lucky me
(this is a synopsis of dreams, some of which are recurring)
i don't have bad dreams.
even when the pulsing sea of cockroaches
is tearing through a humans flesh before me.
it doesn't touch me
when were running through a rotting house
from the butter greased mouths, the
immense hoards of flesh, of the naked gluttons.
and behind every door,
and every closet, every crevice in the wall,
is filled with children’s corpse
which feed there eternal hunger
amusement parks in the sky
hi, hi over the water.
where straps never lock in place
and the cars come of there tracks
the ancient house, one room immaculate
like a museum the next desolate made of rotting wood
rooms leading in to rooms leading into rooms
and each is smaller that the last
then the floor boards creak and looking down
you see the tops of trees
as you sway in suspended
rotten wood
a ghost house of splinters.
a towering wall of rocks and moss
a strangers tells you witch rock to touch
and you turn the handle
and the wall swings open and there in dust and cobweb
an ancient pipe organ hidden with in the stone
and seated upon dressed in dust
human sized birds
dead and dried, in there playing pose of eternal worship
to fallen gods
i push them aside to look closer
at the satanic script, the song book
at the top of the page it reads
"the worship of Satin is a bed of vomit"
but still i long to play those pipes
i don't wake in a cold sweat, it never touches me.
the only thing i fear is the invisible depth,
the dark water somewhere far beneath me,
still and silent,
in every dream.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Redeption
you where raped by your idols and you never knew it
strength is found in putting others down
rising above them, being the biggest, being the most
taking taking for your self, taking pride in having
the most for show.
men are enemies. women, slaves.
but the song of wolves will bring purity to your ears
your flesh will be redeemed as it is torn from the bone
and you will have purpose
as you feed the mouths that sing sweet praises
to the moon
strength is found in putting others down
rising above them, being the biggest, being the most
taking taking for your self, taking pride in having
the most for show.
men are enemies. women, slaves.
but the song of wolves will bring purity to your ears
your flesh will be redeemed as it is torn from the bone
and you will have purpose
as you feed the mouths that sing sweet praises
to the moon
true story
i'm driving down a road
and i can't see
i have no arms
and the pedles don't giveway to my feet
i'm pushing and grasping and
straining my eyes
but it's just blackness
i can't see anything
i can feel the seat and the peadls
and the swaying motion of the car
my sister is in the seat next to me,
i call out to her
i tell her that i can't see
i can't steer
i can't stop us,
but she knows
she can't see
or steer
she can't stop us
so we sit
and drive down the road we can't see
and marvel that we haven't crashed yet.
and i can't see
i have no arms
and the pedles don't giveway to my feet
i'm pushing and grasping and
straining my eyes
but it's just blackness
i can't see anything
i can feel the seat and the peadls
and the swaying motion of the car
my sister is in the seat next to me,
i call out to her
i tell her that i can't see
i can't steer
i can't stop us,
but she knows
she can't see
or steer
she can't stop us
so we sit
and drive down the road we can't see
and marvel that we haven't crashed yet.
st. mary of the glass eyes
so i've been thinking about where i was last year around this time
and all the stuff i did last year.
and then i found a bunch of things i wrote in New Orleans
that i had forgotten about.
for the most part i did hardly any writing while I was there,
I just felt that I couldn't capture it, I couldn't record it,
it wasn't possible, now I wish I had written more,
just because it triggers my memory.
any way here is some stuff from when I was down there
St. Mary of the glass eyes
poetry has a desire to spill
like the brown sludge in your refrigerator
the desire to serve meets the desire to destroy
you house is inside outon the street
i sat in a storage room in the second floor for an hour
putting myself into a 4 track
while the big guy came in with fear in his eyes,
4 times, i told him it was cool, i wasn't going to tell anyone
sat up all night, eyeing a nearby chair
ready grab and swing it
i had a dream about a girl locked in a stairwell,
a room full of knives,
i had to tie them down,
i had to stop her-
a curtain ruffles above me(Static glitch) and she's all cut up
why can't i control what i see?
