I'm looking to get a little closer
A little closer to you.
I can't imagine being closer
Proximity's got me looking the fool.
I remember
Tucking your hair back behind your ear
Or holding your side while I stood near.
Waiting to see you and hating to leave
Or thinking of how my chest would heave.
When my stares were full and my eyes weren't cold
I guess time has a way of making everyone old.
I remember looking at a girl with this ridiculous and hopeless grin of undividedness.
I miss that feeling. Only slightly, mind you.
My distractions have learnt to take centre stage.
Now my friend is pretend and he plays the lead role
The thing with solitude is – it has plenty of soul.
Even when I'm real, my mind's in a bout
Do you think this is easy? Shit, without-a-doubt.
Putting on that suit is like wearing a glove
But a trace is a good thing when you're in love.
Costumes are for pussies but what are you gonna do?
Pussies are essential man, there's nothing more true.
These last two stanzas seem a bit more hip-hop
But rhythm in poetry always helps the beat drop.
I'm trying to close now, no room to stutter
This shit sure ain't smooth peanut butter.
Yours crunchily,
Mr. Division.
"If you've come looking for hard times, hard times ain't hard to find." - Clarence Greenwood
Showing posts with label Lyrical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lyrical. Show all posts
What's in a Letter? The A - Z game (17th November 2010)
I just had a thought. I was writing an email when I suddenly felt amused by how the words I chose in one sentence came together rather beautifully. The aesthetic of language is a very interesting trait and I've always found it fascinating when words are put together (sometimes intentionally) to form alliterations or statements that really sort of roll off the tongue nicely.
Now alliterations are many words using the same letter, so I thought about how it would be novel to use each letter of the alphabet instead, and form a single sentence. And I would do this using the letters in sequence. It must have already been done by someone at some point but I thought I might give it a go.
This was my first effort... and I have to say, it is a very exciting exercise and I recommend everyone try it. It's like a little adventure; the fun is in weaving the words together while following the one and only rule: A to Z.
I'll end with something Timothy Leary once said. It's a great thought and fits here, I think. It's used as a lyric in a song by Infected Mushroom.
Damn, I love that part when the beats slip in at "letters in between" and then the words trail off. Really hits home.
Turn on, tune in, drop out.
Now alliterations are many words using the same letter, so I thought about how it would be novel to use each letter of the alphabet instead, and form a single sentence. And I would do this using the letters in sequence. It must have already been done by someone at some point but I thought I might give it a go.
This was my first effort... and I have to say, it is a very exciting exercise and I recommend everyone try it. It's like a little adventure; the fun is in weaving the words together while following the one and only rule: A to Z.
A boy could derive extraordinary fun going hunting in jail; killing lemurs, monkeys, necrophiliacs or pedophiles, quietly reducing suspicion to underestimate various wicked xenophiles yearning Zen!I'm not sure why my brain turned to killing animals and perverts, but I feel as though this can also have some psychological significance, if used in tests. I have to say – the first half of the alphabet is easy... but the second half gets tricky. Especially because you're halfway through the sentence. And you can only go a few ways with XYZ!
I'll end with something Timothy Leary once said. It's a great thought and fits here, I think. It's used as a lyric in a song by Infected Mushroom.
"But they all do sort of the same thing, and that is rearrange what you thought was real, and... umm... they remind you of the beauty of pretty simple things.
You forget, because you're so busy going from A to Z that there's umm... twenty-four letters in between."
Damn, I love that part when the beats slip in at "letters in between" and then the words trail off. Really hits home.
Turn on, tune in, drop out.
Crisis In Faith (7th November 2010)
Lately I've begun to understand better why it is I like to write. And more so, I've begun to understand why my words mean so much to me. With each letter, it's as though I've made a commitment. Then I play it over and over and over again in my head so that with each go over, I add some more meaning to the words I chose to use until by the end of it, what I have left is a piece of my soul captured in time by syntax and semantics.
I wrote this and I hate it already. And I think that's the point.
We are what we pretend to be. And if all it's about is pretense and conviction, I'd like a blindfold please.
I wrote this and I hate it already. And I think that's the point.
We are what we pretend to be. And if all it's about is pretense and conviction, I'd like a blindfold please.
Grimacing at my own words, my speech is wearing thinSpiralling towards an inevitable fate,
I own no true confidence.
I know that doom and deference are matters of persuasion.
Convinced I need not convince myself any more,
I write in alliterations and I fail.
God, give me a weapon to fight this sloth
Give me a weapon to destroy myself so that perhaps I may respawn.
I hate being my own master
but I am unwilling to submit to you.
Oh cohesive contortionist
Oh rhetoric allusion
I know that this will end.
I know that this will end.
It is my crisis in faith.
Salvation - Citizen Cope (21st May 2010)
If there's one song that has never failed to get me to cringe my eyebrows, nod my head from side to side and use my unfortunately un-melodic voice to sing almost as though all the pain and anguish in the world has finally been understood and accepted by one solitary soul, it's this.
"Since I was the age to speak, Haven't you been listening? Salvation. I'm calling. Salvation"
It is heavy, it is poignant, it is moving. It is everything music is supposed to be. Each chord and each painstaking syllable used by Clarence Greenwood's beautifully unique voice manages to stir and shake everything inside me.
