vouchers,
You left gazettes at the door, waiting,
We're so quick to,
Point out our own flaws in others,
Complicated,
Members on earth with the robots.
If you believe in this world,
You're gonna buy it...
But don't you pay.
That's why I called her,
I bet you'd pick him up,
Mess around with him,
If I put it down,
It gets extremely complicated,
Anything to forget everything.
Got to take me out,
At least once a week,
And they amend your arms,
While I'm at your feet,
I know exactly what you're thinking,
You won't say it now,
Cause in your heart it's gone.
Oh, no, my feelings are more important than yours,
Top that, I do care, I will worry,
There you go.
Oh the racer's blade,
Wish it would snap this road,
The world is in your hand,
Or it's at your throat,
At times it's not that complicated,
Anything and fucking everything.
He will never talk,
But he was not tough,
She was a street smart girl,
But she could not laugh,
They were perfect for each other,
Say it now,
Cause in your heart it's love.
Oh God, my feelings are more important than yours,
Drop dead, I don't care, I won't worry,
Hey..
Streamline,
Your tears are more imported with gold,
Of course.
Everyone you wanted,
Every way that we were different now,
I don't wanna know.
Tell me, tell me, tell me,
No....don't
Okay.
I just nod,
I've never been so good at shaking hands,
The frozen suck themselves with fireballs,
The cities come together,
To hate each other in the name of sport.
America,
Nothing is religious if you're keen.
I looked up to you,
But you thought I would look the other way.
And they'll hear,
What you wanna hear,
And they'll take,
What you wanna take.
Don't be sad,
We'll never have to like this anymore,
So when's it coming,
This glassless great moment that I can join.
You want him here,
Your faith has to be greater than your fear.
Believe me,
Even if they're right,
I'm sorry,
All the vultures,
Will leave the dancers all waiting,
You are lucky,
Forty more points to your mother,
Well they'll use you,
Trapped in anothe dimension.
Drop your guard,
You don't have to be smarter than the Time,
I got a mind full of banks,
I'm late to go somewhere fast,
And don't be shy,
Oh no, at least deliberately.
No one really cares when it's right anymore,
Oh I got music,
Coming out from my hands and feet and prison.
There is how,
And what was done,
All my dreams,
Has all gone wrong.
Forgive me,
Even if they are out of glory,
All the vouchers,
You left gazettes at the door, waiting,
We're so quick to,
Point out our own flaws in others,
Complicated,
Members on earth with the robots.
If you believe in this world,
You're gonna buy it...
But don't you pay.
Monday, December 14, 2009
More of a Mirror
More of a mirror
Black as the sea,
In the night of Marina,
Holding the feet,
Of bagels and rehearsals,
Back to the frame,
I hold out the keys,
To ask you your name.
More of a mirror,
Less of a reflection,
Because you're not who I want to be.
Gilded in singers,
Gilded in fragile thoughts,
Of a breadwinner,
Leaving it all to merlions and facts,
So sad,
So sad,
That we made it bad.
More of a mirror,
Economically proven,
When we were bored in time,
And time was bored with us,
And the sentence,
Seemed like a zombie's vow,
To be alive and well,
When you come back I will,
Say.
More of a mirror,
You were the sun,
Green-eyed one,
Of spectacles,
And cellulite,
Hotel lobbies at night,
Watching people fight,
Over drinks,
They wore in pride.
More of a mirror.
White, empty, nothingness.
More of a mirror of a sign.
More of a mirror,
You make me so mad,
What about the guns you leave,
On the vacant bed,
What of the sightless fiend,
Oh,
Oh, why do you sound so mean?
More of a mirror,
You broke my heart,
You made me forget about,
Alleys incandescent's part,
When it came to the last one,
The last food to eat,
The last confounded teacher,
On hopeless needs.
Oh more of a mirror,
More of a silence,
More of a car.
Less of a kind one,
Less than the ones who,
Who couldn't get far.
I love you,
When there's nothing better to do,
Isn't that the world,
Was made for this evening.
The verdant looks,
You gave was for fists to shook,
And time was not well,
That time I was not well,
But the smile in the sea,
Was as black as the trees.
Isn't it great,
When tides contemplate,
Over jackets made of cotton,
And blue.
I might not see colours,
But I can sure feel you.
Oh, more of a mirror,
I think I do.
Black as the sea,
In the night of Marina,
Holding the feet,
Of bagels and rehearsals,
Back to the frame,
I hold out the keys,
To ask you your name.
More of a mirror,
Less of a reflection,
Because you're not who I want to be.
Gilded in singers,
Gilded in fragile thoughts,
Of a breadwinner,
Leaving it all to merlions and facts,
So sad,
So sad,
That we made it bad.
More of a mirror,
Economically proven,
When we were bored in time,
And time was bored with us,
And the sentence,
Seemed like a zombie's vow,
To be alive and well,
When you come back I will,
Say.
More of a mirror,
You were the sun,
Green-eyed one,
Of spectacles,
And cellulite,
Hotel lobbies at night,
Watching people fight,
Over drinks,
They wore in pride.
More of a mirror.
White, empty, nothingness.
More of a mirror of a sign.
More of a mirror,
You make me so mad,
What about the guns you leave,
On the vacant bed,
What of the sightless fiend,
Oh,
Oh, why do you sound so mean?
More of a mirror,
You broke my heart,
You made me forget about,
Alleys incandescent's part,
When it came to the last one,
The last food to eat,
The last confounded teacher,
On hopeless needs.
Oh more of a mirror,
More of a silence,
More of a car.
Less of a kind one,
Less than the ones who,
Who couldn't get far.
I love you,
When there's nothing better to do,
Isn't that the world,
Was made for this evening.
The verdant looks,
You gave was for fists to shook,
And time was not well,
That time I was not well,
But the smile in the sea,
Was as black as the trees.
Isn't it great,
When tides contemplate,
Over jackets made of cotton,
And blue.
I might not see colours,
But I can sure feel you.
Oh, more of a mirror,
I think I do.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Mary Ante Meridien
In such a destitute form of being, I woke up in the sunlight of noon.
Dah jadi satu perkara biasa, kan? Nak buat apa.
With such reminiscence of unpleasant facts, the end year is currently the thing everyone looks to for consolation.
And like a machismo, sex-hungry soulmate it disappoints.
I'm not sure what I look to nowadays, for an emotional refuge that is.
I remembered feeling suppressed.
And I remembered the catharsis that came with it's dissipation.
As the holidays bunk over in existence, a cliche of getting inebriated at night and having a blast but regretting it the next day, I soon feel like my life is on a day-to-day basis.
Even plans that were made for the future, only seemed like a self-satisfactory attempt of fulfilling an otherwise incoherent passerby called Present.
It's great how things, when you don't plan them, just to seem fall apart.
And you feel like it had everything to do with you.
4 years ago, I never would've thought that there would be any thing coming back to life, nudging me, reminding me, that will all of these memories packed in the closet..
When you're on a turn-point, it's all going to fall apart.
Meeting long lost affinities.
Flicking through albums of places.
Places my feet has never reminded me yet, that I've ever stepped on the godforsaken ground.
Forgetting is a blessing.
Because when you remember, it feels like a new house bought on mortgage.
It's never actually yours.
There are times when the inside of my head just seem to melt in the form of sweat.
Baik di tandas, mahupun di litar lumba lari.
Creativity outputs has just oscillated between random punk outbursts or golden baritone ode to lackadaisical endeavors.
I used to think that I've had random depressions below sea level because I was uninspired.
But now that I'm actually in the vicinity of whims, I'm still feeling deprived.
Which is good.
Because now I feel like a drunk Karen O on a drug called Epiphany
Yes that had to be this blog's first ever graphic imagery.
"For a fucked son, you suck"
Who else on earth can get away with lyrics like that, but her?
You see, I'm turning 17. And it's pretty obvious when you put it in perspective.
I've lost all of the feeling that comes with nonchalance.
i.e. the lack of feeling
Every second I pretend not to care becomes a second that I wish I did.
As the new weaves it's web around me,
And the old becomes spiders of greed.
Now back to business.
Who On Earth Chose THIS:
(No not you Jon Foreman, the song you're covering)
AS THE SONG OF THE BLESSED NOUGHTIES MAN.
As the comment of an honest music lover goes
"THIS IS THE BEST SOUND OF THE 2000's? The 2000's suck"
Actually I'm not one to get frustrated about this, NME has always had a sense of humor.
I mean, despite the awful choice for the Best Track of the Decade.
They certainly pulled it off with their Album of the Decade list.
(Jules has a certain sense of humor really)
And you can't have a better of sense of judgment than Nik Aziz choosing Raihan as the album of the century.
(Allah yang satu, Raihan album nombor satu, apa-apa jelah. Janji bukan 1 Malaysia sudah)
(Ohhhh yeah. Men In Black)
Masyaallah.
Anyways, so go figure? The Strokes? A band named after a pre-act of foreplay?
No surprise really, without the Strokes, a lot of bands nowadays won't even exist. When the musical world was desolate with zeitgeist. Enough only to make a few preteen girls and prepubescent boys go excited.
When post-grunge and Linkin Park was the only (sad) thing Mr. Rock had.
(See? Desolate)
And then frizzy-haired men play with their garage toys just subconsciously wishing the world would change.
These toys become musical instruments.
And the frizzy haired men become geniuses.
The man as the O became the originator of the Noughties revivalism of ______ generations.
In fact, Julian Casablancas did it much better than Johnny Rotten or Ramones when it came to establishing punk.
The drumline of Hard To Explain became the launchpad for other garage residents to go "It's OUR TIME TO BE HATED"
Lines such as "Don't stop me now if I'm going too fast" and "My feelings are more important than yours" speak for the streets.
And that's appropriate, cause the streets is where revolutions are instigated.
(I'm pregnant!)
Not from teenage prepubescents who think boobs are awesome.
(WHAT IN CARNATIONS THIS THING IS A FREAKING MIRROR)
Country music lovers.
(Mmmm...Britney Spears here we come)
Or even fans of dancing slurry mongoloids.
You can see how much music has changed. Mo-top, suited up, John Paul George and Ringo replaced by denim-cladded, electricifying-bland dos of Valensi, Fab, Jules, Nikolai and Albert Hammond Jr.
'The Strokes didn't invade America though, they invaded the world.
Proof?
The jangly rhythmic influenza of Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr spreads all the way to OUR MOTHERLAND MAN.
And to add to that, what is up with that drawl? Reminds you of Jules outright "I-can-sing-in-whatever-drowsy-tone-I-Jim-Morrison-*yawn*" vocals huh?
Here's a comparison if u're interested.