why does it control me?
the other day i woke up with sorrowfor memories of lives that never happened
for things i will never remember.
without a memory it doesn't exist.
the memory of a memory is a sorrowa duty paid,
a flower on a grave
i sat in a room full of people remembering
what was taken from them
knowing your not alone makes everything infinity worse
i could see the tears they all held back
just beneath the surface
(anti sexual violence caucus)
a guy I know, Joe,
picked up eight bodies on Saturday
scraped a man's brains of the side walk
it had pine needles in it.
they call it grey matter, but it's really pink
and god it stinks
the stories drift around like the bodies did,
no one wants to turn it over
a fat cat with flys swarming into its mouth
a flattened fat rat, and a decomposing mouse
in the back of the stair well.
sound carries, and they can hear you crying,
go somewhere ells,
GO SOMEWHERE ELLS.
and all the stuff i did last year.
and then i found a bunch of things i wrote in New Orleans
that i had forgotten about.
for the most part i did hardly any writing while I was there,
I just felt that I couldn't capture it, I couldn't record it,
it wasn't possible, now I wish I had written more,
just because it triggers my memory.
any way here is some stuff from when I was down there
St. Mary of the glass eyes
poetry has a desire to spill
like the brown sludge in your refrigerator
the desire to serve meets the desire to destroy
you house is inside outon the street
i sat in a storage room in the second floor for an hour
putting myself into a 4 track
while the big guy came in with fear in his eyes,
4 times, i told him it was cool, i wasn't going to tell anyone
sat up all night, eyeing a nearby chair
ready grab and swing it
i had a dream about a girl locked in a stairwell,
a room full of knives,
i had to tie them down,
i had to stop her-
a curtain ruffles above me(Static glitch) and she's all cut up
why can't i control what i see?
why does it control me?
the other day i woke up with sorrowfor memories of lives that never happened
for things i will never remember.
without a memory it doesn't exist.
the memory of a memory is a sorrowa duty paid,
a flower on a grave
i sat in a room full of people remembering
what was taken from them
knowing your not alone makes everything infinity worse
i could see the tears they all held back
just beneath the surface
(anti sexual violence caucus)
a guy I know, Joe,
picked up eight bodies on Saturday
scraped a man's brains of the side walk
it had pine needles in it.
they call it grey matter, but it's really pink
and god it stinks
the stories drift around like the bodies did,
no one wants to turn it over
a fat cat with flys swarming into its mouth
a flattened fat rat, and a decomposing mouse
in the back of the stair well.
sound carries, and they can hear you crying,
go somewhere ells,
GO SOMEWHERE ELLS.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
i hate/love people rant
this is an angry stream of consiusness
if you like good spelling and gramer youll love this.
don't take it personally... well actually do.
late night rant...
is this it?
is this life?
is this it?
were all going (runing-walking) in cercils to confim and validate one another.
the hipsters the yuppies the artists the christains the punks
what worthless bullshit.
none opf us break free. none of us are aktually doing anything that maters
christains-- grow up get jobs fall inlove and get maried and fall out of contactat with the world around them go hide in your safe litle corner with your sweet heart and be in love and forget the world and your old friends and doing anthing that actually afects things.
the cool kids-- go to parties and dance and drink and smoke and are so fucking full of shit that i vomiteon this keyboard right now. go in your big cercil form cool place to cool place and complement each other on your hair and outfits thats so cute, lots of cool parties and making out and living for an image, like old movies you are propoganda self sold, and you love it because you validate one another by telling one another how cool you are. and the corprate leaches love you even more as they drink your blood at watering holes and cornerstores. and you think your stiking it to the man by shoping at thiff stors you dumb fucks. wake the fuck up. and think about what your doing to your litle siblings and the kids that see you pushing your image so hard as you pretend not to try.