"I'm downstairs on the Motorola. You know, I got 3 golden bullets and I'm shooting for your soul. Salvation. I'm calling. Salvation"
You don't need to understand it. You just know it's there.
Like the blonde-headed kid with a left handed guitar.
"His first shot grazed my eye
I lost half of my sight and my first born's life
Yeah, the second shot knocked off my guitar moon
And it made my guitar kind of play out of tune
But I just kept strumming like I had nothing to lose
He turned the third on himself
'Cause the bastard knew.
Salvation. I'm calling. Salvation"
Put the gun down. Put the gun down. Put the gun down. Put the gun down.
Gulp (15th March 2010)
He sits and he stares and he stares and he sits
How much longer?
He looks out the window and the sky is seeping in
How much longer?
There she is, the woman he’s been waiting for.
All of a sudden, she’s here.
Stand up, he asked. His legs wouldn’t listen.
His legs just wouldn’t fucking listen.
Speak up, he thought and his mouth stayed shut.
His mouth just stayed fucking shut.
What’s the point, he settled, as he looked back out the window.
I’ll do this tomorrow, I will, I know it. It will be done.
Just another day now.
He sits and he stares and he stares and he sits.
Then all of a sudden, they’re here.
His foot starts to kick, his legs spring up.
He advances.
His fist is clenched, his hands are swaying.
He comes to a halt.
His eyes are fixed, his stare is certain.
He’s certain. He is certain. Gulp.
He takes a quick look around and sees the office, lying dead in its eternity.
Of course, he thinks to himself. He needed out.
He smiles at her and says
“I’d like to carry on with my life now, thanks.
Which is to say… I quit.”
How much longer?
He looks out the window and the sky is seeping in
How much longer?
There she is, the woman he’s been waiting for.
All of a sudden, she’s here.
Stand up, he asked. His legs wouldn’t listen.
His legs just wouldn’t fucking listen.
Speak up, he thought and his mouth stayed shut.
His mouth just stayed fucking shut.
What’s the point, he settled, as he looked back out the window.
I’ll do this tomorrow, I will, I know it. It will be done.
Just another day now.
He sits and he stares and he stares and he sits.
Then all of a sudden, they’re here.
His foot starts to kick, his legs spring up.
He advances.
His fist is clenched, his hands are swaying.
He comes to a halt.
His eyes are fixed, his stare is certain.
He’s certain. He is certain. Gulp.
He takes a quick look around and sees the office, lying dead in its eternity.
Of course, he thinks to himself. He needed out.
He smiles at her and says
“I’d like to carry on with my life now, thanks.
Which is to say… I quit.”
The Fix (2nd March 2008)
This is a song I wrote a long time ago about the first girl I ever loved and the break-up we endured. I suppose it can be said that I got the short end of the stick... but in retrospect, I think I learnt a lot about love and loss that year, and all of it is priceless to me now. Everyone goes through heartbreak... this was my rendition of the hope I felt in reconciliation and I guess now I feel okay to share it, since so much time has passed and so much comfort and closure has been achieved. I think the title is inspired by a book I was reading at the time, A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. Go get your fix.
THE FIX
It’s as though we met on a sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
And while it was all thick and thin,
And as we sipped on our juice and gin,
A timeless world we drifted in.
Things would move from stop to spin,
From high spirits to pantyhose,
From eyes to ears to lips to nose,
First times and many times and all the time we’d be
And everyone would know us - this girl and me.
From moments filled with love more than lust,
For all of it to turn to dust,
Or dissipate or transform or just plain go,
What we felt, did we even know?
All I’m saying is – you should’ve said so.
There were times I’d still see it in your eyes,
Other times I’d hope or even despise;
I looked at you the same and songs would know it,
Films would scream it and my face would show it.
Melancholy, despair, agony and pain,
I still love you, if it’s all the same.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still didn’t turn me away.
I don’t know how
To look at you now
And all the while
I fake a smile
And stop to pretend and pretend to stop
Through so many games I hip and hop.
Until finally I conclude through logic and reason
To love you still is pretty much treason.
But then it hits me hard and fast
I find myself caught in the past
Back to that warm sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still doesn’t turn me away.
I don’t know why it grew to be this way,
Life has no purpose I’d always say,
Except to create one and when I had you
It seemed so easy, so pure and true.
If you’re out there, and listening alone,
I want you to know you can come back home.
I’d greet you reluctantly with open arms,
We’d drive by sea, and country farms,
I’d hold you close and kiss your shoulder;
Every minute I’d grow stronger and bolder.
Grab your waist and bring you near,
Press my lips upon your ear,
“I love you so much”, I hope you know;
Then I’d wake up and let you go.
THE FIX
It’s as though we met on a sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
And while it was all thick and thin,
And as we sipped on our juice and gin,
A timeless world we drifted in.
Things would move from stop to spin,
From high spirits to pantyhose,
From eyes to ears to lips to nose,
First times and many times and all the time we’d be
And everyone would know us - this girl and me.
From moments filled with love more than lust,
For all of it to turn to dust,
Or dissipate or transform or just plain go,
What we felt, did we even know?
All I’m saying is – you should’ve said so.
There were times I’d still see it in your eyes,
Other times I’d hope or even despise;
I looked at you the same and songs would know it,
Films would scream it and my face would show it.