And as they say "The End Has No End", so we'll just wait for whatever the creative infinities will think up of in the next ten years.
My three initials is NME, and yours is KBS or MTV
Either way, let's all get along before the world pays it's credit to Emmerich.
I'm actually proud that I watched 2012.
The epic symbolism despite the overindulgence of special effects.
It's the same reason why people watch Transformers
The fact that somehow in someway, everything is relevant to Megan Fox.
[Picture of Fox not available due to the lack of blandness and anti-climactic pictures of her]
[God was just bragging]
[Stupid Christian fad line]
And thus the forever-seeming days of dusty lodges has actually ended.
The same old rugby field scenery I grew to love.
The wide expanse of nothingness everyone seems to ignore,
Thus they never look above.
Alam Shah was a fucking riot.
And just as I came to realise that I have only one year left of studying there.
It became truth, to know that going there seemed like an actualisation of all of my artistic dreams.
Of desperate, harsh and loud hoi polloi beneath star-lit fields of ever gray.
Too bad I don't take pictures.
Anyways, apologies for being such a musical journalist today.
To compensate here's a rainy storm poetry of bland ecstasy.
As the wind turn wins,
Into London lonely hearts,
Oh the warmth in the ice,
Swept me into your arms,
Was it love,
Or fear of the cold,
That led us through the night,
For every mist,
Your beauty trump my pride.
And my hat told my dart,
Let love go,
And my pond told my band,
This time no,
This time no.
We'll be washed and married one day,
My God,
And the tide we were given,
Will be left for the birds,
The flesh that lived and loved,
Will be eaten by sand,
So let the memories,
Be good for those who stain.
And my pen told my card,
Let love go,
And my card told my pen,
This I know,
Yes my hand told my heart,
This time no.
And the shame that left me off,
For the world that I once love,
Was the same that send me into your house,
Holding pastel, holding guns,
When you are lost,
And I am gone,
And no hope,
No hope will ever come.
But if your strife,
Strikes out your sleep,
Remember swings,
In soulful leaves,
You'll be happy,
And wholesome again,
When the city sinks,
Inside the sand.
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my hand,
This I know,
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my head,
This time no,
This time no.
And Mary had a dream about sails again,
Of copper trees and copper friends,
And the evil laugh they come too soon,
For Mary comes before noon.
Dah jadi satu perkara biasa, kan? Nak buat apa.
With such reminiscence of unpleasant facts, the end year is currently the thing everyone looks to for consolation.
And like a machismo, sex-hungry soulmate it disappoints.
I'm not sure what I look to nowadays, for an emotional refuge that is.
I remembered feeling suppressed.
And I remembered the catharsis that came with it's dissipation.
As the holidays bunk over in existence, a cliche of getting inebriated at night and having a blast but regretting it the next day, I soon feel like my life is on a day-to-day basis.
Even plans that were made for the future, only seemed like a self-satisfactory attempt of fulfilling an otherwise incoherent passerby called Present.
It's great how things, when you don't plan them, just to seem fall apart.
And you feel like it had everything to do with you.
4 years ago, I never would've thought that there would be any thing coming back to life, nudging me, reminding me, that will all of these memories packed in the closet..
When you're on a turn-point, it's all going to fall apart.
Meeting long lost affinities.
Flicking through albums of places.
Places my feet has never reminded me yet, that I've ever stepped on the godforsaken ground.
Forgetting is a blessing.
Because when you remember, it feels like a new house bought on mortgage.
It's never actually yours.
There are times when the inside of my head just seem to melt in the form of sweat.
Baik di tandas, mahupun di litar lumba lari.
Creativity outputs has just oscillated between random punk outbursts or golden baritone ode to lackadaisical endeavors.
I used to think that I've had random depressions below sea level because I was uninspired.
But now that I'm actually in the vicinity of whims, I'm still feeling deprived.
Which is good.
Because now I feel like a drunk Karen O on a drug called Epiphany
Yes that had to be this blog's first ever graphic imagery."For a fucked son, you suck"
Who else on earth can get away with lyrics like that, but her?
You see, I'm turning 17. And it's pretty obvious when you put it in perspective.
I've lost all of the feeling that comes with nonchalance.
i.e. the lack of feeling
Every second I pretend not to care becomes a second that I wish I did.
As the new weaves it's web around me,
And the old becomes spiders of greed.
Now back to business.
Who On Earth Chose THIS:
(No not you Jon Foreman, the song you're covering)
AS THE SONG OF THE BLESSED NOUGHTIES MAN.
As the comment of an honest music lover goes
"THIS IS THE BEST SOUND OF THE 2000's? The 2000's suck"
Actually I'm not one to get frustrated about this, NME has always had a sense of humor.
I mean, despite the awful choice for the Best Track of the Decade.
They certainly pulled it off with their Album of the Decade list.
(Jules has a certain sense of humor really)And you can't have a better of sense of judgment than Nik Aziz choosing Raihan as the album of the century.
(Allah yang satu, Raihan album nombor satu, apa-apa jelah. Janji bukan 1 Malaysia sudah)
(Ohhhh yeah. Men In Black)Masyaallah.
Anyways, so go figure? The Strokes? A band named after a pre-act of foreplay?
No surprise really, without the Strokes, a lot of bands nowadays won't even exist. When the musical world was desolate with zeitgeist. Enough only to make a few preteen girls and prepubescent boys go excited.
When post-grunge and Linkin Park was the only (sad) thing Mr. Rock had.
(See? Desolate)And then frizzy-haired men play with their garage toys just subconsciously wishing the world would change.
These toys become musical instruments.
And the frizzy haired men become geniuses.
The man as the O became the originator of the Noughties revivalism of ______ generations.In fact, Julian Casablancas did it much better than Johnny Rotten or Ramones when it came to establishing punk.
The drumline of Hard To Explain became the launchpad for other garage residents to go "It's OUR TIME TO BE HATED"
Lines such as "Don't stop me now if I'm going too fast" and "My feelings are more important than yours" speak for the streets.
And that's appropriate, cause the streets is where revolutions are instigated.
(I'm pregnant!)Not from teenage prepubescents who think boobs are awesome.
(WHAT IN CARNATIONS THIS THING IS A FREAKING MIRROR)Country music lovers.
(Mmmm...Britney Spears here we come)Or even fans of dancing slurry mongoloids.
You can see how much music has changed. Mo-top, suited up, John Paul George and Ringo replaced by denim-cladded, electricifying-bland dos of Valensi, Fab, Jules, Nikolai and Albert Hammond Jr.
'The Strokes didn't invade America though, they invaded the world.
Proof?
The jangly rhythmic influenza of Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr spreads all the way to OUR MOTHERLAND MAN.And to add to that, what is up with that drawl? Reminds you of Jules outright "I-can-sing-in-whatever-drowsy-tone-I-Jim-Morrison-*yawn*" vocals huh?
Here's a comparison if u're interested.
And as they say "The End Has No End", so we'll just wait for whatever the creative infinities will think up of in the next ten years.
My three initials is NME, and yours is KBS or MTV
Either way, let's all get along before the world pays it's credit to Emmerich.
I'm actually proud that I watched 2012.The epic symbolism despite the overindulgence of special effects.
It's the same reason why people watch Transformers
The fact that somehow in someway, everything is relevant to Megan Fox.
[Picture of Fox not available due to the lack of blandness and anti-climactic pictures of her]
[God was just bragging][Stupid Christian fad line]
And thus the forever-seeming days of dusty lodges has actually ended.
The same old rugby field scenery I grew to love.
The wide expanse of nothingness everyone seems to ignore,
Thus they never look above.
Alam Shah was a fucking riot.
And just as I came to realise that I have only one year left of studying there.
It became truth, to know that going there seemed like an actualisation of all of my artistic dreams.
Of desperate, harsh and loud hoi polloi beneath star-lit fields of ever gray.
Too bad I don't take pictures.
Anyways, apologies for being such a musical journalist today.
To compensate here's a rainy storm poetry of bland ecstasy.
As the wind turn wins,
Into London lonely hearts,
Oh the warmth in the ice,
Swept me into your arms,
Was it love,
Or fear of the cold,
That led us through the night,
For every mist,
Your beauty trump my pride.
And my hat told my dart,
Let love go,
And my pond told my band,
This time no,
This time no.
We'll be washed and married one day,
My God,
And the tide we were given,
Will be left for the birds,
The flesh that lived and loved,
Will be eaten by sand,
So let the memories,
Be good for those who stain.
And my pen told my card,
Let love go,
And my card told my pen,
This I know,
Yes my hand told my heart,
This time no.
And the shame that left me off,
For the world that I once love,
Was the same that send me into your house,
Holding pastel, holding guns,
When you are lost,
And I am gone,
And no hope,
No hope will ever come.
But if your strife,
Strikes out your sleep,
Remember swings,
In soulful leaves,
You'll be happy,
And wholesome again,
When the city sinks,
Inside the sand.
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my hand,
This I know,
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my head,
This time no,
This time no.
And Mary had a dream about sails again,
Of copper trees and copper friends,
And the evil laugh they come too soon,
For Mary comes before noon.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
The World Engulfs
In the colorful bushes of Aunt Em's garden there were pixies of many arrays.
Striped to the crevices of their bones,
Whom children claim to own as much as themselves.
In the skies of Eden and the scarred deformities of a jet stream wind,
There was Boy, and then there was Girl.
Moving as it was, in an Oscillation of Perception.
Where one views the other a madman, whilst the other takes the person beside him a friend,
Of innocent intentions.
"I can see that he says what he means"
It was an age of development,
A time of pretty pretend,
A time of small hands building big ideas,
Of playing Doctor in the sandbox of yesteryears.
And then when it all goes into the fire furnace,
And the Oscillation of Perception still plays it's game of life.
Girl looks up at the night sky and thinks that the cobwebs would care to cover the smile she was giving,
To no one.
No one but the stars,
No one but the scrapped knee of a morning dew sky.
Of falling off bicycles,
And, and, and hoping to climb back up trees that were once subjects of chide.
Now enemies of pride.
"Biting just tongues"
And then the Trees Of Fall, there was.
A red, yellow, brown holocaust.
For when the roots were never sick,
For then the greens will grow,
To replace it.
To replace it.
"When a leaf falls from a cherry, who knows, someone might just care about it"
War poetry carved on doorways grown old.
"When All I Wanna See Is The End Of This"
The intoxicating puerility of carelessness sends his regards.
Striped to the crevices of their bones,
Whom children claim to own as much as themselves.
In the skies of Eden and the scarred deformities of a jet stream wind,
There was Boy, and then there was Girl.