yuppies--, jesus forgive us we go to sckool and work hard at it and lean learn learn and studie and get jobs in things like computer sience and graphic desigen and interior fucking decorating jesus, we are cogs in a macien that we have exepted,we have exepted that the system is ok and things will sort themselves out and we need to get good jobs and have future. but we forot our child hood ideals about individuality and freedom and equality. and few of us really comprehend the macien that we are such a willing part of.
artists--. oh what fun time to stab at myself, we can wonder deep in dimly lite hallways find a pink room full of the locomotion another room of bunnie rabit men, and turn it over inside out and say... hey this means something. and sertanly it does. but no lessdo we run in circls chasing our metophoric tales. i can contemplate my naval all day long, but no nnurishment will it give.i make art and he makes art and she makes art and i tell him its good and he tells her its good and she tells me its goodand we are no difrent from the cool kids with hair and clothes circular affermation, but we think we're better and all the wile we're putting them down as we do the same damn thing... none of us are breaking out of this
punks--. you beutifull people, is the cose lost or have we for gotten what it was... for the most part arnt we just alitle dit of all of the above.image, dependancy, music, art, snobery. salvation is a skateboard. rebelion is image. rebel in a formulated fation. drink, smoke, fuck, and fight, whose the narliest, who is craziest, whose got the biggest leggend. withoureally thinking about what real rebellion could be if rebls idalised things like responibility, itegrity, work ethic, productiongiving. sharing. teaching. loving. what could it be like... can you imagine...
lets get over ourselves
lets look at the big picture
lets stop talking shit
lets start doing shit
if you like good spelling and gramer youll love this.
don't take it personally... well actually do.
late night rant...
is this it?
is this life?
is this it?
were all going (runing-walking) in cercils to confim and validate one another.
the hipsters the yuppies the artists the christains the punks
what worthless bullshit.
none opf us break free. none of us are aktually doing anything that maters
christains-- grow up get jobs fall inlove and get maried and fall out of contactat with the world around them go hide in your safe litle corner with your sweet heart and be in love and forget the world and your old friends and doing anthing that actually afects things.
the cool kids-- go to parties and dance and drink and smoke and are so fucking full of shit that i vomiteon this keyboard right now. go in your big cercil form cool place to cool place and complement each other on your hair and outfits thats so cute, lots of cool parties and making out and living for an image, like old movies you are propoganda self sold, and you love it because you validate one another by telling one another how cool you are. and the corprate leaches love you even more as they drink your blood at watering holes and cornerstores. and you think your stiking it to the man by shoping at thiff stors you dumb fucks. wake the fuck up. and think about what your doing to your litle siblings and the kids that see you pushing your image so hard as you pretend not to try.
yuppies--, jesus forgive us we go to sckool and work hard at it and lean learn learn and studie and get jobs in things like computer sience and graphic desigen and interior fucking decorating jesus, we are cogs in a macien that we have exepted,we have exepted that the system is ok and things will sort themselves out and we need to get good jobs and have future. but we forot our child hood ideals about individuality and freedom and equality. and few of us really comprehend the macien that we are such a willing part of.
artists--. oh what fun time to stab at myself, we can wonder deep in dimly lite hallways find a pink room full of the locomotion another room of bunnie rabit men, and turn it over inside out and say... hey this means something. and sertanly it does. but no lessdo we run in circls chasing our metophoric tales. i can contemplate my naval all day long, but no nnurishment will it give.i make art and he makes art and she makes art and i tell him its good and he tells her its good and she tells me its goodand we are no difrent from the cool kids with hair and clothes circular affermation, but we think we're better and all the wile we're putting them down as we do the same damn thing... none of us are breaking out of this
punks--. you beutifull people, is the cose lost or have we for gotten what it was... for the most part arnt we just alitle dit of all of the above.image, dependancy, music, art, snobery. salvation is a skateboard. rebelion is image. rebel in a formulated fation. drink, smoke, fuck, and fight, whose the narliest, who is craziest, whose got the biggest leggend. withoureally thinking about what real rebellion could be if rebls idalised things like responibility, itegrity, work ethic, productiongiving. sharing. teaching. loving. what could it be like... can you imagine...
lets get over ourselves
lets look at the big picture
lets stop talking shit
lets start doing shit
who am i kidding.