Melancholy, despair, agony and pain,
I still love you, if it’s all the same.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still didn’t turn me away.
I don’t know how
To look at you now
And all the while
I fake a smile
And stop to pretend and pretend to stop
Through so many games I hip and hop.
Until finally I conclude through logic and reason
To love you still is pretty much treason.
But then it hits me hard and fast
I find myself caught in the past
Back to that warm sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still doesn’t turn me away.
I don’t know why it grew to be this way,
Life has no purpose I’d always say,
Except to create one and when I had you
It seemed so easy, so pure and true.
If you’re out there, and listening alone,
I want you to know you can come back home.
I’d greet you reluctantly with open arms,
We’d drive by sea, and country farms,
I’d hold you close and kiss your shoulder;
Every minute I’d grow stronger and bolder.
Grab your waist and bring you near,
Press my lips upon your ear,
“I love you so much”, I hope you know;
Then I’d wake up and let you go.
These are the Days. (5th June 2009)
I pressed my back against the seat and placed my head closer
The wind swept across me and pushed my grin wide
My eyes can see fleeting pictures of dark covered streets and the hills at the distance
My ears listen to the cascading melody and the precise euphoric beat
My skin can feel the touch of soft faces beside me
My thoughts are filled with energy
And my lips taste of scotch.
These are the Days.
The wind swept across me and pushed my grin wide
My eyes can see fleeting pictures of dark covered streets and the hills at the distance
My ears listen to the cascading melody and the precise euphoric beat
My skin can feel the touch of soft faces beside me
My thoughts are filled with energy
And my lips taste of scotch.
These are the Days.
The Stimulation (3rd October 2008)
Another piece stumbled upon whilst cleaning my room. Apparently I find a lot of time for personal literature during my exams :)
The Stimulation
Standing there, so unaware
A distant look, an onward stare
We meet with our eyes.
She intrigues me, excites me
I feel connecting, unrelenting
It’s as though reality deludes us.
And then I saw her face!
Now I’m a believer!
Haha so it’s raining outside as I sit indoors and write inane script on an inane piece of paper about development – general economics. C’est la vie, n’est pas?
The Stimulation
Standing there, so unaware
A distant look, an onward stare
We meet with our eyes.
She intrigues me, excites me
I feel connecting, unrelenting
It’s as though reality deludes us.
And then I saw her face!
Now I’m a believer!
Haha so it’s raining outside as I sit indoors and write inane script on an inane piece of paper about development – general economics. C’est la vie, n’est pas?
Fresh Prince of 6th Grade (1999-2000) (Re-written 27th September 2008)
This is possibly one of the earliest comic pieces I've written. I must have been 11 or 12 when I came up with this and proudly recollected my prepubescent talent on the back of my midterm exam paper since the front side was boring me with all sorts of economics questions! When I think of it now, I see a lot of clever satire used along with some hidden pop culture implications. e.g. the word gay applied derogatorily. Kids really do say the darndest things, eh? Haha so here it is -
I was walking down an alley when I heard a groan
So I went to check, it was Sylvester Stallone!
I was curious, so I asked him how
He said he was run over by a big fat cow!
I said, “Now?!” He said, “No, two hours back!”
“So you’ve been lying here all this time, is that a fact?”
He was like, “Yeah, it’s true.”
I said, “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
So I took him to the hospital quick and fast
The doctors said he wasn’t gonna last
I yelled, “Oh no! What the hell!”
“Oh well, this is going to be a crazy story to tell!”
So Stallone died, people were sad
I said, “Hell no! It ain’t so bad!”
So that’s it, that’s the whole thing
I want to write some more but I got nothing to sing.
So bye, see you and have a nice day,
And I pray to God that you aren’t gay!
I was walking down an alley when I heard a groan
So I went to check, it was Sylvester Stallone!
I was curious, so I asked him how
He said he was run over by a big fat cow!
I said, “Now?!” He said, “No, two hours back!”
“So you’ve been lying here all this time, is that a fact?”
He was like, “Yeah, it’s true.”
I said, “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
So I took him to the hospital quick and fast
The doctors said he wasn’t gonna last
I yelled, “Oh no! What the hell!”
“Oh well, this is going to be a crazy story to tell!”
So Stallone died, people were sad
I said, “Hell no! It ain’t so bad!”
So that’s it, that’s the whole thing
I want to write some more but I got nothing to sing.
So bye, see you and have a nice day,
And I pray to God that you aren’t gay!
Does he Fall or Fly? (18th September 2008)
(I wrote this at work one time on a little writing pad and only just found it while cleaning my room -1st January 2009)
The weather is exquisite.
There’s a soft breeze blowing that makes the trees sway ever so gently.
The green overwhelmed by the concrete, but still, everything is almost idyllic.
At least from where I’m sitting.
The droll and boring environment coupled with tremendously dull conversation makes for a delight to exit.
The filing of papers and the organization of the filing,
The post-its and the pens and Kangaroo’s punch,
All coloured vibrant pink, purple and blue,
Shiny and well coated but utterly monochrome.
Underneath all of the hustle
And behind all the bustle,
Sits a young man getting a feel of his surroundings.
