The Dead Men Life & In the darkness You can almost taste perfection We walk with the lost souls, travel neon trails into memory. Our honor is left to the treasonous limelight, giving you misery in torture. We resemble a vacant style; incest leaves us twisted, gods fucking in the damp cities to the pain of a twilight creation. She is a whore & a prophetess, her memory stains me, taints the purity of one night stands collapsing in the calm morning air fragrant & born to bitterness. I am taken back by the floor show, left mouth open, hands seeking, gone power-mad & battle-crazy as the firelight dims the farthest emotion. Been traveling for days now, bite cold lead, spit thick blood, & dance until twilight exhaustion. Fever meanings leave behind exacting impressions, & loss of motivation leeches the facial masks passionate desires. I stumble through life w/ the luck of a failure. Drink to my health, glassware crushed. Pennies to freedom, leave espresso stains, leave coffee marks, scribbled thoughts & cigarette ash. Compare me to the fashionable madmen. It was over before it ever started, like fever breaking into cold sweat. Thinking of a vision I once tasted, now dried up & left out to rot. A crimson expression across painted faces shielded between the shell & the soul, my grim deceptions. Wasted, lost, & hopeless we gather, our strongholds are shattered. In these calm half-lives we decay, left for dreading, for dreaming, got these expressions pleading for one more moment of shelter, comfort, & desire. Go on; take greed from the ashes. Eat well, grim needs & creative lessons, subversions, incomplete sensations. Knew her well, sat w/ her while she bled, took full desire w/ her lusts, she was the scarlet, the crimson, she danced with lions, grown flavor, talent, & persuasion in her feverish… We are the dead. There are no others. Love. What is this love you speak of… I know not love, nor have I love. Without love there is only death, & time passing into death, & vanishing traces of in-between places leading us into the western lands & the cities of black lights & steam drape cool shadows like pistons across grasslands & air grows damp, settling upon us, forcing mists of passing strangers into the veins of mind-numbing junkies & whores. The compassionate trade proverbs & wisdom at midnight, & they declare love to be dead, & love is death, & we are all dying w/ love on our minds.Glam & Shade
We could sift moonbeams from hard-earned shadows; we could envision trinary mathematics in the elapsed frameworks of understated structures We steal purity by the keg, find compassion in our sanctity of purpose, & devour heresy w/ our breakfast cereal. We are the mind-numbed children of our culture. We fragment after waiting, shatter while drooling, point chubby fingers @ fleshy pictures mumbling ‘I want, I want.’ Why this cold view, this bitter perception? Are we all children here? Is there no sideline for us to run to, to traverse, to step beyond this playing field & get a sense of the action? She got bank, got chemical haze. Overstated issues loom to the forefront, she knows not, knows only a fiction. This mask, core & all, is hidden faces behind focused mirrors, is smoke & fire. In flame we trust, washed up & tortured. We are friction & feelings, muses & secrets. There are no others.Damned things: What else is there to despise? Have we not turned up our noses enough? This world is still filled w/ so many crushing moments, so many depleted resources. I fuck it all, flip it all off. Depressed so far back into my head I cannot move, the weight of complete numbness transcends my very being. Taste of melancholy copper in my mouth as I chew away the dry spots on my lips & spit out dead skin. Is there pure left in these patchwork systems, liver spots on dreaded fingers, flannel fashions for hardline demons. We got bomb, got blood on handshakes, drinks for vagrants, laughter for disease victims. I will treat you to a death march, dance corpse lights for you. I want death to be a brush with fate, to announce death w/ terror, a bombing in the cold alley & a slave driver for the ministry. There should be an illumination, some great pyre as witness to the execution; I wish death on each of us, wish death in the great lazy days of summer. I want death for breakfast, death as an old friend @ my wedding. I want to scream out death’s name as I wait for my first born. I wait with breath clenched in my fist for death to show itself. We are all going to die; do you want these webs? Do you tangle them yourself or are you blessed by some outside source? Laughter seems so morbid w/ its cold cold comfort Now aware of the cruelty of the world, felt the teeth of the wolves Piercing songs of the dire cold send warning Go then, softly, in the company of strange ideas, speak in words thought long dead, open Pandora’s box with gentle caution, consider the fragile locks, curious boxes hiding w/in the corridors of perception. You got near, hear the mad season approaching, got a clusterfucking storm a’brewing right here in our little kettle Go then, stalking, wanting out, to be amused, you are colder now, w/ your hope all twisted up into a shallower emotion, that of touch, engulf, enrapture as the candle flares, as sorrow drips dark clouds across eyes once lit by joy For almost an instant it seemed real, almost just enough to turn back the night, to leave cold hearts behind Pain. Immense barriers defending secret guilt. Almost just enough to remove the cycles, to start the wheels of fate to churning, turning from symmetrical point to sharpened edges… Night gentle, crushing with a sweet tenderness, almost divine, almost seems right…