Friday, October 19, 2007
rediscoverd
well i just rediscoverd this old site and had quite the trip reading my old poetry, I'm glad I found it, brings back alot of memorys. poetry has always beem that for me, a way to remember, like keeping a journal in code that only i understand.
i just went sleep walking, it's a nice damp night. I like walking, without particularly thinking of anything, just being, feeling the city sleep. 3:35am
i just went sleep walking, it's a nice damp night. I like walking, without particularly thinking of anything, just being, feeling the city sleep. 3:35am
Monday, March 21, 2005
shows
4/1/2005
Breather Resist, Hot Cross, Achilles, Coliseum, Lords, Transistor Transistor and The Holy Shroud
Hazelwood Lodge in Elison Park
Fri
5:00 P.M.
Rochester, NY
4/1/2005
The New York Rock Opera Presents Alice Cooper's Welcome To My Nightmare
Penny Arcade
Fri
Rochester, NY
4/3/2005
Acceptance, As Tall As Lions, Copeland and Lovedrug
The Furnace
Sun
Syracuse, NY
4/13/2005
As I Lay Dying.. Throwdown, All That Remains and Winter Solstice
Penny Arcade
Wed
Rochester, NY
4/14/2005
Madball
Penny Arcade
Thu
Rochester, NY
4/21/2005
Agony Scene, 3IOB, Trivium, Still Remains
Penny Arcade
Thu
Rochester, NY
7/21/2005
Ozzfest Tour featuring A Dozen Furies, Arch Enemy, As I Lay Dying, Black Sabbath, Bury Your Dead, In Flames, Iron Maiden, It Dies Today, Killswitch Engage, Mastodon, Ozzy Osbourn, Rob Zombie, Shadows Fall, Soilwork, The Black Dahlia Murder, The Haunted, Trivium and Zakk Wylde Black Label Society
Darien Lake
Thu.
Darien, NY
Breather Resist, Hot Cross, Achilles, Coliseum, Lords, Transistor Transistor and The Holy Shroud
Hazelwood Lodge in Elison Park
Fri
5:00 P.M.
Rochester, NY
4/1/2005
The New York Rock Opera Presents Alice Cooper's Welcome To My Nightmare
Penny Arcade
Fri
Rochester, NY
4/3/2005
Acceptance, As Tall As Lions, Copeland and Lovedrug
The Furnace
Sun
Syracuse, NY
4/13/2005
As I Lay Dying.. Throwdown, All That Remains and Winter Solstice
Penny Arcade
Wed
Rochester, NY
4/14/2005
Madball
Penny Arcade
Thu
Rochester, NY
4/21/2005
Agony Scene, 3IOB, Trivium, Still Remains
Penny Arcade
Thu
Rochester, NY
7/21/2005
Ozzfest Tour featuring A Dozen Furies, Arch Enemy, As I Lay Dying, Black Sabbath, Bury Your Dead, In Flames, Iron Maiden, It Dies Today, Killswitch Engage, Mastodon, Ozzy Osbourn, Rob Zombie, Shadows Fall, Soilwork, The Black Dahlia Murder, The Haunted, Trivium and Zakk Wylde Black Label Society
Darien Lake
Thu.
Darien, NY
Monday, March 14, 2005
come on!
look into the face of suicide
the sexiest face alive
I'm right here in this wall of potographs
a thousand artists
strove there hardest
to frame my classic smile
the world worshiped me
as my dress began to slip
the world longed for me
from lips to hips
the world begged for me
as my smile began to slip
but they never saw it
there was no black lipstick
no dark eyeshadow
none of those classics
to let you know
I was asking
what was left for me to long for?
when the world was mine?
the sexiest smile ever
the face of suicide
that the world loved so well
but I didint love it any more...