An average young fellow probably yearning to earn
And earning to learn
And start a career that’s lucrative and profitable and enough to make a living
And more to save for later
And to buy a car and make rent
And pay for tuition and possibly, yes possibly,
Buy that motorcycle he always wanted.
But is he really that guy?
He sits
Bored out of his wits
How much longer must he smile politely at the woman sitting at the desk to the right in accounting who doesn’t look like she’s changed in days?
She’s probably just scared of change; to change.
She doesn’t want what he wants.
If he wants other things, why must he sit there?
You have to wait your turn and you have to play only after your cards are dealt and you can NOT put all your eggs in one basket, he is told.
But he can feel it. It’s his ace in the hole.
BIG OR BUST.
The breeze hits his face as he stares down twenty storeys.
HE JUMPS.
Does he fall or fly?
The weather is exquisite.
There’s a soft breeze blowing that makes the trees sway ever so gently.
The green overwhelmed by the concrete, but still, everything is almost idyllic.
At least from where I’m sitting.
The droll and boring environment coupled with tremendously dull conversation makes for a delight to exit.
The filing of papers and the organization of the filing,
The post-its and the pens and Kangaroo’s punch,
All coloured vibrant pink, purple and blue,
Shiny and well coated but utterly monochrome.
Underneath all of the hustle
And behind all the bustle,
Sits a young man getting a feel of his surroundings.
An average young fellow probably yearning to earn
And earning to learn
And start a career that’s lucrative and profitable and enough to make a living
And more to save for later
And to buy a car and make rent
And pay for tuition and possibly, yes possibly,
Buy that motorcycle he always wanted.
But is he really that guy?
He sits
Bored out of his wits
How much longer must he smile politely at the woman sitting at the desk to the right in accounting who doesn’t look like she’s changed in days?
She’s probably just scared of change; to change.
She doesn’t want what he wants.
If he wants other things, why must he sit there?
You have to wait your turn and you have to play only after your cards are dealt and you can NOT put all your eggs in one basket, he is told.
But he can feel it. It’s his ace in the hole.
BIG OR BUST.
The breeze hits his face as he stares down twenty storeys.
HE JUMPS.
Does he fall or fly?
And the shoes come off (2nd June 2008)
It has come to my notice that I notice how noticeable and/or note worthy the choices I make are.
This disturbs me.
I am an obsessive compulsive thinker and this I will and can afford to admit. Obsession. Without taking a look at the dictionary, I am made to believe that it’s derogatory. But then I don’t even buy into ethics so why do I even care? I think that’s it. That’s the crux of the matter. I am torn, confused, conflicted about whether or not I should care... and more importantly, what falls under my circle of care/concern and what doesn’t. I also tend to think about whether I should even draw a circle around my concerns. The debate there, is to do with the fact that I am going to be concerned about certain things anyway, so why not organize the situation, considering the fact that I like and indulge in organization pretty much 25 hours a day. Now see that 25 hour witty bit there? I don’t actually appreciate that. What’s with the unnecessary hour just to show how much of a thing I do is done? I mean, you get it. So why the generic and silly 25 that’s supposed to take your mind through the following thoughts: “25? Hey wait a minute... oh! Haha how remarkably witty! Tee hee”
I have found that once I get on a topic, I move somewhat briskly to other connected topics only to find myself back and yes, definitely feel responsible to complete everything I’d like to express including the tangential topics, but the sense of rambling sets upon me (take now for example) and I feel unsettled and once and if I’m done finally, what was it that I even took from the little monologue? Why do I begin monologues? Is monologue the right word?
I want to delete this little document. But I’d also like to keep it for later when I can browse through the shitty bits of writing I have gone and done now and then and ever so often. Most of them are deleted. Particularly the ones I’m ashamed of. But then shame walks out the door just as soon as morality does, which is closely followed by ethics.
I’m an immoral idiot who would like to spend the rest of my life whimsical and carefree, with loads of fun and sex and brilliant food. Just like the next bloke. So there’s nothing “wrong” with this... but can I? Can I float through the rest of my existence? Can I survive and revel in this world without buying into society and paying extra for the tee shirt near the cotton candy stall? Who am I looking for? What am I looking for? Rush. Immediate happiness. That’s what. And I know that... but heck, there has to be an organized way of getting it damnit. The pursuit of immediate happiness. Just for the sake of seeing and further proving that I can, here comes a 3 minute poem/song on this very pursuit:
Pick up that wrapper and put off that light switch
Oh what does that matter to me?
Well it doesn’t and shouldn’t but then again, you’ll see
A hundred years from now the world will melt and all you’ll have is plastic
Well not you, but your great grand daughter and her little sister.
Global warming, poverty, child trafficking, molestation and AIDS for good measure
All a bunch of hogwash
Life is and must be filled with cold beer, women and plenty of leisure
The rest is.
Balloons, butterflies, kittens and fluff
Pink roses and ice cream and other stuff
That’s what you’re looking for aren’t you?
Go get it. Go fucking get it. Have sex along the way.
Go murder that chicken and swim with the fish
Sharpen your blade and act on your wish
Today’s the day to reclaim your life
Do what you want
What could go wrong?
C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon.
Nothing to prove and nothing to lose
Nothing to pick and nothing to choose
Existence is beautiful, now lift up ‘em bricks
Walk away and slam the door
Build your own house and fill it with sticks
My back is feeling sore.