Moving as it was, in an Oscillation of Perception.
Where one views the other a madman, whilst the other takes the person beside him a friend,
Of innocent intentions.
"I can see that he says what he means"
It was an age of development,
A time of pretty pretend,
A time of small hands building big ideas,
Of playing Doctor in the sandbox of yesteryears.
And then when it all goes into the fire furnace,
And the Oscillation of Perception still plays it's game of life.
Girl looks up at the night sky and thinks that the cobwebs would care to cover the smile she was giving,
To no one.
No one but the stars,
No one but the scrapped knee of a morning dew sky.
Of falling off bicycles,
And, and, and hoping to climb back up trees that were once subjects of chide.
Now enemies of pride.
"Biting just tongues"
And then the Trees Of Fall, there was.
A red, yellow, brown holocaust.
For when the roots were never sick,
For then the greens will grow,
To replace it.
To replace it.
"When a leaf falls from a cherry, who knows, someone might just care about it"
War poetry carved on doorways grown old.
"When All I Wanna See Is The End Of This"
The intoxicating puerility of carelessness sends his regards.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Rough Flowers
Walking on water,
Singing in signs,
I'm leaving you whether,
You like it or find,
It hard to believe,
I don't want to conceive.
This time it's serious,
This time it's gone to dogs,
It blooms like Caribbean suns in the dark,
Waking to the sounds of bombs,
Living in a plastic concscious.
For why I crave for resistance,
I don't know,
Like a road in decisions,
Like the road I am leaving.
To be craving, for virtual loops,
Of fun.
Woah, why do you feel so contemplative,
It's such a disregard to our catechist mentality,
Or rough flowers growing in deserts, winter, blights of volcanoes,
And we'll stand and you know why.
Singing in signs,
I'm leaving you whether,
You like it or find,
It hard to believe,
I don't want to conceive.
This time it's serious,
This time it's gone to dogs,
It blooms like Caribbean suns in the dark,
Waking to the sounds of bombs,
Living in a plastic concscious.
For why I crave for resistance,
I don't know,
Like a road in decisions,
Like the road I am leaving.
To be craving, for virtual loops,
Of fun.
Woah, why do you feel so contemplative,
It's such a disregard to our catechist mentality,
Or rough flowers growing in deserts, winter, blights of volcanoes,
And we'll stand and you know why.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Wei, Why You Don't Eat Pig La? (Welcome)
Hi, my name is Robert Gustavez.
And I'm an ex-drug addict.
My life used to be in ruins, I was always at a lost.
I was in the hood, ese. Where they shoot people for no reason.
I skipped school, I disappointed my gramps.
I've never been a prefect.
So when I was 16 I turned to nicotine.
But then everyone was doing it.
Everyone hated me.
So I stopped doing it.
But then I founded something better.
I founded the heebee-jeebees.
But that's not the point.
The point is, I was miserable.
But then one day when I was doing time in the block, some nigga went up to me and talked about politics.
"JESUS WILL SAVE YOUR SOUL"
"Man you must be kidding me, ain't no one gonna get me into parole"
"SON, YOU ARE LOST IN THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, COME JOIN THE FAITH OF THE MAN THAT SACRIFICED FOR YOUR SINS"
I was reluctant at first, but then I went to sleep and dreamed.
That I saw the Father.
And that's when I thought, Holy Father, I am a believer.
And I stopped taking drugs.
*
This program was brought to you by, Apple Inc. We're better than PC because we organize charities.
Hello, this is me speaking.
Yes, I opened up my blog for everyone to see.
You know, usually the orthodoxy of it is that people would usually publicize their previously restricted blog because they start to write about decent and perceivable things.
Well, if you've been a reader of my old blogs before, you should know that I don't..associate myself...with...orthodoxy.
Or any other church for that matter.
You see for these past few days, I've been going through "born-again-Christian" moments at odd occassions.
Sometimes when I eat, most of the time when I lie on my bed.
And even when I'm paying attention in class.
To all Christians really, I have no intention in offending you guys. I don't know even know any Orthodox, just Catholics, Protestants, Reluctants, and Subservients.
I just want, for once, the internet to be a place where people actually discuss their problems with the world.
Because really, the internet has now become a place of distractions. A haven where you can go to escape from questions you'd normally ask yourself if you were bored.
Like you'd be watching the news, becoming the audience of millions of death and famine. And then suddenly you'd forget all about it when your doorbell rings, and the pizza man comes to deliver your extra-large.
Or when you log on to facebook.
Join the "I Hate School" Club now.
So why do people fight wars? Do you believe everything they tell you on TV?
Do you know what they're fighting for out there in Israel?
Do you know why the Somalians are so angry?
Do you know why people even started the anti-ISA riots in the first place?
Do you give a shit about Malay rights?
Nope, you just feed off the debris they give you. Music, fashion, palatables, social networking sites.
And expect to get away with life just like that.
Don't you think someone is going to take advantage of you, and do whatever they want behind the parliamentary desks?
C'mon man, be an actual citizen. And not someone who asks for subsidies.
I can guarantee you, this blog is going to be bloody.
But whatever I write, the good things are from God, and the bad things are from me.
Oh, and if you were wondering, yes there's a CBox.
You are free to ask any questions, criticize me anyway you like, and we can all be brothers in the MACC prison.
I'd love to have your number too.
And I'm an ex-drug addict.
My life used to be in ruins, I was always at a lost.
I was in the hood, ese. Where they shoot people for no reason.
I skipped school, I disappointed my gramps.
I've never been a prefect.
So when I was 16 I turned to nicotine.
But then everyone was doing it.
Everyone hated me.
So I stopped doing it.
But then I founded something better.
I founded the heebee-jeebees.
But that's not the point.
The point is, I was miserable.
But then one day when I was doing time in the block, some nigga went up to me and talked about politics.
"JESUS WILL SAVE YOUR SOUL"
"Man you must be kidding me, ain't no one gonna get me into parole"
"SON, YOU ARE LOST IN THE BRINK OF DESTRUCTION, COME JOIN THE FAITH OF THE MAN THAT SACRIFICED FOR YOUR SINS"
I was reluctant at first, but then I went to sleep and dreamed.
That I saw the Father.
And that's when I thought, Holy Father, I am a believer.
And I stopped taking drugs.
*
This program was brought to you by, Apple Inc. We're better than PC because we organize charities.
Hello, this is me speaking.
Yes, I opened up my blog for everyone to see.
You know, usually the orthodoxy of it is that people would usually publicize their previously restricted blog because they start to write about decent and perceivable things.
Well, if you've been a reader of my old blogs before, you should know that I don't..associate myself...with...orthodoxy.
Or any other church for that matter.
You see for these past few days, I've been going through "born-again-Christian" moments at odd occassions.
Sometimes when I eat, most of the time when I lie on my bed.
And even when I'm paying attention in class.
To all Christians really, I have no intention in offending you guys. I don't know even know any Orthodox, just Catholics, Protestants, Reluctants, and Subservients.
I just want, for once, the internet to be a place where people actually discuss their problems with the world.
Because really, the internet has now become a place of distractions. A haven where you can go to escape from questions you'd normally ask yourself if you were bored.
Like you'd be watching the news, becoming the audience of millions of death and famine. And then suddenly you'd forget all about it when your doorbell rings, and the pizza man comes to deliver your extra-large.
Or when you log on to facebook.
Join the "I Hate School" Club now.
So why do people fight wars? Do you believe everything they tell you on TV?
Do you know what they're fighting for out there in Israel?
Do you know why the Somalians are so angry?
Do you know why people even started the anti-ISA riots in the first place?
Do you give a shit about Malay rights?
Nope, you just feed off the debris they give you. Music, fashion, palatables, social networking sites.
And expect to get away with life just like that.
Don't you think someone is going to take advantage of you, and do whatever they want behind the parliamentary desks?
C'mon man, be an actual citizen. And not someone who asks for subsidies.
I can guarantee you, this blog is going to be bloody.
But whatever I write, the good things are from God, and the bad things are from me.
Oh, and if you were wondering, yes there's a CBox.
You are free to ask any questions, criticize me anyway you like, and we can all be brothers in the MACC prison.
I'd love to have your number too.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Riots Remembering You
I remember your hell,
At a heartbreak hotel,
You were talking,
So bravely, so sweetly,
Leaving us sad,
On the unmade bed,
While the figurines wait in the streets.
Those were the prisons,
That was New York,
We were running for the money,
And the flesh,
That was called love,
For the workers in thought,
Probably still is,
For those of them left.
Oh, but you fall away,
Didn't you say,
You would turn your back on the clouds,
You fell away,
I never wanted you today,
I miss you,
I don't miss you,
I miss you,
I don't miss you,
And all of the gun-cladded clowns...
I remembered to tell,
At the secondly bell,
You were famous,
Your scar was a legend,
You told me again,
You'd prefer a handsome man,
But for me yo would make an exception.
Oh, clenching your fist,
For those like us,
You were oppressed by the picture of beauty,
You fixed your mask and said,
"Well never mind,
We are ugly,
But we've got the music"
Oh, when you ran away,
Killing me babe,
You just turned your back on the crowd,
You ran away,
I never wanted you to stay,
I'd leave you,
I won't leave you,
I'd leave you,
I won't leave you....
And all of that dancing around...
I don't mean to suggest,
That I love you the best,
You can keep track of each falling German,
I remember your hell,
At the heartbreak hotel,
That's all,
I don't even think of you that often...
At a heartbreak hotel,
You were talking,
So bravely, so sweetly,
Leaving us sad,
On the unmade bed,
While the figurines wait in the streets.
Those were the prisons,
That was New York,
We were running for the money,
And the flesh,
That was called love,
For the workers in thought,
Probably still is,
For those of them left.
Oh, but you fall away,
Didn't you say,
You would turn your back on the clouds,
You fell away,
I never wanted you today,
I miss you,
I don't miss you,
I miss you,
I don't miss you,
And all of the gun-cladded clowns...
I remembered to tell,
At the secondly bell,
You were famous,
Your scar was a legend,
You told me again,
You'd prefer a handsome man,
But for me yo would make an exception.
Oh, clenching your fist,
For those like us,
You were oppressed by the picture of beauty,
You fixed your mask and said,
"Well never mind,
We are ugly,
But we've got the music"
Oh, when you ran away,
Killing me babe,
You just turned your back on the crowd,
You ran away,
I never wanted you to stay,
I'd leave you,
I won't leave you,
I'd leave you,
I won't leave you....
And all of that dancing around...
