Saturday, March 31, 2012

Sober Slurs

The round about way of getting lost, cut you up into bits of confetti throw you at my party. Sweep you under the rug when the sun has rose again and let the dust accumulate on what is done, is done. Forgetting to set the timer, we mustn't of had any time to begin with. Questionable questions and a rush for words, a loss of sanity, my sober slur - drunk off my own over thinking and no out reaching.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Sales Pitch?

The shockwave, state of the art, can't get any better then this, oh wait, it might so totally get better than this - encountering ..a thankful way of thinking while thinking all the same, at a faster pace, a faster rate, a heart beat that seems to be the soundtrack to my evenings, pleasant slumbers - sweet dandy slumbers. Awake now, cannot shutup. I want to shutup and hear our silence but hey look at the time, let's talk - the talk - NO WAY, not needed, we've got this covered, hells to the yeah, is this a sales pitch? Depends.. what are you selling, can I get a deal, bulk - two for one - what's your story, tell me your story. I am dying to know what you're all about. Sales pitch? maybe.

Altitude of Happiness, Longitude of Expansion

When you reach a moment in your life, when all your other moments slowly fade out like the title of a movie on the big screen, and you are content with the exact fragment of time that you are living in. The serenity of that moment, overwhelms the senses, with an appealing sense of privacy, you want to show the world your guts. The act of being on your toes becomes a more sensual matter and nothing that has seemed so much like a vacation right in your backyard. Suddenly wanting. Suddenly wondering. The moments all string together to create this scuff in time and you're loving the perfect imperfections of all it's surroundings. The canvas, human based, mixed with much more urgency and matched with the same amount of desire. The amount of affection you want to give, and the amount of whatever you receive is the furthest from your mind because you are immediately at an altitude of Happiness and longitude of expansion when in the company of this moment and all the other little moments, fragmenting into something breathtaking.

Quilted Euphoria

The quilted euphoria of a tea party with cups filled with Whiskey to keep our demons alive. Inviting them out to play like mad hatters who need a dose of adrenaline. Fantasizing on the has been, thoughts fill the cookie jars, like what if? Stumbling on the upsetting colour of the chaos of everything beautiful, striving for a persona that is tumbling on the outskirts of trivial errors, it's happening. The sadness of monarchy and the tea has run warm but we sip the bubbling wrath of everything this intoxication will bring the party goers

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Supreme Fortune in You

scribbling colours on an already colourful situation, and the situation of this situation is involving much more of me then i thought it would, what was i thinking exactly, not quite sure any longer. but i am glad i have tricked myself out of the funk that so heavily wipes the sunlight out of my eyes, happiness. there is a nice jaunt of happiness in the meekness of the days and everything is now ballooning into such greatness, there is a supreme fortune in the way you smile. there is an extreme fortune in the person you are. the uplifting undertow of wanting to be pulled under and embraced in a conversation that has words breaking barriers, causing physical pleasure and mental love. the water-based paint all swirling together an even better picture that i think either of us were ever really dreaming of... the wonderful smoothness in the way, which way, doesn't matter, there is no destination for we are our own landscape - watching the people of everyday life live without knowing what we know of each other. a supreme fortune in you.

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

The Hungry Madness of Lubricated Games

the snap crackle pop. the fizzle wiggle, what's that about? the ups and the downs. the sames and the changes - this isn't an old Lupe track. the lefts and the rights, throw it away and ask for direction. be guided by a light, a whole other misconception. lost in another world, the tentacles - free falling. hyped and silent, silently hyped. the build and the bubble,  the press and the pop. the wanting wanting more,  no encouraging to stop. the overdone, whatcha say, we can't hear you now. in actuality we don't give a fuck. the easy access, the notable change. the hungry madness of lubricated games. the stepping stones, we're too late. sinking deep into hot plates. laughing laughin, not sure what about.. stopping, stopping.. we don't know what that is even about. defining the probability of making up something so illusive it immediately solidifies. adapting to the reason, we are everything and the cause. calling out for treason, we've set our own alarms. alarmed by the fact that our minds are closing in on something close to redemption. i think i've gotten this all fooled with my last hit of protection. protecting the voice, with it's jigsaw teeth, gnawing at my insides with such prestige. paying carnage to the devoured efforts of everything that once felt so free.

Picasso of a Picture, Your Body is Experiencing

the sun trail blazes at a speed so romantic it makes you want to sneeze due to the crossing beams of reflecting innocence. the sudden change in temperature defining everything your heart is seeing in the matter of seconds, on a clock that tells no time, but a  feeling that is making it's way from the pit of your desire to the cuticles of your hands, and making you want to grasp it all with your teeth, to taste the glitter of something so surreal, there isn't enough proper wordage to make out the exact Picasso of a picture your body is experiencing. super power, hot line, looking for some help - operator, anybody? what is all this goodness about.. the obstacle of trying to dutifully not miss the envelope lick of a package you so carefully want to tear apart and explore, and keep well together and protected. the evil postmark of souvenir happiness but the collectible look of enchanting soul that is being dissolved right before your eyes and ingested with the spell of the night while the moon does nothing but protect you with a close little scratch in the sky, and offers a spotlight to dance within and to feel warm and safe and natural like the surroundings slowly coming undone around your landscape.