Life
Don’t talk to me about life, don’t want to hear your excuses, I want reason for being, not compulsion to stay! Enough to justify, to feed the lies, almost. -keep your hands where I can see them & step out from behind the mask- -oh, it’s just you…- behind a mask of guilt & lies I give up nothing These cool shades expire, thrust up against darkness. I laugh, laugh loudest when backed up against a wall, a zen werewolf, fluid yet stable, changeling child, fae & mortal, eternal in soul… You cannot steal what is not for sale, this is priceless, this soul I hold, & sanity is madness under control I serve no master, follow no leader, obey no whim but what I've known, you’ve played your hand & I find it lacking, subservient to the forces of pain… that which love conquers & which love protects shall never fail, & I am not for sale. This is the playground, we are all children here Recess! Recess! Everybody, get the fuck out! Listing the various hates of the moment takes hours these days. Life? Don’t talk to me about life. Why? Fuck you. Only now does the twilight stretch inward, only now when it all seeps inside the mind does it appear to be clear, the visions, the simple axis between now & then, how it all resembles the ulterior self, the beacon between life & death is a magnet attracting the elder forms, there is a twilight at the end of an age enshrouding the fabric of existence like red lights flashing, sirens screaming, radar ears & satellite eyes, life is a sinister surprise for us first-timers, we ain’t got no fucking experience.Behind the Mind
Dreams leave me sad to be awake in the blue morning, tossed back into the swaying fray of living on, & flesh seems cruel, w/ its desires patronizing lust, thrust into a wide awake measure of timelines. I hate the fade of dreams, want dreams recorded in surroundsound fullmotion video w/ camera angles & a popular soundtrack providing preplanned emotional structures to the images sent backbeat driven through spinal relays deep into the collective hardwiring leaving no stone unturned in the production of symbols… Dreams taste like cold wishes, old days & new ideas spun together, leaving tainted ideals behind in the fray, dreams erase the preconceived notions, tend to old scars, ease old wounds… they devour the essential purity of meaning & touch purpose w/ one lone outstretched trembling hand, leave the faintest momentary transcendence in their wake, stain the whitewashed walls of subconscious memory w/ the blood of a thousand martyrs. Forsake the edge of the abyss for a warlike wasteland beyond this solid reality of dense matter… dreams evade the question, leave answers encrypted in their passing, torture the minds eye w/ images cast in etheric steel, cold, depraved metals of spiritual fabric. Wake with a conspiracy of daggers suspended above some Gordian knot There is the cool complacency of mirrors; a hallway history played out in photographs & I know where the stars align. I wanted to tell you when you were sitting next to me about my life, my entire story, my fog of ancestry, my muse, my dreams. I wanted to feel alive w/ you, allow you deep behind my mask, to shout This is ME! You always were the coldly cynical, the depressingly logical one of us, the figurative speaker w/ a heart of gold… The tattered pages of our history lay stretched across tile floors & waste paper baskets of the bible’s belt buckle you knew it when the walls fell away to reveal the abyss between us.
So yr determined to meet someone, bound to be something, driven by a force you desire, & the wars have begun w/ the pain of the season & you know only bits of the power. What dare you do different, for this darkness is infinite & there is no escape for the weak... Do you dance the cold shadows, temper the bellows, & stain yr own blood on the graves? You got moments to spare w/ the grimness & fear when the moment of despair settles in, & death is no friend w/ the blade in its hand, but a sacrifice, perfect & clear.Lost Chance
It was as if there were only us that evening never felt so absolutely essential to another soul. The fragrance of my memories floats by me, & in the cool crisp light of reason all emotion seems flawed. I know You want This Here her eyes are caramel & sand paper Hidden behind waves of fashionable hair her torch of sensation is burning misery behind the vanishing lines drawn across her creased forehead. I memorize every nudge, flinch, & twitter of her movements. Taken back by the wise reply She staggers from the sofa to the wine closet, grabs a new bottle w/ the languid persuasion of desire, then stands gripping the daydreams & headaches w/ her coarse essentials & twists back the cork w/ drunken intensity. She laughs, hair glimmers across the flood rooms & torrential habitats we’ve known across time. What kind of world is this where those I know best appear possessed by madness?Love?