I don't mean to suggest,
That I love you the best,
You can keep track of each falling German,
I remember your hell,
At the heartbreak hotel,
That's all,
I don't even think of you that often...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The Road Not Long Enough
Just a bike ride,
In the night,
Where the animals follow the light,
To find shelter,
To find hope,
Like the razor in time for the angry man's dope.
And the moonlight,
Is countered,
By eyes.
And she waits under the trees,
The stars following me,
And the world wears a mask,
With balloons at each ends,
And the task,
To professionally pretend.
The lake was gone,
And the sea was invalid,
I told her to look for a key,
A sign,
A ballad.
You're drowning,
But you can't swim.
A gritty remark,
Am I that dim?
And then a war ensues,
Between dissatisfaction,
And moths do wait,
In orderless actions,
And you leave me,
With a doubt,
Or a growing sense of decision.
Somebody is in your arms now,
Somebody else seeks out your throat,
And that somebody,
Is the body,
Of reflections,
On that lake.
Because the key,
And the sign,
And the ballad,
Is an angel,
That you ridicule.
And angel,
That I took,
To be you.
And the stars all agree,
That the leaves,
And the veins,
Made up of copper terrains,
Are a nightmare.
As the bike ride,
Of the night,
Ends,
With me there.
And the wolves,
Like the squirrels,
Stalk the arms of endearment,
Like elation,
Like a rogue.
Like a nation of hungry frogs.
In the night,
Where the animals follow the light,
To find shelter,
To find hope,
Like the razor in time for the angry man's dope.
And the moonlight,
Is countered,
By eyes.
And she waits under the trees,
The stars following me,
And the world wears a mask,
With balloons at each ends,
And the task,
To professionally pretend.
The lake was gone,
And the sea was invalid,
I told her to look for a key,
A sign,
A ballad.
You're drowning,
But you can't swim.
A gritty remark,
Am I that dim?
And then a war ensues,
Between dissatisfaction,
And moths do wait,
In orderless actions,
And you leave me,
With a doubt,
Or a growing sense of decision.
Somebody is in your arms now,
Somebody else seeks out your throat,
And that somebody,
Is the body,
Of reflections,
On that lake.
Because the key,
And the sign,
And the ballad,
Is an angel,
That you ridicule.
And angel,
That I took,
To be you.
And the stars all agree,
That the leaves,
And the veins,
Made up of copper terrains,
Are a nightmare.
As the bike ride,
Of the night,
Ends,
With me there.
And the wolves,
Like the squirrels,
Stalk the arms of endearment,
Like elation,
Like a rogue.
Like a nation of hungry frogs.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Trip To Nebraska
I was on my way home,
The telephone lines,
Were my stream,
Was my dream,
Even a plastic foam.
The sun was always with me,
But then so is everyone,
The clouds they hide behind,
The things they keep in mind,
When things are just a little lost at sea.
I thought it would be easy,
Just like the other day,
When I lost my bayonet,
To the lady in grey,
When I didn't have anything to say.
A trip to Nebraska.
I wanted to leave you,
But you were always by the roadsides,
Waving back at me,
When I long to be,
What I wanted to leave.
And you told me to reason,
Of butterflies and prisms,
To make love of everything,
But I was thinking too much,
I was conscious of the fact,
That I've lost my touch.
What do you see from Hawaii,
Looking into the wooden box,
Of bombers and tanks,
Of leaders in ranks,
Of commercials in boxes too.
I wanted to be with you,
But then I got angry,
And I dropped the cynic off the hills,
And I was trying to make truce.
But you see what's wrong,
Of me trying to write a song,
Is the fact that I'm trying,
That I'm trying to belong.
End.
The telephone lines,
Were my stream,
Was my dream,
Even a plastic foam.
The sun was always with me,
But then so is everyone,
The clouds they hide behind,
The things they keep in mind,
When things are just a little lost at sea.
I thought it would be easy,
Just like the other day,
When I lost my bayonet,
To the lady in grey,
When I didn't have anything to say.
A trip to Nebraska.
I wanted to leave you,
But you were always by the roadsides,
Waving back at me,
When I long to be,
What I wanted to leave.
And you told me to reason,
Of butterflies and prisms,
To make love of everything,
But I was thinking too much,
I was conscious of the fact,
That I've lost my touch.
What do you see from Hawaii,
Looking into the wooden box,
Of bombers and tanks,
Of leaders in ranks,
Of commercials in boxes too.
I wanted to be with you,
But then I got angry,
And I dropped the cynic off the hills,
And I was trying to make truce.
But you see what's wrong,
Of me trying to write a song,
Is the fact that I'm trying,
That I'm trying to belong.
End.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Help I'm Alive (Chaos Theory) [The Party]
Vacuum of doubt, of change, of delirium, of love, of serendipity, of the face in the mirror.
Vivaldi. January 22. 1974
His sleeves was tucked in the most unusual way. Was there a battle to prepare for? Amidst the rave, the carpet dance floor?
I was the man on the island. The crowd was my sea. Salty was their demeanor, but helpless were their waves. I couldn't think of a better night to think.
And then he walked up to me with a glass of colada.
"Have you passed the suitcase?"
"....yes. But I'm not sure if we've got the right location"
I remembered it clearly. The grin he hid inside the mask of empathy. There was no modus operandi to this mission. It only had a goal.
"...and we've done everything possible to get it"
"How bout the owner of this place?"
"He's drugged"
I locked myself in the bathroom after that conversation. One was for the taming of adrenaline. The other was the goal. It was to happen here.
Oh Allah, I am afraid. I am afraid and doubtful. Don't let me be the accomplice of Shaitan.
Could I have materialize such a thought, I would.
Could I have stopped the whole atrocity, I would.
Could I have answered the door, I would.
"Open the damn door!"
But I couldn't.
"Hey, it'd be all over soon"
"What will be over? I don't like the sound of that. Na-ah"
There was that empathy again
"Yarhamukallah"
My mind was dislodged of it's altar. Time was immaterial. Life was immaterial. I was material.
That means it will hurt
Soft voices. Like breeze in a nuclear reactor.
"You have the trigger, Simon"
Blood ran cold. There was nothing else to interpret. Except for a resounding din of "No other....God....Muhammad"
I'm in a toilet. God forbid this will be my grave.
And the door was still being hammered at that time.
It was all wired. The sewers, the argon lighting. I didn't know why I was there.
"YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THERE. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. YOU ARE IN A CRAZY CONSPIRACY. NO ONE 'NEEDS' YOU. A PROP. THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE"
Vivaldi. January 22. 1974
His sleeves was tucked in the most unusual way. Was there a battle to prepare for? Amidst the rave, the carpet dance floor?
I was the man on the island. The crowd was my sea. Salty was their demeanor, but helpless were their waves. I couldn't think of a better night to think.
And then he walked up to me with a glass of colada.
"Have you passed the suitcase?"
"....yes. But I'm not sure if we've got the right location"
I remembered it clearly. The grin he hid inside the mask of empathy. There was no modus operandi to this mission. It only had a goal.
"...and we've done everything possible to get it"
"How bout the owner of this place?"
"He's drugged"
I locked myself in the bathroom after that conversation. One was for the taming of adrenaline. The other was the goal. It was to happen here.
Oh Allah, I am afraid. I am afraid and doubtful. Don't let me be the accomplice of Shaitan.
Could I have materialize such a thought, I would.
Could I have stopped the whole atrocity, I would.
Could I have answered the door, I would.
"Open the damn door!"
But I couldn't.
"Hey, it'd be all over soon"
"What will be over? I don't like the sound of that. Na-ah"
There was that empathy again
"Yarhamukallah"
My mind was dislodged of it's altar. Time was immaterial. Life was immaterial. I was material.
That means it will hurt
Soft voices. Like breeze in a nuclear reactor.
"You have the trigger, Simon"
Blood ran cold. There was nothing else to interpret. Except for a resounding din of "No other....God....Muhammad"
I'm in a toilet. God forbid this will be my grave.
And the door was still being hammered at that time.
It was all wired. The sewers, the argon lighting. I didn't know why I was there.
"YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THERE. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. YOU ARE IN A CRAZY CONSPIRACY. NO ONE 'NEEDS' YOU. A PROP. THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE"
Friday, May 1, 2009
Alleys Incandescent
"Tonight we beg,
Tonight we beg a question,
If a married man,
A married man bangs a Catholic,
And his wife dies without knowing,
Does it make him unfaithful, people?"
Channel 3. Jackie Collin was a madman. A madman who smiles at the people and say "Hey,
you're like me too, you just happen to get away with it". Polly was sure he was behind the bombings if it wasn't for the fact that he gave a speech on the 'Terrorist of Our Generations'.
"The old men are to be blamed. Have you noticed that all of the people you really despise have either facial hair or something along the lines of that? And not one of them are completely bald?"
He was speaking to rabbis. Rabbis in the terms of "children who are most likely to commit suicide and are rather Jewish at that". He hugged all of em. Made a few friends.
Jackie Collins was himself bald.
And as they say, the angel arrives amidst all the chaos with the burden of baggage.
60th Avenue was a thin demarcation. Of rats and chop suey cartons, to high rise flats with puppets who solve problems by dodging them.
*knocks on the door*
"Whozzat?"
"Er...Polly, I'm here to rent an apartment"
"Shit here, Molly? Your twin is here?"
"Fuck off"
The doorknob turned. And behind it were whispers of anger, or rather, Polly thought, of humor.
The moment a crack was visible between the thresholds, there was a shriek.
"YOUR FUCKING CAT IS AT IT AGAIN"
"er....hi"
It was as though they had forgotten that someone knocked on their door only seconds ago. A scream leads one back.
"Who do you look up to in life?"
"Er....do you always interview potential renters?"
"Is it the Man?"
"How much money do you have?"
"All the money in the world"
"That doesn't make sense"
"Well neither does the latter"
The apartment was predominated by a kitchen, with a stove as big as a small car. The saying here is that if you can't stand the heat..
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE"
"Hey Molly, let's take this into consideration, we've got a new roommate here.."
Polly smiled at the man who was being harassed out of the premise, it seems that people are always so thoughtful of her at the verge of them leaving.
And then at that moment, her mind drifted away to thoughts of the Painter.
"...I mean you're gonna need some extra hands"
"Can I use the bathroom?"
And she finds herself in a claustrophobic space.
Who killed you, and brought you back to life?
Who made the land parched, but gave it seeds to thrive?
Meanwhile, in the darker ends of the street. Jannie smokes a herb, whilst staring at the turrets in the sky.
"My time is near"
She was 15, and inappropriately, well-off as a human being. Her father, Stan had broken many ties of relations. With the grace of a politician, Stan treats everyone like dirt, but loves his daughter so. But with all of that considered, Stan wasn't campaigning anything.