Just don’t be tripping on those fucking ethics.
I like nothing of what I’ve just written. It’s nearly 11 p.m. and here comes another party. I’m consumed with alcohol and society and friends and opinions. No room to drift or float and no drive to get out and do it. I feel tainted. I don’t like that. Nothing to prove and nothing to lose, V. Now go and have yourself a good time. Get in the shower and wash away that dirt, that taint. Soap off the dust and get out, you must. But first, off with those shoes :D
This disturbs me.
I am an obsessive compulsive thinker and this I will and can afford to admit. Obsession. Without taking a look at the dictionary, I am made to believe that it’s derogatory. But then I don’t even buy into ethics so why do I even care? I think that’s it. That’s the crux of the matter. I am torn, confused, conflicted about whether or not I should care... and more importantly, what falls under my circle of care/concern and what doesn’t. I also tend to think about whether I should even draw a circle around my concerns. The debate there, is to do with the fact that I am going to be concerned about certain things anyway, so why not organize the situation, considering the fact that I like and indulge in organization pretty much 25 hours a day. Now see that 25 hour witty bit there? I don’t actually appreciate that. What’s with the unnecessary hour just to show how much of a thing I do is done? I mean, you get it. So why the generic and silly 25 that’s supposed to take your mind through the following thoughts: “25? Hey wait a minute... oh! Haha how remarkably witty! Tee hee”
I have found that once I get on a topic, I move somewhat briskly to other connected topics only to find myself back and yes, definitely feel responsible to complete everything I’d like to express including the tangential topics, but the sense of rambling sets upon me (take now for example) and I feel unsettled and once and if I’m done finally, what was it that I even took from the little monologue? Why do I begin monologues? Is monologue the right word?
I want to delete this little document. But I’d also like to keep it for later when I can browse through the shitty bits of writing I have gone and done now and then and ever so often. Most of them are deleted. Particularly the ones I’m ashamed of. But then shame walks out the door just as soon as morality does, which is closely followed by ethics.
I’m an immoral idiot who would like to spend the rest of my life whimsical and carefree, with loads of fun and sex and brilliant food. Just like the next bloke. So there’s nothing “wrong” with this... but can I? Can I float through the rest of my existence? Can I survive and revel in this world without buying into society and paying extra for the tee shirt near the cotton candy stall? Who am I looking for? What am I looking for? Rush. Immediate happiness. That’s what. And I know that... but heck, there has to be an organized way of getting it damnit. The pursuit of immediate happiness. Just for the sake of seeing and further proving that I can, here comes a 3 minute poem/song on this very pursuit:
Pick up that wrapper and put off that light switch
Oh what does that matter to me?
Well it doesn’t and shouldn’t but then again, you’ll see
A hundred years from now the world will melt and all you’ll have is plastic
Well not you, but your great grand daughter and her little sister.
Global warming, poverty, child trafficking, molestation and AIDS for good measure
All a bunch of hogwash
Life is and must be filled with cold beer, women and plenty of leisure
The rest is.
Balloons, butterflies, kittens and fluff
Pink roses and ice cream and other stuff
That’s what you’re looking for aren’t you?
Go get it. Go fucking get it. Have sex along the way.
Go murder that chicken and swim with the fish
Sharpen your blade and act on your wish
Today’s the day to reclaim your life
Do what you want
What could go wrong?
C’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon.
Nothing to prove and nothing to lose
Nothing to pick and nothing to choose
Existence is beautiful, now lift up ‘em bricks
Walk away and slam the door
Build your own house and fill it with sticks
My back is feeling sore.
Just don’t be tripping on those fucking ethics.
I like nothing of what I’ve just written. It’s nearly 11 p.m. and here comes another party. I’m consumed with alcohol and society and friends and opinions. No room to drift or float and no drive to get out and do it. I feel tainted. I don’t like that. Nothing to prove and nothing to lose, V. Now go and have yourself a good time. Get in the shower and wash away that dirt, that taint. Soap off the dust and get out, you must. But first, off with those shoes :D
Weather (5th June 2008)
When you’re not really sure
Of the words to explore
Or the reasons why you just cant forget her.
When you’re angry or sad
Or just plain confused
And you don’t really know the weather.
When you’re calm and composed
And find it easy to see
The truth in the lies and the lies of the free
Then give us a call
‘cos we’re really not so small
And for fuck’s sake, we can handle the weather.
If all you could say is
That’s not the way
Would that really do us any good?
If all you could do is
Sing a little blue
Would that really hit us like it should?
Tell us you bloody heathens, tell us
Tell us oh mighty martyrs, tell us
It’s clear to me now
The difference between how
And why we are who we make
But I say when I'm certain
And I'm certain when I say
We can handle the weather for fuck’s sake.
Of the words to explore
Or the reasons why you just cant forget her.
When you’re angry or sad
Or just plain confused
And you don’t really know the weather.
When you’re calm and composed
And find it easy to see
The truth in the lies and the lies of the free
Then give us a call
‘cos we’re really not so small
And for fuck’s sake, we can handle the weather.
If all you could say is
That’s not the way
Would that really do us any good?
If all you could do is
Sing a little blue
Would that really hit us like it should?
