<font face="Calligraph421 BT">~*~ Yesterday's Years ~*~

~~ Yesterday's Years ~~

Are you still as young as you were yesterday? It seems all your washed up dreams were washed down someone else’s drain You carry all your lives like century old baggage Never letting them die It seems everyday is like a new-born wreckage… Cuz nothing’s for real Yesterday’s years Do you remember how to feel Tomorrow’s tears are yesterday’s years Nothing’s for real… Are you still as innocent as you were yesterday? It seems your beat-up heart is beating down your reverie You carry all your scars like priceless jewelry Hell’s made you hard When it screams noone hears the sound of…… Yesterday’s years cuz nothing’s for real Do you remember how to feel Can you remember how to heal Yesterday’s years?… Are you still as dead as you were yesterday? It seems living up to what you couldn’t live down got in the way They buried all your vices under the same starless sky You were never invited Self-hate, self-taught, self-suicide of… Yesterday’s years -C. 11/9/96

~*~ The Subterraneans ~*~

It’s been a little while but a million years behind you You wore a heart on your sleeve that’s beaten from the fall All you ever wanted was a stitch of contentment But all you ever got for believing was resent… So you gave the pieces of your soul, signed them anonymous Chained yourself to a fountain pen and numbed yourself with mysterious You killed a life of dead illusions And the world never deserved your goodbye kiss… I heard the mark you made upon the world was erased You kicked & screamed for someone to hear you The darkest side of the moon is where you have been placed Cuz to you motion made any road seem true… So you locked yourself inside the train headed for the promised land You swore you’d sell your soul if you found anyone who’d understand Make believe was your shelter when noone gave a damn… There were other lives before this one that I never ended right Only desolation angels have never seen the light And my idea of beautiful is someone else’s fright… They failed to notice… cuz they look without seeing they hear without listening they touch without feeling they drug without healing.. and sometimes I wonder.... Sometimes I wander… -C. 12/23/96

Above is a photo of Jack Kerouac; one of the greatest, most talented & misunderstood writers of the 20th Century.

~*~ The Last Falling Star ~*~

For all I know, I’ve never had an ounce of hope Never gave an inch; never took a mile for free And for all you know, I’ve given up on giving up I can care about nothing cuz nothing cares about me… And I wake up on a silver screen in Hollywood Then I kill myself in the back of a no-name bar And even though I wish with pagans, pride & pennies it’s plain to see I’m jaded by a falling star… The days race by like lifetimes that I can’t recall But I’ve lived every one cuz I’m tired & suspicious And for all you know; all I see is war paint Sometimes a beautiful face can change from vague to vicious… And I wake up with the sheets tired around my neck And I’ve been reality & mirage And even though I dream of hatred, horrors & heroes Obviously I’m jaded by a falling star…. –C. 6/4/96

~*~ By the Light of a Candle ~*~

I can comment on a lot of things. Too many things... Night, day, sky, politics, books, music, life – the meaning or lack thereof, death, depression, dogs, gods, cats, stuff... I notice a lot, see a lot... and at the same time, sometimes, fail to notice at all... in essence? Common sense? Nonsense? Maybe I’m too opinionated. Maybe I’m too cautious, maybe too loud, too tough, out of touch, too bold, to sacred, too scared, too scarred.. I have opinions on everything.. an idea, an ideal. I have more hardships than happiness but I guess I can smile. I have a mind that works overtime worrying, wanting, hating, dreaming, thinking, thinking, thinking... I guess I worry about everything, yet I’m told that if I worry too much I’ll grow older, faster... I already feel like I’ve lived several life times.. And so, I speak my mind, and sometimes I get in trouble. I think I’ve stopped caring... and sometimes, “I say nothing, I talk to noone, I know what I believe, don’t need to wear it on my sleeve..” So it looks, feels like summer’s dying... And Fall is the beautiful murderer. Fall is an inspiration. But it never lasts long enough. Nothing lasts... except the fact.... That nothing lasts...–C. 9/96

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