Almost-Peppermint Flick of the Heart

The reverent times of colliding minds, with a dash of ecstasy to pump the blood. The divine moment when the thing you wanted wasn't actually something you could obtain, a mere thought. When thoughts suddenly come into perspective, and tilt the way your heart beats. The happening of happenings and you weren't even sure what was going on to begin with. The consent of including yourself, when you've always excluded yourself and you're loving every tantalizing moment of it. The eagerness of your now surely hooked hands and the eagerness of your heart all rattling together the urgency to say something, the confidence that saying something is important, the power behind the speech but more importantly the actuality of it the speech and it's actually being spoken. The ques. The persistent stammering of wanting more, not settling, not shutting up because you always shut up - and this is not the time nor place to moment to let your mouth zip shut but to feast on the opportunity to share the minutes on the clock, the bite in the air, the warmth in the pockets. The pick pocketing eyes, fishing for more speech, the almost peppermint flick of a heart beat that is fingering a life that as instantly become so much more important to you, you don't bother asking if it's even possible you simply nurture the entire aspect of the cause.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Dynasty of What You Want

the lusting craving of something uber good for you, slowly sinking into the membrane of your being and causing you to go into a realm of indifferences. you can't think straight, thoughts floating towards the beloved itch you are dying to scratch. concentration all out of whack. radio playing songs that don't make sense, you are left with words but without a pen. scrabbling for the reaction, the affection you're harbouring. stumbling at rejection - you want to give it a go. going towards affliction and the time is now. now and now. the then has left with the casting call of all other things and you cannot help but want to taste the sense of decency in the dynasty of what you're after.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

For the Love of Love

for the love. if you even know what your love is all about, do you now .. do you got the love. love love love. what the love is up with that love. falling away and dropping it off on the curb, curbside love. the love is lost, the love is found. looking for love that doesn't want to be loved around. The loving dodge ball game of what the love loves you, and the disconnection on the love has got no love for you coming thru and the love that has been discarded and blown into the wind, has long since left you and you will never be loved again. the love for the here, the love for the now, the love for this and the love for that is all slowly vanishing, the disappearing love, for you’re loving things that can’t love you back. And for the love of love, do you have love’s back?


 the action of calling and divulging way too much information. the idea that you thought what i want is what you have and that what you want is what i've got and you are so off. the round about of your sour mouth has got me back tracking, making sure that this doesn't happen, god forbid this happens, again. the loop holes in the plan have it a little straining and the sunlight is getting in making slight changes. the miscommunication, stop communicating with me. the whatsup, nothing much, get lost, we don’t care. the ever fateful we don’t care the fruitful speech of get the hell out of here. The what to the who and the who to the when the when to the how and this doesn’t include you, access denied, so sorry – better luck next time.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Seducing Seduction

vindicated lipstick, i want another stain. mark up all the sound from the cellophane games. prod around in Prada, and show off what you got. covering up the uncoverable, we see your spots. crawling for seduction, seducing on the floor, waiting for the washed up glitter to soil all your soul. distractions, distract me, I want something more, throw away the stop signs - what the hell do we need them for. turning everything upside, we want to see the grit, smiling wide with all our teeth harboring a fit, scratching for attention, retaining all the 'ttention.

Make Believe

Make believe me a stranger and put our pass on the shelf. Make believe me a friend, like I never left. Make believe me a hero like I wasn't scared. Make believe you a friend and don't call me out, not this time, let me have this time. Make believe the day and just stay a little while longer. Make believe the situation like there was no sickness no distance no conclusion left in a puddle or a taxi cab or a vacation. Make believe you a pint the biggest around and Make believe you a drunk, tell me just how it felt. Not make believing this emotion you really have got to speak so I can speak. Make believe a loose lip and make believe me some courage, string up my courage to tell you I was afraid to have you. To tell you the truth I thought I dreamt you up, too good to be true, a scary thought. Make believe away the make believe and give me the light of the moon to spill, fess up, Make believe the light of day, I'll have to take you by the moon.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Novelty of Nudity

there was a time, when you might have been beautiful. the novelty of everything eventually wears off. you're wearing off. you've worn off. you're looking a little tarnished, out of place, loss of all shine. you never really had it, i suspect my eyes were playing tricks on me, greedy little pricks. always assuming things, i live in a world of make believe and you my friend, friend not, cannot touch me. the nudity of everything stripped down to the nitty gritty, pez dispense of intricately woven shit and you look so pretty when you're trying, try a little hard to not be so wasted on yourself. taking up space for all the beautiful people struggling to breathe. hold up, back up, im vomiting on your philosophies. feels good to get that out of my system. gold star, pornstar, drinks are flowing to console the times of having to pay it forward, after all the bad things ive done, im starting to think i should really start trying a little harder because i wasted a lot of effort on polishing the inhumane characteristics of your character and you dont even have a character, just a well rehearsed script of pity and sap, sap and pity, indecent charm and it's not just a song, you know, you really are just someone i use too know.