Let me tell you about love, about the crush of moments, pondering of innocence, the bloodletting… Love’s all pack your shit, get the fuck out, all this is the best, the only possible solution, & we got other lives to work it out… Love’s we just ain’t right for each other, we just ain’t quite perfect yet, we needs some space… Love’s a matter of taste We blame love for our own motives, confuse love with our own lusts, & profess love for our own flaws… I do not think love means what we seem to want it to mean. Love brings Death in its duffel bag. Shall these then be our epitaphs? The thrilling scent of young love when it creeps in over the carefully erected barriers of uncompassion & nonemotion… we tried so hard to wax poetic against outer influence… I have my walls & there are no doors & I refuse to look out the windows! I am comfort & crass w/in my domain, no need to extend, to explore, to exploit… in this cell I wait my sentence, I fear this thing called love, it brings pain in its wake. I am gun-shy, terrified, my shame is my sour source of power, tension is my natural state… I fight off passion, I dare not love, I have the agony of misunderstood to reckon w/Action
Meant something once to the blackened past, drug memory from temptation to the depth of despair & back again, know only the mystery of perhaps & maybe ifMotive
Then sorrow less bitter after the fact, then compulsion less severe, & loneliness less deceptive, shatter the cold stone heart, leave empty & broken on the sidelines, reach through those in-between days to a eulogy of lovers & fulfillmentMuse
Upon her everywhen moment concurs, this tempers the tempest of lifelike, subverts destiny to mimic the minute, claws the restive from their sleeping trance, the harmony of pure perception, to see through love blinded eyes, see truth in passion, beauty in perfection, in the presence of this hard won angel… There is memory of fantasy & future dreams will dream of me Her eyes torture me w/ the hard edge of the shadows we have seen. We all got to be enduring together, everyone we know & all we got driven harder & louder, longer & faster, her face tweaking through speed shapes, reforming. She hands hope a napkin, dries the taste of salt from my eyes, & she knows. In grudging acceptance the muse loads kisses upon the vigilant subjection, the perception of blessing becomes evident, & she knows. & These dark morning hours bear witness to a night of long confusion, of questioning & mesmerizing imagery, of fleeing thoughts & drained of meaning, these are the essentials, & now it begins… This war world holdup shakedown deception is tainting the flavor of time, & the world is both black & bleak & beauty in my eyes… & She is amused. I stroll into the room, hand Hope a napkin, clean up after myself.Bastard!
Seventh son of a heretic & saint, aztec memory hardwired inside the genetic soul, got blinding muses & tainted structures, brutal tensions, morbid frustrations, fantasies of altered beings, shapeless & deformed, unloved pathetic sodden defeat, unloved & forgotten in the faceless retreat, leave behind only a blank wall & silent doorway… Stains reel to reel corrosion, this treetop sacrivivisection These faces resemble the treasures of lost children, guilty of innocence we care only for the sensation, the reality becomes tragic, there has been no new truce, only the harmony of dissent… tainted.[forlove/forlorn]
You could not define my point of view; I am nothing like what you have known. I reinvent myself @ the urge of nothing but my own inflated sense of guilt, my inverted sense of shame. It makes me who I want to be. I find myself accepting life as something cruel, & love is all that I've ever wanted, a way of living now forgotten. You have something left unsaid; I see it catch in the words you use, & your twinkling smile hides a muse. You know it won’t come easy, its always been a simple thing to hide my soul in the purest dream beneath a web of pain & hate, but these are newer, better days, & I know it won’t come easy, not these words I swore to never say, yet this is what I live for, my one unanswered prayer... *Thoughts on everything
You are a part of everything, & everything is a part of you. Everything in infinity is everything that could ever be, imagined or sensed or simply existing, everything must happen all the time in a universe w/ infinite boundaries, so you have an infinity of experience from which to select your reality from (pick a card, any card.)
