i am so disappointed now, i can bareley breathe. i try not to, but i feel it rolling in like high tide.
i feel like it washes away the restraints. the last hopes and beliefs. faith. and yes, strings losen and they break apart. porose and rotten.
yeah, there is some sense in there, sometimes. and yet. it's good to have the other perspective. the utter fucking betrayal. yes man, we are human. there are artifacts. the human condition isn't tied to instincts and fucking fate only anymore. maybe in a bigger sense, but in the daily game, there are choices. there is freedom of choice.
i guess that goes only so far as our current conditions allow.
i am watering down my own anger
i am watering down
down
down
down
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
alexandra leaving
sometimes I have to go back. listen to that song again. feel myself again. remind myself of those times long gone and faded.
the moment you walked into the room, so definite and declared. the lines drawn and in my arms your eyes broke and my heart quivered in unimaginable strain.
'...do not say the moment was imagined to not stoop to strategies like this...as someone long prepared for this to happen, go firmly to the window, drink it in...
exquisite music, Alexandra laughing, your first commitments tangible again...
and you who had the honor of her evening and by that honor had your own restored, say good bye to Alexandra leaving....say goodbye to Alexandra leaving with her Lord....even though she sleeps on your satin even though she wakes you with a kiss..do not say the moment was imagined...do not stoop to strategies like this...
as someone long prepared for the occasion, in full command of every plan you wrecked...do not choose a cowards explanation... that hides behind the cause and the effect....
and you who were bewildered by a meaning, who's code was broken, crucifix uncrossed...say goodbye to Alexandra leaving...then say goodbye to Alexandra lost'
still, at a loss of words
the moment you walked into the room, so definite and declared. the lines drawn and in my arms your eyes broke and my heart quivered in unimaginable strain.
'...do not say the moment was imagined to not stoop to strategies like this...as someone long prepared for this to happen, go firmly to the window, drink it in...
exquisite music, Alexandra laughing, your first commitments tangible again...
and you who had the honor of her evening and by that honor had your own restored, say good bye to Alexandra leaving....say goodbye to Alexandra leaving with her Lord....even though she sleeps on your satin even though she wakes you with a kiss..do not say the moment was imagined...do not stoop to strategies like this...
as someone long prepared for the occasion, in full command of every plan you wrecked...do not choose a cowards explanation... that hides behind the cause and the effect....
and you who were bewildered by a meaning, who's code was broken, crucifix uncrossed...say goodbye to Alexandra leaving...then say goodbye to Alexandra lost'
still, at a loss of words
Sunday, January 11, 2009
King Harvest
King Harvest
Driving the old silver Toyota. Broken window. Blankets to cover myself up during night drives up Topanga Canyon or the Hollywood Hills to the Valley.
Gallons of water in the clamped trunk for the thirsty broken radiator. And King Harvest will surely come on tape. The crackeling sound of the old tape and the blistering palmtrees in the wind. I can't forget what was, I can't ever forget what was. Can't forget my second home. The delighting naivite of West Coast folks, the refreshing superficialities that build and build until they accumulate in a big deep well.
This it is.
I can't get over it. 404. 101. 110. Sepulveda...the Massage Place and the Serbian Metro Diner in Culver City near the Jazz Life Music Restaurant with Caribbean food.
I probably never will. The taste of the Magnolia Trees in the meadow.
It's where I left my heart, where I grew up, where I loved to the moon and back.
...pretty soon the carneval at the edge of town...King Harvest will surely come.
Driving the old silver Toyota. Broken window. Blankets to cover myself up during night drives up Topanga Canyon or the Hollywood Hills to the Valley.
Gallons of water in the clamped trunk for the thirsty broken radiator. And King Harvest will surely come on tape. The crackeling sound of the old tape and the blistering palmtrees in the wind. I can't forget what was, I can't ever forget what was. Can't forget my second home. The delighting naivite of West Coast folks, the refreshing superficialities that build and build until they accumulate in a big deep well.
This it is.
I can't get over it. 404. 101. 110. Sepulveda...the Massage Place and the Serbian Metro Diner in Culver City near the Jazz Life Music Restaurant with Caribbean food.
I probably never will. The taste of the Magnolia Trees in the meadow.
It's where I left my heart, where I grew up, where I loved to the moon and back.
...pretty soon the carneval at the edge of town...King Harvest will surely come.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
crush
sweet sweet
little crush
hush, hush
lullaby
does he know it
i don't know
daisies are sleeping
winter is towering
sweet little laughters
good moments and faith
my little hand covered held warm
sleepy sleepy
hush lullaby
sweet little crush
makes days fly by
little crush
hush, hush
lullaby
does he know it
i don't know
daisies are sleeping
winter is towering
sweet little laughters
good moments and faith
my little hand covered held warm
sleepy sleepy
hush lullaby
sweet little crush
makes days fly by
setting sails on the frozen seas
nothing like a sun filled morning.
my breath crystallizing in the frosty air, I throw my hair back and start walking down along the creek. ducks, ravens, puffy snow heavy on the branches....mysteries of a long night, mingled in one powerful image penetrating my eye, my soul, my mind.
it is weird, and i maybe i shouldn't talk about this. but it feels as if things are closing in. maybe it's too early yet to even think of it. maybe i should just let the feeling float on this eternal sea until it manifests in action.
but i want to sing a little melody. together with the robin. greet the newborn sun and leave the death of a freezing night behind.
traces are frozen into the snow. dogshit. footssteps. of men, women, children. of wheelchairs, bikes, tricycles and cars. trucks, taxis, busses. and airplanes posting their marks into the clear sky as if to write coded messages for skilled eyes to dissect.
i want to sing with the robin. with dylan in 'you're a big girl now'. "Bird on the horizon, sittin' on a fence,
He's singin' his song for me at his own expense.
And I'm just like that bird, oh, oh,
Singin' just for you. "
but even that song is gone now. it's new territory now. like that ice on the fjords in Sweden and Norway on which Chris skated the other day. The whole morning. On the frozen sea. the throbbing feeling has faded. there is ice covering the wounds.i slowly recover. see old ropes, rotting and decaying in the gray inbetweens of our incapabilities to cut them clean.
i let them go. let the ship sail.
say hello to the world for me.
my breath crystallizing in the frosty air, I throw my hair back and start walking down along the creek. ducks, ravens, puffy snow heavy on the branches....mysteries of a long night, mingled in one powerful image penetrating my eye, my soul, my mind.
it is weird, and i maybe i shouldn't talk about this. but it feels as if things are closing in. maybe it's too early yet to even think of it. maybe i should just let the feeling float on this eternal sea until it manifests in action.
but i want to sing a little melody. together with the robin. greet the newborn sun and leave the death of a freezing night behind.
traces are frozen into the snow. dogshit. footssteps. of men, women, children. of wheelchairs, bikes, tricycles and cars. trucks, taxis, busses. and airplanes posting their marks into the clear sky as if to write coded messages for skilled eyes to dissect.
i want to sing with the robin. with dylan in 'you're a big girl now'. "Bird on the horizon, sittin' on a fence,
He's singin' his song for me at his own expense.
And I'm just like that bird, oh, oh,
Singin' just for you. "
but even that song is gone now. it's new territory now. like that ice on the fjords in Sweden and Norway on which Chris skated the other day. The whole morning. On the frozen sea. the throbbing feeling has faded. there is ice covering the wounds.i slowly recover. see old ropes, rotting and decaying in the gray inbetweens of our incapabilities to cut them clean.
i let them go. let the ship sail.
say hello to the world for me.
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