"Next please"
Charisma is the very last thing they care about when it comes to banking. But Stan was murdering people's integrity without the knowledge of even the smallest of microbes.
"Smiling is charity? Then beggars should be better off at Disneyland"
Jannie walked up the fire escapes, and saw a woman staring blankly into a mirror.
"Extremely vain, aren't you?"
In her James Dean jacket, and torn denims, Jannie gave the impression of having relations with lawyers, investment bankers, parliamentary members and most importantly, fast food cashiers. In fact, she gave such a strong impression at that, that those people seem to live inside her.
"You're new here aren't you?"
"....well, not to you. No. I've heard about you"
"...OH...YOU'RE LILITH's FRIEND"
"Mmhmm, but you're not a prostitute"
"Hahah, no, no I'm not"
"But is Lilith a prostitute?"
"She buys souls, if you get what I mean"
"Oh...but"
"Hey, care to be my sister for the night?"
"..alright"
Polly didn't want to be anyone's sister at the moment. But she figured that if Jannie and Lilith are affiliated with each other, then they must know where she's heading.
"So Polly, who are you working for?"
"Huh?"
"In this world, everyone's working for someone"
"Oh, well I'm still in college.."
"Are you a Buddhist?"
"..no"
"Good"
The Painter came out of her mouth like a random tale of a pet's death. Jannie didn't look shocked though. But for the first time ever since they first met, Jannie wasn't smiling either.
"The Painter...he's the kinda person that gives hope to people who are dirt y'know. We don't want that"
"What do you mean?"
"He told you to come here, not Lilith"
"Yes...but how do you know?"
"He does that to people.."
"So you know him?"
"Everyone does. Different names go around"
"Oh God...."
"So you're on our side now at least"
"No, no I mean..."
"We take doubts and appreciate it as a value. You, Polly, are on fire"
Polly was in a state of destitute. Who was she to choose? All of those psychological thesis seemed to make more sense now, but it left her in a greater state of lost.
"I'm sick of other people making decisions for me"
"That's the superego we're looking for"
"Why does everyone here give the impression of recruiting members into their own cliques?"
"Hey, the sky is falling. You either be happy with people or pretend to be satisfied on your own"
"Why can't I stand alone then?"
"Because loneliness is an opium that deludes"
It was raining again. But now the drops of water sounded as audible as the hissing of a serpent. A serpent who is mad for the lack of hands, and bites everything he sees. A serpent, that Polly called, the Britney Spears of Mother Nature.
There was a garden on one of the rooftops. Polly only started noticing it when a lightning seemed to struck a wooden surface instead of an antenna. Jannie was asleep now. So Polly's opium is now extant, in the small island of life amongst the sea of desolation. Although death is subjective, 60th avenue wasn't and will never be anything more than a one-way street.
"Hello..?"
A familiar face appeared drifting over a broken park bench. But no...this one has wings on him.
"Hello Polly"
"I'm not gonna ask you how exactly do you know my name"
"Haha, Molly's got a strong fury in her voice, doesn't she?"
"..oh"
Gypsy negros were dancing in her cerebellum at that very moment. The pigeons on that man's shoulder seemed to send message scrolls to her brain, telling her that magic is believable. And that beggars cannot read minds.
"Hey let's step on the grass patches, the rain seems to make it sparkle doesn't it?"
"Alright"
"Take off your shoes"
"Not until you tell me your name"
"Oh...I'm Gabe"
The garden was beautiful. And not even in the relative sense. It was small, but the leakage of the hose water, like tears flowing in intervals between blades of green, made Polly feel like she was a giant over Nature's field.
But she did not feel free...
"I'm gonna give you 10 things"
The burden of power made her think about the man who she slept with just the night before.
Who is she to choose?
"You know, what's down there maybe satisfying, but when it rains, 'tis here is the last place to flood"
"Haha, good to know, but I'm staying at the apartment downstairs"
"Why don't you stay here then?"
She tried to hold her tongue from saying the silliest things
I'm not worthy of your roofless home, and the endless river that flows beneath,
But neither am I willing to suffer,
So forgive me, when there's no one else to forgive,
It does not matter, whether I'd be the last one to live
Flicker, flicker. Thomas Edison loved his failures. If only he could see 60th Avenue in the rain.
Never seemed to light up the darkness. But attractive, nonetheless.
"Fireflies hahahahahha"
"What's so funny?"
Tonight we beg a question,
If a married man,
A married man bangs a Catholic,
And his wife dies without knowing,
Does it make him unfaithful, people?"
Channel 3. Jackie Collin was a madman. A madman who smiles at the people and say "Hey,
you're like me too, you just happen to get away with it". Polly was sure he was behind the bombings if it wasn't for the fact that he gave a speech on the 'Terrorist of Our Generations'.
"The old men are to be blamed. Have you noticed that all of the people you really despise have either facial hair or something along the lines of that? And not one of them are completely bald?"
He was speaking to rabbis. Rabbis in the terms of "children who are most likely to commit suicide and are rather Jewish at that". He hugged all of em. Made a few friends.
Jackie Collins was himself bald.
And as they say, the angel arrives amidst all the chaos with the burden of baggage.
60th Avenue was a thin demarcation. Of rats and chop suey cartons, to high rise flats with puppets who solve problems by dodging them.
*knocks on the door*
"Whozzat?"
"Er...Polly, I'm here to rent an apartment"
"Shit here, Molly? Your twin is here?"
"Fuck off"
The doorknob turned. And behind it were whispers of anger, or rather, Polly thought, of humor.
The moment a crack was visible between the thresholds, there was a shriek.
"YOUR FUCKING CAT IS AT IT AGAIN"
"er....hi"
It was as though they had forgotten that someone knocked on their door only seconds ago. A scream leads one back.
"Who do you look up to in life?"
"Er....do you always interview potential renters?"
"Is it the Man?"
"How much money do you have?"
"All the money in the world"
"That doesn't make sense"
"Well neither does the latter"
The apartment was predominated by a kitchen, with a stove as big as a small car. The saying here is that if you can't stand the heat..
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE"
"Hey Molly, let's take this into consideration, we've got a new roommate here.."
Polly smiled at the man who was being harassed out of the premise, it seems that people are always so thoughtful of her at the verge of them leaving.
And then at that moment, her mind drifted away to thoughts of the Painter.
"...I mean you're gonna need some extra hands"
"Can I use the bathroom?"
And she finds herself in a claustrophobic space.
Who killed you, and brought you back to life?
Who made the land parched, but gave it seeds to thrive?
Meanwhile, in the darker ends of the street. Jannie smokes a herb, whilst staring at the turrets in the sky.
"My time is near"
She was 15, and inappropriately, well-off as a human being. Her father, Stan had broken many ties of relations. With the grace of a politician, Stan treats everyone like dirt, but loves his daughter so. But with all of that considered, Stan wasn't campaigning anything.
"Next please"
Charisma is the very last thing they care about when it comes to banking. But Stan was murdering people's integrity without the knowledge of even the smallest of microbes.
"Smiling is charity? Then beggars should be better off at Disneyland"
Jannie walked up the fire escapes, and saw a woman staring blankly into a mirror.
"Extremely vain, aren't you?"
In her James Dean jacket, and torn denims, Jannie gave the impression of having relations with lawyers, investment bankers, parliamentary members and most importantly, fast food cashiers. In fact, she gave such a strong impression at that, that those people seem to live inside her.
"You're new here aren't you?"
"....well, not to you. No. I've heard about you"
"...OH...YOU'RE LILITH's FRIEND"
"Mmhmm, but you're not a prostitute"
"Hahah, no, no I'm not"
"But is Lilith a prostitute?"
"She buys souls, if you get what I mean"
"Oh...but"
"Hey, care to be my sister for the night?"
"..alright"
Polly didn't want to be anyone's sister at the moment. But she figured that if Jannie and Lilith are affiliated with each other, then they must know where she's heading.
"So Polly, who are you working for?"
"Huh?"
"In this world, everyone's working for someone"
"Oh, well I'm still in college.."
"Are you a Buddhist?"
"..no"
"Good"
The Painter came out of her mouth like a random tale of a pet's death. Jannie didn't look shocked though. But for the first time ever since they first met, Jannie wasn't smiling either.
"The Painter...he's the kinda person that gives hope to people who are dirt y'know. We don't want that"
"What do you mean?"
"He told you to come here, not Lilith"
"Yes...but how do you know?"
"He does that to people.."
"So you know him?"
"Everyone does. Different names go around"
"Oh God...."
"So you're on our side now at least"
"No, no I mean..."
"We take doubts and appreciate it as a value. You, Polly, are on fire"
Polly was in a state of destitute. Who was she to choose? All of those psychological thesis seemed to make more sense now, but it left her in a greater state of lost.
"I'm sick of other people making decisions for me"
"That's the superego we're looking for"
"Why does everyone here give the impression of recruiting members into their own cliques?"
"Hey, the sky is falling. You either be happy with people or pretend to be satisfied on your own"
"Why can't I stand alone then?"
"Because loneliness is an opium that deludes"
It was raining again. But now the drops of water sounded as audible as the hissing of a serpent. A serpent who is mad for the lack of hands, and bites everything he sees. A serpent, that Polly called, the Britney Spears of Mother Nature.
There was a garden on one of the rooftops. Polly only started noticing it when a lightning seemed to struck a wooden surface instead of an antenna. Jannie was asleep now. So Polly's opium is now extant, in the small island of life amongst the sea of desolation. Although death is subjective, 60th avenue wasn't and will never be anything more than a one-way street.
"Hello..?"
A familiar face appeared drifting over a broken park bench. But no...this one has wings on him.
"Hello Polly"
"I'm not gonna ask you how exactly do you know my name"
"Haha, Molly's got a strong fury in her voice, doesn't she?"
"..oh"
Gypsy negros were dancing in her cerebellum at that very moment. The pigeons on that man's shoulder seemed to send message scrolls to her brain, telling her that magic is believable. And that beggars cannot read minds.
"Hey let's step on the grass patches, the rain seems to make it sparkle doesn't it?"
"Alright"
"Take off your shoes"
"Not until you tell me your name"
"Oh...I'm Gabe"
The garden was beautiful. And not even in the relative sense. It was small, but the leakage of the hose water, like tears flowing in intervals between blades of green, made Polly feel like she was a giant over Nature's field.
But she did not feel free...
"I'm gonna give you 10 things"
The burden of power made her think about the man who she slept with just the night before.
Who is she to choose?