I was long gone.
only the sexy smile remained
it was a long time ago
that I said,
"goodbye Norma Jean"
look into the face of suicide
the sexiest face alive
I'm right here in this wall of potographs
a thousand artists
strove there hardest
to frame my classic smile
the world worshiped me
as my dress began to slip
the world longed for me
from lips to hips
the world begged for me
as my smile began to slip
but they never saw it
there was no black lipstick
no dark eyeshadow
none of those classics
to let you know
I was asking
what was left for me to long for?
when the world was mine?
the sexiest smile ever
the face of suicide
that the world loved so well
but I didint love it any more...
I was long gone.
only the sexy smile remained
it was a long time ago
that I said,
"goodbye Norma Jean"
Saturday, March 05, 2005
I feel like alot of stuffs been happening, and I've let alot of stuff pass me that sould have happend.
but I don't think much of it's worth writing about, so anyway here's another poem.
it's a bunch of splimterd thought revloving around one thing. I hope you don't understand it.
when the traveler returns
I remember when she left
as yesterday
this empy year
reeks of
second hand music
second hand frindship
second hand conviction
second hand love
sitting five peiws behind me
whith a turn of my head
you have broken my silence
not the silence between us
that remains even now unchanged
you have broken my sece-fire
my agrement not to think
of my silent half loves
so menny
and so far from being hole
of my unwriten poems
of my unscreamed somgs
of my unpainted masterpaice
of the batles I have not fought
we are seperate
and I am seperat form the seperated
but I wach you,
you beatiful thing
running, breathing
smiling, singing
sitting, swinging
praying, healing
I've seen you cry
pure real tears
they showed me what you are
they made me love you
you remind me
of everything I wish I was.
but I don't think much of it's worth writing about, so anyway here's another poem.
it's a bunch of splimterd thought revloving around one thing. I hope you don't understand it.
when the traveler returns
I remember when she left
as yesterday
this empy year
reeks of
second hand music
second hand frindship
second hand conviction
second hand love
sitting five peiws behind me
whith a turn of my head
you have broken my silence
not the silence between us
that remains even now unchanged
you have broken my sece-fire
my agrement not to think
of my silent half loves
so menny
and so far from being hole
of my unwriten poems
of my unscreamed somgs
of my unpainted masterpaice
of the batles I have not fought
we are seperate
and I am seperat form the seperated
but I wach you,
you beatiful thing
running, breathing
smiling, singing
sitting, swinging
praying, healing
I've seen you cry
pure real tears
they showed me what you are
they made me love you
you remind me
of everything I wish I was.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
experiments in string theory? I don't know?
i love to play piano
at night
when I'm half asleep
slowing my mind, and letting my fingers move
down scales they know so well
and across notes that shouldn't fit
aranging shapes and colors as i please
and with the crash of disharmony i shatter then
and let the splinters spread.
to slowly watch as the sky becomes an A
the trees become a D
the moon shines as a G
a summer night becomes a C
stringing together memorys
momens long gone
desires, moment that have never been
faces and wrists
wraped in vines and moonlight
fade back and forth
between the glisten of snow
and the glisten of blood
shining with a self-hatred only the bleeding understand
Dear God
i hide under the covers
where i was once a sleeping dragon resting in my lair
on this piano seat my back is exposed
for the stabbers who stand in the darkness around me
who crept in, invited by my demonic notes
their knives as sharp as the black keys
play a C and they cant touch me
i play a C and they cant touch me
i don't understand this song
i don't know where it is going...
but this is the only song I know.
at night
when I'm half asleep
slowing my mind, and letting my fingers move
down scales they know so well
and across notes that shouldn't fit
aranging shapes and colors as i please
and with the crash of disharmony i shatter then
and let the splinters spread.
to slowly watch as the sky becomes an A
the trees become a D
the moon shines as a G
a summer night becomes a C
stringing together memorys
momens long gone
desires, moment that have never been
faces and wrists
wraped in vines and moonlight
fade back and forth
between the glisten of snow
and the glisten of blood
shining with a self-hatred only the bleeding understand
Dear God
i hide under the covers
where i was once a sleeping dragon resting in my lair
on this piano seat my back is exposed
for the stabbers who stand in the darkness around me
who crept in, invited by my demonic notes
their knives as sharp as the black keys
play a C and they cant touch me
i play a C and they cant touch me
i don't understand this song
i don't know where it is going...
but this is the only song I know.