Tell us you bloody heathens, tell us
Tell us oh mighty martyrs, tell us
It’s clear to me now
The difference between how
And why we are who we make
But I say when I'm certain
And I'm certain when I say
We can handle the weather for fuck’s sake.
And then it hit me. (5th June 2008)
Good morning, he said, as he walked across the beach
A beautiful island completely out of reach.
Hey everybody, she cried, as she looked around
The house of mirrors hardly uttered a sound.
Oblivious and charming and intelligent and more
A large built man with a voice of proud
The mind of many, I’ve lost all score
No one’s allowed, no, no one’s allowed.
Hues of pink and purple and marks of black
Like that dog in the manger who’s never in danger
We trap it and grab it and occupy our sack.
Oh the joy of killing, the killing of joy
As that beast sodomizes fifty girls and a boy.
No this isn’t what I wanted, this isn’t what I planned
Concepts banned and ideas rejected
I grow indifferent and swim on the land.
And as I trudge along, it still seems connected.
Can I have another glass of cranberry juice?
Tick tick tock tick tock tick tock
Turquoise pajamas and a hefty tool
A fist the size of a twenty pound rock
And all that’s left is a crimson pool.
When the sound of a gun and the sound of a guitar
All seem to hit you and stir you and fix you
Thoughts mix threat and remorse and regret
Our eyes pop out and your mouth turns blue.
And then it hit me.
A beautiful island completely out of reach.
Hey everybody, she cried, as she looked around
The house of mirrors hardly uttered a sound.
Oblivious and charming and intelligent and more
A large built man with a voice of proud
The mind of many, I’ve lost all score
No one’s allowed, no, no one’s allowed.
Hues of pink and purple and marks of black
Like that dog in the manger who’s never in danger
We trap it and grab it and occupy our sack.
Oh the joy of killing, the killing of joy
As that beast sodomizes fifty girls and a boy.
No this isn’t what I wanted, this isn’t what I planned
Concepts banned and ideas rejected
I grow indifferent and swim on the land.
And as I trudge along, it still seems connected.
Can I have another glass of cranberry juice?
Tick tick tock tick tock tick tock
Turquoise pajamas and a hefty tool
A fist the size of a twenty pound rock
And all that’s left is a crimson pool.
When the sound of a gun and the sound of a guitar
All seem to hit you and stir you and fix you
Thoughts mix threat and remorse and regret
Our eyes pop out and your mouth turns blue.
And then it hit me.
X (5th June 2008)
It’s a wonderful feeling
To be free.
You are you and I am I
And that plane is where it is while those shoes are here.
But we are all under the blanket.
And outside of this blanket is more blanket.
We are but one and perception is the flaw
Consciousness is the assumption while reality appears dual.
Welcome to infinity, my friend.
Smile as you like and frown when you mean it.
For it all matters but nothing matters, so you see-
It depends on how you look at it
Illusions come about for many reasons
And perception allows for illusions to exist.
Time and consciousness and death and life
Are mere words and classifications that hold the weight of the world
And this weight is nothing.
But we tread on.
And we must... so go forth my fellow traveller
Go forth on this journey of none
Come back when you will or move forward to the end
Make oil and water and enemies, dear friend.
Be who you must, for you are free. You are condemned to this freedom.
Let us all tread on, with our heads full of dignity
As I said before dear traveler, welcome to infinity.
To be free.
You are you and I am I
And that plane is where it is while those shoes are here.
But we are all under the blanket.
And outside of this blanket is more blanket.
We are but one and perception is the flaw
Consciousness is the assumption while reality appears dual.
Welcome to infinity, my friend.
Smile as you like and frown when you mean it.
For it all matters but nothing matters, so you see-
It depends on how you look at it
Illusions come about for many reasons
And perception allows for illusions to exist.
Time and consciousness and death and life
Are mere words and classifications that hold the weight of the world
And this weight is nothing.
But we tread on.
And we must... so go forth my fellow traveller
Go forth on this journey of none
Come back when you will or move forward to the end
Make oil and water and enemies, dear friend.
Be who you must, for you are free. You are condemned to this freedom.
Let us all tread on, with our heads full of dignity
As I said before dear traveler, welcome to infinity.
Moral View (4th May 2008)
I stared at him as he stared back
His eyes weary and his face worn
The skin on his face exposed his age, or should I say fatigue
But there was something about his eyes
Something clear and true yet subdued
It was hard to describe, but easy to perceive
It talked of life and love and meaning and futility
It spoke, uttered words of wisdom
The truth flowed down his face and over his scar
These scars, he said were more than superficial
But then are scars more than that? If a scar is a symbol of healing
Why is it that we talk of pain? Because it’s a process, alright
But then it is still a mere modification, physical modification
People call it deformation, but then doesn’t that imply a modification still
Why did we give it this negative angle? Why did morality even come into the picture?
How tainted are we? How impure? What is it that we’re all striving towards?
He stared at me and his face was cold and stern
I couldn’t help but submit to the power, the strong and hard power
Within his eyes. It was almost divine. Haha, divinity, I thought to myself.
Ok, morality, come at me. I’ll open my arms, I swear. What choice do I have?
Haha, choice, I thought again. I am but a victim. And I accept it. Because there is no other way.