"You know, what's down there maybe satisfying, but when it rains, 'tis here is the last place to flood"
"Haha, good to know, but I'm staying at the apartment downstairs"
"Why don't you stay here then?"
She tried to hold her tongue from saying the silliest things
I'm not worthy of your roofless home, and the endless river that flows beneath,
But neither am I willing to suffer,
So forgive me, when there's no one else to forgive,
It does not matter, whether I'd be the last one to live
Flicker, flicker. Thomas Edison loved his failures. If only he could see 60th Avenue in the rain.
Never seemed to light up the darkness. But attractive, nonetheless.
"Fireflies hahahahahha"
"What's so funny?"
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
This Blue
A field of maiden grass,
Of patches from the tromps of survivors,
Of giant entrances,
And liquidized views,
I see the stars,
On top of you.
A bed of opposites,
Directions connect,
But I digress,
And stare at the speck,
When the eyes turn warm,
And the heart turns wild,
But the face is as soft as a yaks
To own this land,
The green and parched,
While heavens bounty,
Are left untouched.
I seek to call your name,
To call you by one,
But to forget is the same.
The wrong things are written on the table,
A slight remark, a witty fable.
"Hold my hand as it falls into space"
While rockets fall and turtles race.
So I came back,
To a house of indifference,
But that lead to a place,
Of might and complacence.
A falling star,
A supernova in the veneer of a blush,
I seem to talk to you,
As though my love for you,
Is to love a rush.
Cause you would leave me forever,
Where as the option of staying isn't mine,
"What has it done to you?"
Only choices - made divine.
To speak is an art,
Harms the soul and mind,
Of misleading lies,
You thought to be divine,
Logic has a heart,
Only recklessness, the faith that undermines.
How to miss a white horizon?
Have I been turning my back to the sun?
The sun that only comes out at night?
"I want your number, if that's all right"
Hell is near, tangible and there,
So why is heaven so far, so out of reach,
Yet everywhere?
And then I walked upon a flower,
Guilt was my salt,
Why did I leave it there?
And it wilts,
While Sirius sparkles down hopelessly,
I wanna say,
That even if all good is at bay,
It will never disappear,
Just like the moon today.
Embrace black embroideries,
That reminds you of coal,
A dictatorship,
In the hill of a mole,
It is a blessing that you can't read my thoughts.
It's just that one thing led to another,
Relevant to all, and connected to the other,
And as I hold in my arms a figure of the eternal,
The devil goes on "For what shall make you detrimental,
Is a prosecution, and it too a tradition"
I miss you, you know that
This blue,
This sky that we forget to look up to,
We are not reaching the stars anymore,
Just a straightforward journey of finding doors.
This blue,
The water that cleanses,
Before the morning dew,
Eyes half-closed and the carpets are dense,
I want to hear you,
To listen to a view.
This blue,
An aura under a machinery of current workings,
Beggars who wait by public phones,
Because hope is something you cannot really see isn't it?
The beauty of Grace, is that it leaves you alone.
Sometimes the beauty of Grace, is that it makes life unfair,
I will pretend that you're not there.
To alleys incandescent and racial riots.
Dah nak subuh.
Of patches from the tromps of survivors,
Of giant entrances,
And liquidized views,
I see the stars,
On top of you.
A bed of opposites,
Directions connect,
But I digress,
And stare at the speck,
When the eyes turn warm,
And the heart turns wild,
But the face is as soft as a yaks
To own this land,
The green and parched,
While heavens bounty,
Are left untouched.
I seek to call your name,
To call you by one,
But to forget is the same.
The wrong things are written on the table,
A slight remark, a witty fable.
"Hold my hand as it falls into space"
While rockets fall and turtles race.
So I came back,
To a house of indifference,
But that lead to a place,
Of might and complacence.
A falling star,
A supernova in the veneer of a blush,
I seem to talk to you,
As though my love for you,
Is to love a rush.
Cause you would leave me forever,
Where as the option of staying isn't mine,
"What has it done to you?"
Only choices - made divine.
To speak is an art,
Harms the soul and mind,
Of misleading lies,
You thought to be divine,
Logic has a heart,
Only recklessness, the faith that undermines.
How to miss a white horizon?
Have I been turning my back to the sun?
The sun that only comes out at night?
"I want your number, if that's all right"
Hell is near, tangible and there,
So why is heaven so far, so out of reach,
Yet everywhere?
And then I walked upon a flower,
Guilt was my salt,
Why did I leave it there?
And it wilts,
While Sirius sparkles down hopelessly,
I wanna say,
That even if all good is at bay,
It will never disappear,
Just like the moon today.
Embrace black embroideries,
That reminds you of coal,
A dictatorship,
In the hill of a mole,
It is a blessing that you can't read my thoughts.
It's just that one thing led to another,
Relevant to all, and connected to the other,
And as I hold in my arms a figure of the eternal,
The devil goes on "For what shall make you detrimental,
Is a prosecution, and it too a tradition"
I miss you, you know that
This blue,
This sky that we forget to look up to,
We are not reaching the stars anymore,
Just a straightforward journey of finding doors.
This blue,
The water that cleanses,
Before the morning dew,
Eyes half-closed and the carpets are dense,
I want to hear you,
To listen to a view.
This blue,
An aura under a machinery of current workings,
Beggars who wait by public phones,
Because hope is something you cannot really see isn't it?
The beauty of Grace, is that it leaves you alone.
Sometimes the beauty of Grace, is that it makes life unfair,
I will pretend that you're not there.
To alleys incandescent and racial riots.
Dah nak subuh.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Afterlife of The Party
This was the scene.
"It's too late"
"Was it ever early? Why did you call me here?"
"He's gone"
"Who?"
"Him"
It was a Thursday evening and everyone was in their rooms, asleep, condemned in analogies.
So appropriately awkward that another police siren blared exactly 2 minutes later.
Polly was too tired to think but not restful enough to lie down. The pub that night was without drama or plot, an image of violent violet fluorescent over dusty mugs and ashtrays.
The chair was there, and on it was her.
"It's too late"
"You're still here"
"Did you hang yourself?"
"What? What is this an irish joke?"
"Did you?"
"...I don't remember"
The stairs, there was nothing else to remember. The biggest harm of all. Discerning memories off a sea of perspective and paradox. To choose to forget. To choose to...
"You don't understand"
"No one understands you"
"It was the night, the negros, the voodoo"
It did turn to morning, that was certain. She woke up denying that she ever slept.
Which side of the bed did I get off or not,
I've forgotten,
So it can't be real.
Is it graffiti if other people won't be able to see it?
Or is the whole point just to damage property through honest acrylic?
Verona March, Prostitute, 21:
I wasn't there, I doubt anyone was. It was all noisy and shit I expected something exciting ya know. To think it was just. Blasphemy. I wasted a good client on that.
"Report says she's never taken any recs or medication, sir"
"Report?"
"Yes sir, I took it out from the archives sir, just like you asked.."
"...there's something ...dodgy about this"
"I feel it too, sir"
If I close my eyes,
Then maybe I won't feel.
The sun doesn't smile on the concrete form of men but it smiles on the obedience to illusory.
Polly occupies a diner now. To see others, was to see pass a torn barrier of reflections.
"You know I'd still give you your soup, honey. No matter what you tell me"
"Because you're kind, I know"
"Share it with me, it'll be fun. Awkward, as always. But fun"
"Doesn't love just seem to blind you, Doris"
"God is great when love is blind"
"God?"
When you're on the brink of a cliff, and you feel no fear of jumping off, you feel no urge to turn back. You feel that there's nothing stopping you. There is no external force guiding you. You're free. To choose but never to be chosen. Existence. That's what it is.
In the trash can. Post-it notes on the window panes. As though someone was trying to dwell in the ecstasy of routine while filtering out any sense of hope. Because hope is a nursery rhyme.
Specifically this one.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe
She had so many children she didn't know what to do.
She gave them some broth without any bread,
Then whipped them all soundly
And put them to bed.
"So what's the special today?"
"I can't tell you"
"Well, if it matters that much...."
"Haha, shut up"
Sleeping next to him was a long-lived enigma. She could see what he was doing to me. She could see what I was doing to him. She could see everything. And yet know nothing.
Rain often loses itself inside it's own fading choreography. But this dance seemed like it was going to last forever.
"Did I really kill myself?"
"Well, I don't know. But you were leaving that's for sure"
"Come on, Lilith. You know"
"Never more than I know the funeral dates of the stars, Polly"
"Are you comparing me to a star?"
"Don't flatter yourself"
Lilith,victim's best friend, 19:
They had to destroy the door.
"No one cares if you die"
"You would, wouldn't you?"
"That's because I am no one"
"How did we get here?"
"Shit Polly, we're in a damn pub, have some sense of doubtful intuition once in awhile"
"Alright"
"You hear that? The fuzz is here. Some prostitute probably offered Sgt. Pepper some uninhibited love, I bet"
"What can I do?"
"Leave something behind"
Drawing pictures in my mind,
Trying to feel my pain
Polly was mad at the violinist. To play a tune that resonates into the emptiness of an alley would just get you killed. Maybe that's exactly why he's here. To welcome salvation but to prepare drinks for death.To say fuck religion but hail Satan.
"They're not giving us any information"
"But what are we investigating? A disappearance?"
"Can anyone really confirm absence? We're cops, Ravi, not philosophers. Heck, I can't even philosophize my way out of a donut"
"Yeah, what happens if we have to murder one?"
"Murder what? A donut?"
"No, sir"
"I wouldn't. Not now anyways"
Follow the porcelain kitchen sets. Forget semen, blood and hair strands. A legacy is never deliberately a sin.
"Don't burn the curtains!"
"SHHHHH..do you believe in heaven?"
"What?"
"Heaven? You know, happiest place possible? Heaven?"
"......why now? When you're burning my curtains? What has paradise got to do with a piece of fabric cotton?"
"Answer my question"
"WHO ARE YOU"
"You've thrown yourself too far into the pit, Polly, I am nothing as you are nothing as everything you see right now is nothing.Save for the only thing that you can't even see"
"I just thought you'd be sleeping with me..that's all.."
"I did"
"...the cops are here"
If lust can be exuded through reluctance, then why not anger through composure?
I try to bend it,
And it hurts
"Uptown, 60th Ave"
"Yes, miss"
"You can see me..."
"I wouldn't be a taxi driver if I can't see, would I,miss?"
"You talk funny, where are you from?"
"Nowhere"
"Before nowhere?"
"Oh..Czechoslovakia"
"I'm glad. Finally, someone I haven't seen in my entire life"
"You don't go out too often, eh miss?"
"The people here are all the same..er.."