Friday, February 11, 2005
the makeing of the oath
Draw the edges closer, frame it in
the image pushes back fighting it's borders
it thrashes for release as I holed this frame
around it's restles desperate boarders
it yearns with every turn of my hed
"sece your motion fool" it will not be stilled
it will not hold still
every lip- every eye
every lash- every line
every patch- every hair
every stich- every tare
my heart was carved from fundementals of stone
convictions formed of the purest ideals
nourished by a chileds faith
streghtend my a youthes passion
splintered by the mind of an adult
and it's broken faithless logic
I have wached the rare raidiant vistion
wached it grow, and believed in it
then wached it crack, wached it crumble
and we all choke on it's dust
but I shall shake this dust from my shoulders
spit this mud from my lungs with an oath
that when my time comes...
I shall be stronger
I shall be truer
than you all.
the image pushes back fighting it's borders
it thrashes for release as I holed this frame
around it's restles desperate boarders
it yearns with every turn of my hed
"sece your motion fool" it will not be stilled
it will not hold still
every lip- every eye
every lash- every line
every patch- every hair
every stich- every tare
my heart was carved from fundementals of stone
convictions formed of the purest ideals
nourished by a chileds faith
streghtend my a youthes passion
splintered by the mind of an adult
and it's broken faithless logic
I have wached the rare raidiant vistion
wached it grow, and believed in it
then wached it crack, wached it crumble
and we all choke on it's dust
but I shall shake this dust from my shoulders
spit this mud from my lungs with an oath
that when my time comes...
I shall be stronger
I shall be truer
than you all.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
run is circles beneath my wings, as if you where going somewhere
I'm thinking about alot of things I can't talk about.
I am angry and sad about alot of things.
if you know what I'm talking about... (than you know)
if don't know what I'm talking about, than don't worry about it
I am angry and sad about alot of things.
if you know what I'm talking about... (than you know)
if don't know what I'm talking about, than don't worry about it
Monday, January 31, 2005
.
sunday~ comes early. I rise with the dawn
I walk among the religius,
monday~ caotic, I lean into the wind
tuesday~ setaparet, sacred from it's peirs,
full of a beauty all it's own
wednesday~ strong, laced with invention,
and I pour out the music wich grows in me
thuresday~ is silent, undefined and restfull
friday~ agian they shall rise against me, and again they shall . fall and the night shall bring fellowship, healing my wounds
saterday~ a day of rest, restless rest, and the desire for more
I walk among the religius,
monday~ caotic, I lean into the wind
tuesday~ setaparet, sacred from it's peirs,
full of a beauty all it's own
wednesday~ strong, laced with invention,
and I pour out the music wich grows in me
thuresday~ is silent, undefined and restfull
friday~ agian they shall rise against me, and again they shall . fall and the night shall bring fellowship, healing my wounds
saterday~ a day of rest, restless rest, and the desire for more
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
I wish I had a heart of war
Friday, Friday, Friday
Psyopus
Day Without Rian
the Network
Renouf
at the penny Arcade
8:00
I'm not shure how much it costs
but it shouldn't be much
so if you live in rochester and enjoy hevy chaotic music
you know what you have to do.
Psyopus
Day Without Rian
the Network
Renouf
at the penny Arcade
8:00
I'm not shure how much it costs
but it shouldn't be much
so if you live in rochester and enjoy hevy chaotic music
you know what you have to do.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
car
well, I now have a car.
a 1990 buick century, given to me by my grandmother.
I greatly apreciat this gift, I have been kneeding a car badly and if I had bought one it wouldn't have been this nice, it's been kept in a garadge most of it's life and not drive much, it's really very nice considering it's age.