Deny consciousness, I thought to myself... but all the man would say were unspoken words
He told me unseemingly, “don’t concern yourself with these trivialities. Don’t concern yourself at all.”
I’m hardly bothered, and I’m doing great. “Indifference is virtue?” I ask.
Virtue and vice aside, indifference is intelligence. If all we are is nothing, or if all we are is everything
What difference does it make? Are we not ‘condemned’ to death? Are we not ‘condemned’ to ‘freedom'?
These concepts are fleeting and eternal and this duality is apparent
But still, concepts are concepts and within these human constructs,
We are aware of the end. It comes to all, without discrimination
Nothing is discriminate, at one point of view. Come here, my son, and I will show you.
And then it all became clear, as though it wasn’t before.
I sorted my business. I finished with purpose. I left for my family the world and more.
I walked away from the glass, and walked out the door.
I walked into darkness.
His eyes weary and his face worn
The skin on his face exposed his age, or should I say fatigue
But there was something about his eyes
Something clear and true yet subdued
It was hard to describe, but easy to perceive
It talked of life and love and meaning and futility
It spoke, uttered words of wisdom
The truth flowed down his face and over his scar
These scars, he said were more than superficial
But then are scars more than that? If a scar is a symbol of healing
Why is it that we talk of pain? Because it’s a process, alright
But then it is still a mere modification, physical modification
People call it deformation, but then doesn’t that imply a modification still
Why did we give it this negative angle? Why did morality even come into the picture?
How tainted are we? How impure? What is it that we’re all striving towards?
He stared at me and his face was cold and stern
I couldn’t help but submit to the power, the strong and hard power
Within his eyes. It was almost divine. Haha, divinity, I thought to myself.
Ok, morality, come at me. I’ll open my arms, I swear. What choice do I have?
Haha, choice, I thought again. I am but a victim. And I accept it. Because there is no other way.
Deny consciousness, I thought to myself... but all the man would say were unspoken words
He told me unseemingly, “don’t concern yourself with these trivialities. Don’t concern yourself at all.”
I’m hardly bothered, and I’m doing great. “Indifference is virtue?” I ask.
Virtue and vice aside, indifference is intelligence. If all we are is nothing, or if all we are is everything
What difference does it make? Are we not ‘condemned’ to death? Are we not ‘condemned’ to ‘freedom'?
These concepts are fleeting and eternal and this duality is apparent
But still, concepts are concepts and within these human constructs,
We are aware of the end. It comes to all, without discrimination
Nothing is discriminate, at one point of view. Come here, my son, and I will show you.
And then it all became clear, as though it wasn’t before.
I sorted my business. I finished with purpose. I left for my family the world and more.
I walked away from the glass, and walked out the door.
I walked into darkness.
Acceptance (13th March 2008)
A little humour please, he said, as he stood on his knees
Don’t chop my head off just yet
Something funny and light, perhaps lacking insight
Nothing dark or morbid or full of satire
Four more sticks were added to the fire
Before you begin, let me propose a toast
Time’s a-wasting, shall I start to roast?
Oh dear, he cried, but his cry was unheard
Almost dream like, this seemed plenty absurd
Pain unfeeling, his skin began peeling
He looked up at the sky
The smoke filled the air as the clouds were burning
Third grade, he said, while honing his blade, was all about learning
He agreed and sighed, as a corpse he lied
Poignant verse amiss, ignorance is bliss, and the words did ring
‘Pain is temporary, experience is everything.’
Don’t chop my head off just yet
Something funny and light, perhaps lacking insight
Nothing dark or morbid or full of satire
Four more sticks were added to the fire
Before you begin, let me propose a toast
Time’s a-wasting, shall I start to roast?
Oh dear, he cried, but his cry was unheard
Almost dream like, this seemed plenty absurd
Pain unfeeling, his skin began peeling
He looked up at the sky
The smoke filled the air as the clouds were burning
Third grade, he said, while honing his blade, was all about learning
He agreed and sighed, as a corpse he lied
Poignant verse amiss, ignorance is bliss, and the words did ring
‘Pain is temporary, experience is everything.’
Intellectual Property (13th March 2008)
My body shivers, as my lips, they quiver.
Streams of notes join to form the river.
As the water ran down his sinewy throat
It quenched his thirst and salvation did burst
As he sailed on the magical Slice of Life boat.
As it entered his mouth, he couldn’t help but exclaim
Thine divine but mine sublime for Arganoff is my name.
Words stolen, he kept them in bags and it felt quite risky
He moaned then scoffed, as he sipped his whisky.
Purpose is yours for I have your toil
Your brain is futile for I am the soil
And we’ll grow together and we’ll sail together
I am your alias and you will lie silent
Beware, I tend to get violent
Patent and right, might I add, I expect full loyalty
I will earn as you will learn that mercy is your royalty.
Please understand as you have urges, so do I
So what if they’re different, at least they exist
He tries, but in vain, to lacerate his wrist
Give up, said the killer, don’t begin to test me
After all, this is merely a matter of intellectual property.
Streams of notes join to form the river.
As the water ran down his sinewy throat
It quenched his thirst and salvation did burst
As he sailed on the magical Slice of Life boat.
As it entered his mouth, he couldn’t help but exclaim
Thine divine but mine sublime for Arganoff is my name.