"Faris"
"Yes, Faris. They're all the same here"
"You're saying such a sad thing but you're smiling like an angel"
"Haha, 60th Ave is pretty far isn't it?"
"With the traffic, it will seem far"
"As long as it takes forever"
New Jersey, 13 March - _______murdered through immolation. ______ no remains found.______premises undamaged.__________woman's identity non-existent. A man who calls himself The Painter __________________.
Strips of paper cuttings were left to fly across the checkered kitchen floors of a newly rented apartment. A cat trailing along between the legs of a refugee. Not to run away. Just to stay somewhere else for quite awhile.
I'm another too endless,
So do you think I should end this?
"It's too late"
"Was it ever early? Why did you call me here?"
"He's gone"
"Who?"
"Him"
It was a Thursday evening and everyone was in their rooms, asleep, condemned in analogies.
So appropriately awkward that another police siren blared exactly 2 minutes later.
Polly was too tired to think but not restful enough to lie down. The pub that night was without drama or plot, an image of violent violet fluorescent over dusty mugs and ashtrays.
The chair was there, and on it was her.
"It's too late"
"You're still here"
"Did you hang yourself?"
"What? What is this an irish joke?"
"Did you?"
"...I don't remember"
The stairs, there was nothing else to remember. The biggest harm of all. Discerning memories off a sea of perspective and paradox. To choose to forget. To choose to...
"You don't understand"
"No one understands you"
"It was the night, the negros, the voodoo"
It did turn to morning, that was certain. She woke up denying that she ever slept.
Which side of the bed did I get off or not,
I've forgotten,
So it can't be real.
Is it graffiti if other people won't be able to see it?
Or is the whole point just to damage property through honest acrylic?
Verona March, Prostitute, 21:
I wasn't there, I doubt anyone was. It was all noisy and shit I expected something exciting ya know. To think it was just. Blasphemy. I wasted a good client on that.
"Report says she's never taken any recs or medication, sir"
"Report?"
"Yes sir, I took it out from the archives sir, just like you asked.."
"...there's something ...dodgy about this"
"I feel it too, sir"
If I close my eyes,
Then maybe I won't feel.
The sun doesn't smile on the concrete form of men but it smiles on the obedience to illusory.
Polly occupies a diner now. To see others, was to see pass a torn barrier of reflections.
"You know I'd still give you your soup, honey. No matter what you tell me"
"Because you're kind, I know"
"Share it with me, it'll be fun. Awkward, as always. But fun"
"Doesn't love just seem to blind you, Doris"
"God is great when love is blind"
"God?"
When you're on the brink of a cliff, and you feel no fear of jumping off, you feel no urge to turn back. You feel that there's nothing stopping you. There is no external force guiding you. You're free. To choose but never to be chosen. Existence. That's what it is.
In the trash can. Post-it notes on the window panes. As though someone was trying to dwell in the ecstasy of routine while filtering out any sense of hope. Because hope is a nursery rhyme.
Specifically this one.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe
She had so many children she didn't know what to do.
She gave them some broth without any bread,
Then whipped them all soundly
And put them to bed.
"So what's the special today?"
"I can't tell you"
"Well, if it matters that much...."
"Haha, shut up"
Sleeping next to him was a long-lived enigma. She could see what he was doing to me. She could see what I was doing to him. She could see everything. And yet know nothing.
Rain often loses itself inside it's own fading choreography. But this dance seemed like it was going to last forever.
"Did I really kill myself?"
"Well, I don't know. But you were leaving that's for sure"
"Come on, Lilith. You know"
"Never more than I know the funeral dates of the stars, Polly"
"Are you comparing me to a star?"
"Don't flatter yourself"
Lilith,victim's best friend, 19:
They had to destroy the door.
"No one cares if you die"
"You would, wouldn't you?"
"That's because I am no one"
"How did we get here?"
"Shit Polly, we're in a damn pub, have some sense of doubtful intuition once in awhile"
"Alright"
"You hear that? The fuzz is here. Some prostitute probably offered Sgt. Pepper some uninhibited love, I bet"
"What can I do?"
"Leave something behind"
Drawing pictures in my mind,
Trying to feel my pain
Polly was mad at the violinist. To play a tune that resonates into the emptiness of an alley would just get you killed. Maybe that's exactly why he's here. To welcome salvation but to prepare drinks for death.To say fuck religion but hail Satan.
"They're not giving us any information"
"But what are we investigating? A disappearance?"
"Can anyone really confirm absence? We're cops, Ravi, not philosophers. Heck, I can't even philosophize my way out of a donut"
"Yeah, what happens if we have to murder one?"
"Murder what? A donut?"
"No, sir"
"I wouldn't. Not now anyways"
Follow the porcelain kitchen sets. Forget semen, blood and hair strands. A legacy is never deliberately a sin.
"Don't burn the curtains!"
"SHHHHH..do you believe in heaven?"
"What?"
"Heaven? You know, happiest place possible? Heaven?"
"......why now? When you're burning my curtains? What has paradise got to do with a piece of fabric cotton?"
"Answer my question"
"WHO ARE YOU"
"You've thrown yourself too far into the pit, Polly, I am nothing as you are nothing as everything you see right now is nothing.Save for the only thing that you can't even see"
"I just thought you'd be sleeping with me..that's all.."
"I did"
"...the cops are here"
If lust can be exuded through reluctance, then why not anger through composure?
I try to bend it,
And it hurts
"Uptown, 60th Ave"
"Yes, miss"
"You can see me..."
"I wouldn't be a taxi driver if I can't see, would I,miss?"
"You talk funny, where are you from?"
"Nowhere"
"Before nowhere?"
"Oh..Czechoslovakia"
"I'm glad. Finally, someone I haven't seen in my entire life"
"You don't go out too often, eh miss?"
"The people here are all the same..er.."
"Faris"
"Yes, Faris. They're all the same here"
"You're saying such a sad thing but you're smiling like an angel"
"Haha, 60th Ave is pretty far isn't it?"
"With the traffic, it will seem far"
"As long as it takes forever"
New Jersey, 13 March - _______murdered through immolation. ______ no remains found.______premises undamaged.__________woman's identity non-existent. A man who calls himself The Painter __________________.
Strips of paper cuttings were left to fly across the checkered kitchen floors of a newly rented apartment. A cat trailing along between the legs of a refugee. Not to run away. Just to stay somewhere else for quite awhile.
I'm another too endless,
So do you think I should end this?
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Sin Where?
Clouds are marching along,
Singing a song,
Just like they do,
If the clouds were singing a song,
I'd sing along,
Wouldn't you to?
If you just knew what they could do,
If you just knew what would they do.
And if the birds are just lettered words,
Flying along, singing a song,
What would they do, if they just knew,
What they could do, if they just knew.
You know I'm glad,
That I never gave a damn about the weather,
Cause it never gave a damn about me.
I know it's mad,
But if I dig a well, will you dig with me,
Or just leave?
I know it's mad,
But if it was time I was defending,
Will you just leave me?
Clouds are singing a song,
Marking my wrongs,
Just like you do,
If the clouds were playing a song,
I'd play along,
Wouldn't you too?
If you just knew,
What they could do,
If you just knew,
What would they do,
And if the words are just feathered birds,
Flying a love, Singing a soft,
What would they do, if they just knew,
What we could do, if they just knew.
I know it's sad that I never gave a damn about the weather,
And it never gave a damn about me,
No, it never gave a damn about me.
And I know it's mad,
But if you broke and fell, I'd call the doctor,
And just leave.
I know it's sad,
That if the sky was bending I would kiss thee,
And just leave.
Cause they never gave a damn about me.
Singing a song,
Just like they do,
If the clouds were singing a song,
I'd sing along,
Wouldn't you to?
If you just knew what they could do,
If you just knew what would they do.
And if the birds are just lettered words,
Flying along, singing a song,
What would they do, if they just knew,
What they could do, if they just knew.
You know I'm glad,
That I never gave a damn about the weather,
Cause it never gave a damn about me.
I know it's mad,
But if I dig a well, will you dig with me,
Or just leave?
I know it's mad,
But if it was time I was defending,
Will you just leave me?
Clouds are singing a song,
Marking my wrongs,
Just like you do,
If the clouds were playing a song,
I'd play along,
Wouldn't you too?
If you just knew,
What they could do,
If you just knew,
What would they do,
And if the words are just feathered birds,
Flying a love, Singing a soft,
What would they do, if they just knew,
What we could do, if they just knew.
I know it's sad that I never gave a damn about the weather,
And it never gave a damn about me,
No, it never gave a damn about me.
And I know it's mad,
But if you broke and fell, I'd call the doctor,
And just leave.
I know it's sad,
That if the sky was bending I would kiss thee,
And just leave.
Cause they never gave a damn about me.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Hey Moon
If all our life is but a dream,
Fantastic posing greed,
Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea.
For diamonds do appear to be,
Just like broken glass to me.
And then she said she can't believe,
Genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues,
Trippin eyes and flooded lungs,
Nor the downpour sends it love.
Hey moon please forget to fall down,
Hey moon don't you fall down.
Sugarcane in the easy morning,
Watered veins, my one and only.
The ink is running for the page,
It's chasing off the daze,
Looking at both feet and wounded knee.
I miss your skin when you were eased,
You clicked your heels and wished for me.
For playful lips made of yawns,
That fragile cat forlorn,
Unraveled words like mobs upon old stars,
I know the world's a broken bone,
But paraplegics call it home.
Hey moon please forget to turn round,
Hey moon don't you turn round.
So she came in the breezy morning,
What invades my one and lonely.
You are at the top of my lungs,
Drawn to the ones who never yawn.
Bye moon.
Fantastic posing greed,
Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea.
For diamonds do appear to be,
Just like broken glass to me.
And then she said she can't believe,
Genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues,
Trippin eyes and flooded lungs,
Nor the downpour sends it love.
Hey moon please forget to fall down,
Hey moon don't you fall down.
Sugarcane in the easy morning,
Watered veins, my one and only.
The ink is running for the page,
It's chasing off the daze,
Looking at both feet and wounded knee.
I miss your skin when you were eased,
You clicked your heels and wished for me.
For playful lips made of yawns,
That fragile cat forlorn,
Unraveled words like mobs upon old stars,
I know the world's a broken bone,
But paraplegics call it home.
Hey moon please forget to turn round,
Hey moon don't you turn round.
So she came in the breezy morning,
What invades my one and lonely.
You are at the top of my lungs,
Drawn to the ones who never yawn.
Bye moon.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Anna Will Die Under Summer Red Skies
I wanna be rich,
And I want lotsa money,
I don't care about clever,
I don't care about funny,
I want lotsa clothes,
And I want lotsa diamonds,
I heard people die while they're trying to find one.