This gift is bittersweet because it means my gramdmother will no longer be driving.
she is moving into a apartmint and her house will soon be sold.
she will no longer be coming over every morning to help out around the house and do the ironing.
she will no longer stop by with extra groserys or random things to give us, she'll no longer tell me how much she loves hearing me play piano.
any way, it makes me sad and I'll miss seeing her every day.
a 1990 buick century, given to me by my grandmother.
I greatly apreciat this gift, I have been kneeding a car badly and if I had bought one it wouldn't have been this nice, it's been kept in a garadge most of it's life and not drive much, it's really very nice considering it's age.
This gift is bittersweet because it means my gramdmother will no longer be driving.
she is moving into a apartmint and her house will soon be sold.
she will no longer be coming over every morning to help out around the house and do the ironing.
she will no longer stop by with extra groserys or random things to give us, she'll no longer tell me how much she loves hearing me play piano.
any way, it makes me sad and I'll miss seeing her every day.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
a prayer to sleep
(remembering that I once felt)
these thoughts that form from shadow and mist
these thaoughts that form fingers to fist
they dance as shadows on the wall
they speak of the forgoten call
tonight grant me this prayer
lay me down as the dead
let there be no dreams found in this bed
let me rest with the decayed
let all mortal thought hear fade
lay me down in linnen white
my thoughts as still as a stone tonight
let all for one night be gone
pray...
reserect me with the dawn
these thoughts that form from shadow and mist
these thaoughts that form fingers to fist
they dance as shadows on the wall
they speak of the forgoten call
tonight grant me this prayer
lay me down as the dead
let there be no dreams found in this bed
let me rest with the decayed
let all mortal thought hear fade
lay me down in linnen white
my thoughts as still as a stone tonight
let all for one night be gone
pray...
reserect me with the dawn
Sunday, January 02, 2005
I wish I had a heart of war
No matter how ruined man and his world may seem to be, and no matter how terrible man's despair may decome, as long as he continues to be a man his very humanity continues to tell him that life has meaning. That, indeed, is one reasone why man tends to rebel against huimself. if he could without effort see what the meaning of life is, and if he could fulfill his ultimate purpose without trouble, he would he would never question the fact that his life is worth living. Or if he saw at once that life had no perpose and no meaning, the question would never arise. In eathor case man would not find himself so much of a problem.
Our life, as individual persons and as membors of a perplexed and struggling race, provokes us with the evidence that it must have meaning. part of this meaning still escapes us. Yet our purpose in life is to discover this meaning, and to live according to it. We have, therfore, something to live for. The process of living, growing up, and becoming a peson, is precisely the gradually increasing awarness of what that somthing is.
Prologe to, No Man Is An Island by Tomas Merton.
Our life, as individual persons and as membors of a perplexed and struggling race, provokes us with the evidence that it must have meaning. part of this meaning still escapes us. Yet our purpose in life is to discover this meaning, and to live according to it. We have, therfore, something to live for. The process of living, growing up, and becoming a peson, is precisely the gradually increasing awarness of what that somthing is.
Prologe to, No Man Is An Island by Tomas Merton.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
they are theives
Eyes on strings
pull hearts on
they say everything is connected
softly teasing tug
and slowly we slip
but I know I'm slipping
I can see you pull
the puppetmasters walk among us
they are thieves
murder, murder
my heart crys
how can I reast
untill they die
the slow process of decay,
or the open space
where the wall longed for it's builder
they walk in through that every day void
and the shrine is established
and somewhere, deep in shaddow
a weak broken vocie,
wispers,
"Abomination of Desolation"
pull hearts on
they say everything is connected
softly teasing tug
and slowly we slip
but I know I'm slipping
I can see you pull
the puppetmasters walk among us
they are thieves
murder, murder
my heart crys
how can I reast
untill they die
the slow process of decay,
or the open space
where the wall longed for it's builder
they walk in through that every day void
and the shrine is established
and somewhere, deep in shaddow
a weak broken vocie,
wispers,
"Abomination of Desolation"
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