Words stolen, he kept them in bags and it felt quite risky
He moaned then scoffed, as he sipped his whisky.
Purpose is yours for I have your toil
Your brain is futile for I am the soil
And we’ll grow together and we’ll sail together
I am your alias and you will lie silent
Beware, I tend to get violent
Patent and right, might I add, I expect full loyalty
I will earn as you will learn that mercy is your royalty.
Please understand as you have urges, so do I
So what if they’re different, at least they exist
He tries, but in vain, to lacerate his wrist
Give up, said the killer, don’t begin to test me
After all, this is merely a matter of intellectual property.
Memory (13th March 2008)
The eyes are precise and the face is concise
The nose and the ears and the lips are the same
The smile is broken but the name remains
As I stare into the dark iris of my pupil
I tell myself, ‘Little did you know’
He looks up at me, almost innocently
Saying, would you rather have known?
You stay in your world as I will mine
Leave me to a life of my own
Buddy, leave me to a life of my own.
The nose and the ears and the lips are the same
The smile is broken but the name remains
As I stare into the dark iris of my pupil
I tell myself, ‘Little did you know’
He looks up at me, almost innocently
Saying, would you rather have known?
You stay in your world as I will mine
Leave me to a life of my own
Buddy, leave me to a life of my own.
Smoke (6th March 2008)
Thick black smoke is what fills your air
Monsters that terrorize, apparitions that scare
You see anguish and remorse and all the while hurt
As the blood red pain makes a stain on your shirt
The stains may go, but the scars remain
Blurring the line between crazy and sane
Death seems appealing, conformist almost
All balance is lost, burnt bread and toast
A yellow umbrella in a sea of black
The burden is heavy and weakens your back
You lose the will to cling onto hope
Find more use in that dirty old rope
It’s when even the glass that reveals your eyes
Lets you see yourself, but can’t help despise
It’s the end of the world, and you know it.
You sit in splendour and the birds are tweeting
Your mind is quiet but thoughts repeating
Hate and despair, pathos and waste
The least I did was have my taste
Now let me go, enough of this ride
Plummet to depths of suicide
But time drags slowly and so do cigars
Eternity fills just a couple of hours
And once that bloody smoke blows clear
Solace and comfort is found in fear
Imagination manages to keep you alone
Exquisite notes exist in monotone
The world is filled with graves, my friend
In spite of the fact that you know it will end
When the point of futility stares at your face
“Embrace and endure. Endure and embrace.”
Monsters that terrorize, apparitions that scare
You see anguish and remorse and all the while hurt
As the blood red pain makes a stain on your shirt
The stains may go, but the scars remain
Blurring the line between crazy and sane
Death seems appealing, conformist almost
All balance is lost, burnt bread and toast
A yellow umbrella in a sea of black
The burden is heavy and weakens your back
You lose the will to cling onto hope
Find more use in that dirty old rope
It’s when even the glass that reveals your eyes
Lets you see yourself, but can’t help despise
It’s the end of the world, and you know it.
You sit in splendour and the birds are tweeting
Your mind is quiet but thoughts repeating
Hate and despair, pathos and waste
The least I did was have my taste
Now let me go, enough of this ride
Plummet to depths of suicide
But time drags slowly and so do cigars
Eternity fills just a couple of hours
And once that bloody smoke blows clear
Solace and comfort is found in fear
Imagination manages to keep you alone
Exquisite notes exist in monotone
The world is filled with graves, my friend
In spite of the fact that you know it will end
When the point of futility stares at your face
“Embrace and endure. Endure and embrace.”
Flow of Harmony (6th March 2008)
I know what digs underneath my skin
Even the shape my head is in.
I think about where I think I belong
I’m not quite sure it fits in a song.
So I know what it does and I know what I do
But something about this just doesn’t feel true.
I guess what I’m saying little buddy mister man
Can you work out the system and make me a plan?
Introspection reflection collection rejection
Dejection suggestion I don’t really know
The frame of my mind that I leave behind
So it’s all harmonious flow.
A circle of questions that move all around
Negligible content is what I have found
Thoughts of ethics my soul surrounds
Resonance? Or just plain sounds?
If I could perhaps stumble or subtly fall
Deep down inside a large rabbit hall
And it showed me creatures I never could see
And it showed how all them creatures were me.
Calculation circulation elation cremation
Station creation I can’t really tell
To be free of mind or mind of free
So it’s all harmonious spell.
Even the shape my head is in.
I think about where I think I belong
I’m not quite sure it fits in a song.
So I know what it does and I know what I do
But something about this just doesn’t feel true.
I guess what I’m saying little buddy mister man
Can you work out the system and make me a plan?
Introspection reflection collection rejection
Dejection suggestion I don’t really know
The frame of my mind that I leave behind
So it’s all harmonious flow.
A circle of questions that move all around
Negligible content is what I have found
Thoughts of ethics my soul surrounds
Resonance? Or just plain sounds?
If I could perhaps stumble or subtly fall
Deep down inside a large rabbit hall
And it showed me creatures I never could see
And it showed how all them creatures were me.
Calculation circulation elation cremation
Station creation I can’t really tell
To be free of mind or mind of free
So it’s all harmonious spell.
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