And I'll take my clothes off,
And it will be shameless,
Cause everyone knows,
That's how you get famous,
I look at the sun,
And I look in the mirror,
I'm on the right track,
And I'm on to a winner.
I don't know what's right,
And what's real, anymore,
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel,
Anymore,
When do you think it will all become clear,
Cause I'm being taken over by the fear.
Life's about filmstars,
And less about mothers,
It's all about fast cars,
And cussing each other,
But it doesn't matter,
Cause I'm packing plastic,
And that's what makes my life,
So fucking fantastic.
And I'm aware of massive consumption,
And it's not my fault,
It's how I'm programmed to function,
I look at the sun,
And I look in the mirror,
I'm on the right track,
Yeah we're on to a winner.
I don't know what's right,
And what's real,
Anymore,
I don't know how I'm meant to feel,
Anymore,
When do you think it will all become clear,
Cause I'm being taken over by the,
Fear.
Forget about guns,
Forget about ammunition,
Cause I'm killing them all,
On my own little mission,
But I'm not a saint,
I'm not a sinner,
But anything's cool,
As long as I'm getting thinner.
I don't know what's right,
And what's real,
Anymore,
I don't know how I'm meant to feel,
Anymore,
When do you think it will all become clear,
Cause I'm being taken over by the,
Fear.
And I want lotsa money,
I don't care about clever,
I don't care about funny,
I want lotsa clothes,
And I want lotsa diamonds,
I heard people die while they're trying to find one.
And I'll take my clothes off,
And it will be shameless,
Cause everyone knows,
That's how you get famous,
I look at the sun,
And I look in the mirror,
I'm on the right track,
And I'm on to a winner.
I don't know what's right,
And what's real, anymore,
And I don't know how I'm meant to feel,
Anymore,
When do you think it will all become clear,
Cause I'm being taken over by the fear.
Life's about filmstars,
And less about mothers,
It's all about fast cars,
And cussing each other,
But it doesn't matter,
Cause I'm packing plastic,
And that's what makes my life,
So fucking fantastic.
And I'm aware of massive consumption,
And it's not my fault,
It's how I'm programmed to function,
I look at the sun,
And I look in the mirror,
I'm on the right track,
Yeah we're on to a winner.
I don't know what's right,
And what's real,
Anymore,
I don't know how I'm meant to feel,
Anymore,
When do you think it will all become clear,
Cause I'm being taken over by the,
Fear.
Forget about guns,
Forget about ammunition,
Cause I'm killing them all,
On my own little mission,
But I'm not a saint,
I'm not a sinner,
But anything's cool,
As long as I'm getting thinner.
I don't know what's right,
And what's real,
Anymore,
I don't know how I'm meant to feel,
Anymore,
When do you think it will all become clear,
Cause I'm being taken over by the,
Fear.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Phosphorent Pubescent
I think I have this strange affinity of looking up.
Ceilings, skies, skirt(ings of overhead windows)
Occasionally, I also tend to look inside me.
I guess that answers my enigmatic dreams of dissecting rodents to Overture.
Basically, there was this old Baroque joke that Mozart played so passionately because he wanted to express the lack of any hair product that that could tame his scalp-located beard.
There is talent in scruffiness, and the entertainment industry has proven that time and time again.
Clouds are scruffy, and they're wonderful aren't they?
Fluffy is the better word, I guess. But so is white.
Well to continue on my pursue of scientific conundrums, chemically speaking, solids are very appealing.
I mean doesn't it fascinate you that somethings just can't go through walls?
I know it makes the Southern people happy.
Speaking about getting through walls, I have come up with this ingenious plan of a store that sells walls.
It saves space, it destroys all barriers, and you don't need to waste money on racks.
I mean I came up with a name already.
Wall R Us
Hilman would be proud.
I think I'd like to end this post on a high note.
F#
Ceilings, skies, skirt(ings of overhead windows)
Occasionally, I also tend to look inside me.
I guess that answers my enigmatic dreams of dissecting rodents to Overture.
Basically, there was this old Baroque joke that Mozart played so passionately because he wanted to express the lack of any hair product that that could tame his scalp-located beard.
There is talent in scruffiness, and the entertainment industry has proven that time and time again.
Clouds are scruffy, and they're wonderful aren't they?
Fluffy is the better word, I guess. But so is white.
Well to continue on my pursue of scientific conundrums, chemically speaking, solids are very appealing.
I mean doesn't it fascinate you that somethings just can't go through walls?
I know it makes the Southern people happy.
Speaking about getting through walls, I have come up with this ingenious plan of a store that sells walls.
It saves space, it destroys all barriers, and you don't need to waste money on racks.
I mean I came up with a name already.
Wall R Us
Hilman would be proud.
I think I'd like to end this post on a high note.
F#
Monday, January 19, 2009
Anti Ganda
Freedom,
Is a religion,
Can't see,
What's in your region,
Plates out,
Glass eating manger,
You fool,
And doubtful,
Priest.
Gods,
Fall through the ceiling,
Kids,
All too revealing,
Smile,
You leave,
This place for tonight,
And then you go to graze,
Oh such a lovely, modern phase.
Stars,
Why do you seek them,
Prey,
Why do you need them,
Bo Peep does,
What Bo Peep wantss,
But she never gets,
Her full-paid funds,
And everyone,
Stays up to have some fun.
Faith,
Is like decisions,
Faith,
Will be your leisure,
Don't,
Suffer a lesion,
Stop,
They're burning pigeons.
They don't have to burn the books,
They just have to tell you not to look,
Making rockets like a pyromaniac cook,
If they give you food,
You let them,
If they give you feud,
You beg them.
Nah,
Somebody's watching,
Eyes,
White metal shillings,
If they close them,
You'll just be like me,
And have no friends,
Love authority.
Maybe,
You wait,
Maybe there's a cage,
Freedom,
Is a bigger prison.
Take,
The only medicine,
Pills,
It's make-up season,
When it's fall,
And,
You just call in,
The thieves with their hearts on their sleeves.
Fair,
I'm just a seeker,
Fare,
Bus ticket's cheaper,
Cool,
Just like the icebergs,
Hot,
Don't sleep in the fire.
Because the sound of music is a lyre,
To the bullets of paychecks and wires.
For why do you see,
The pixels in seeds,
Hypnotize by numbers,
Forget what it means.
I can't confront you,
Because you're not here,
But if you were beside me,
I'd boycott you, my dear.
Sometimes it hurts,
That preachers don't work,
And teachers don't lurk,
Like policies in smirks.
Well I see the cancers in the eyes,
Of blindness under shirts,
And the Machiavellian lice,
Cause you just don't care,
How's your hair,
You just care,
That it's fair.
Oh, darkness is bare,
Yellowing scares,
And brown is everywhere.
Is a religion,
Can't see,
What's in your region,
Plates out,
Glass eating manger,
You fool,
And doubtful,
Priest.
Gods,
Fall through the ceiling,
Kids,
All too revealing,
Smile,
You leave,
This place for tonight,
And then you go to graze,
Oh such a lovely, modern phase.
Stars,
Why do you seek them,
Prey,
Why do you need them,
Bo Peep does,
What Bo Peep wantss,
But she never gets,
Her full-paid funds,
And everyone,
Stays up to have some fun.
Faith,
Is like decisions,
Faith,
Will be your leisure,
Don't,
Suffer a lesion,
Stop,
They're burning pigeons.
They don't have to burn the books,
They just have to tell you not to look,
Making rockets like a pyromaniac cook,
If they give you food,
You let them,
If they give you feud,
You beg them.
Nah,
Somebody's watching,
Eyes,
White metal shillings,
If they close them,
You'll just be like me,
And have no friends,
Love authority.
Maybe,
You wait,
Maybe there's a cage,
Freedom,
Is a bigger prison.
Take,
The only medicine,
Pills,
It's make-up season,
When it's fall,
And,
You just call in,
The thieves with their hearts on their sleeves.
Fair,
I'm just a seeker,
Fare,
Bus ticket's cheaper,
Cool,
Just like the icebergs,
Hot,
Don't sleep in the fire.
Because the sound of music is a lyre,
To the bullets of paychecks and wires.
For why do you see,
The pixels in seeds,
Hypnotize by numbers,
Forget what it means.
I can't confront you,
Because you're not here,
But if you were beside me,
I'd boycott you, my dear.
Sometimes it hurts,
That preachers don't work,
And teachers don't lurk,
Like policies in smirks.
Well I see the cancers in the eyes,
Of blindness under shirts,
And the Machiavellian lice,
Cause you just don't care,
How's your hair,
You just care,
That it's fair.
Oh, darkness is bare,
Yellowing scares,
And brown is everywhere.
Monday, January 12, 2009
When I Go
If we're both not married by 22,
Could I be so bold, and ask you,
If we're both not married by 23,
Will you, make my year,
And ask me.
If we're both not married by 24,
Will you pass me those kneepads,
And I'll get on the floor,
If we're both not married by 25,
I hope that the sound childish sparks,
Still alive.
Cause there are so many lessons,
That I just never get to learn,
And there are so many questions,
That still burns,
Like will you hold,
My hand
When I go.
If I get to 30,
And I don't have a wife,
I'll ask you nicely,
But I won't ask twice.
If I get to 40,
And I don't have a spouse,
I'll fashion you a letter,
And I'll send it to your house.
If I get to 60,
Will you slip away,
Into an armchair for
The rest of my days,
Cause you've got your family,
And I've got mine...
Willed love will be shared,
For another time.
Cause there are,
So many lessons,
That I never got to learn,
And there are so many questions,
That still burns.
Like will you hold,
My hand when I go?
Could I be so bold, and ask you,
If we're both not married by 23,
Will you, make my year,
And ask me.
If we're both not married by 24,
Will you pass me those kneepads,
And I'll get on the floor,
If we're both not married by 25,
I hope that the sound childish sparks,
Still alive.
Cause there are so many lessons,
That I just never get to learn,
And there are so many questions,
That still burns,
Like will you hold,
My hand
When I go.
If I get to 30,
And I don't have a wife,
I'll ask you nicely,
But I won't ask twice.
If I get to 40,
And I don't have a spouse,
I'll fashion you a letter,
And I'll send it to your house.
If I get to 60,
Will you slip away,
Into an armchair for
The rest of my days,
Cause you've got your family,
And I've got mine...
Willed love will be shared,
For another time.
Cause there are,
So many lessons,
That I never got to learn,
And there are so many questions,
That still burns.
Like will you hold,
My hand when I go?
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