Uninfluenced Trouble

the used in the use too and the good in the bye, the wave in the time, they call it a hand, slowly shifting goodbye, we're always good, always bye. the forgetting, why am i here, where did you come from, what do you want, what do you need, what are we trying to pull again. the poise in the statue, the never ending raise, the loss of our poise. never really had it did we. the never happening nothing of everything needing everything. let's be strangers, but totally miss each other on the sidewalk and walk with our lifes uninfluenced by one another, we are so destructive. break my skull into bits of glass and dance in the shards of everything that would've never happened if we had never greeted each other and fell into smiles and then fell into bed, and that would've saved us a whole heap of trouble. but we like our trouble, we love our trouble. but i could've gotten into just as much without you, that would've been nice.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Lookin' All Smokey

the transition of good to worse and then worse to OK and then OK to just this. A warm up and on the best track. There is a mix match of beautiful identity and commitment to a whole other world that were living in. Its a cause to withdraw all ties and leap into a state of possibilities. Ecstatic static whispering through the radio and were going to shut it down for the actualities of our separate destinies. Lets really be cool in this percentage of our vices. Wanna argue? Im feeling for a bite. Compose us a song to play on our days, the same song Ill turn off whenever I'm feeling good on the edge of misunderstanding and avoiding eye contact so all flames stay out. Kaput! The ashes make me look so smokey and thats the cause of effects I love to look all smokey.

Monday, March 5, 2012

Smoke Some Oak

the nautical technicalities of the broke ass day, dimes spent on sunshine and we ain't looking both ways. passing up the passage on these brand new pages, no ink on the arms so no ink in the spaces. dancing on the faded and skipping on this town, looking for a future and not touching ground, a little higher then expected what did we roll up, rolling up with no expectations and getting blown up. hungry for a hunger that is a little more relaxed, not looking for over done, sit down and watch your back. cooking up something hot, turning on the fire, dont get to close your hair spray wont give you power, but illuminate the room with the air between your ears, a laughing out loud concept but nobody really cares. turning up the volume to drown out all your worries, ain't worrying about the volume, we're turning up the volume. making up tickets - to a sold out show - trying to be apart of the movement that sold out weeks ago, buying all the merch so we can look all fresh and shit, but fresh shit ain't got nothing on the produce that these kids be feigning for a dose like they all sick - coughing up their lungs for the same old tricks, smoke some oak like they know all about tree, these kids no nothing about the rich or the royalties, spending the lego, plastic currency. 

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Not Sure

Not sure what time it is, not sure I care.
Not sure what the weathers like, I’m not even there.
Not sure the coincidence, I was planning to be here.
Not sure of the intentions, but I am intending to get some.
Not sure of you, surely sure of myself.
Not sure of the predicament, is there a problem?
Not sure of the day, what year are we in anyway…
Not sure of the movement, we are flying pretty high.
Not sure of your favourites, I’m selfish, remember.
Not sure of the ups, I like all the downs.
Not sure what you’re sure of, surely you’ve been around.
Not sure of what you’re all about, not sure I care.

Not sure what you’re waiting for, I’m not even there.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

You, the Crack Pipe

a lot in the want a little in the need, not wanting not needing - still abusing you, the crack pipe. cold turkey? turkey makes me sleepy which is evidently my problem when it comes to you... naps. cat naps, power naps, those hour planned ones that turn into a solid three four hour rest. temperatures, never perfect, too hot - naked? too cold - closer? good temperature, perfection. eyes holding all the wrong things, tongue wanting to taste, taste too much, greedy, wanting more. Grab you by the pound, by the inch... a dime bag cannot help me now.

Voicemail On Loud

The want trumped the need.
The brain took a walk, without any feet.
Checking out of the body hotel, the soul could breathe. Everything started to lose its direction, no left or rights for guided protection. The decisions made seemed to be erasable, little did we know we ran out of the appropriate stationary. Stapling the letter head to the feet, and walking all over the arrangements made in play dough, nothing concrete. Trying to wash the blackboard, but these messages won’t go away. Voicemail on loud because I like the way you sound. Disconnected dial tone, knocks at the door; not answering the sounds. New soundtrack to my state of embellishment within the walls of my palace loft, and this is loft music without the percussion of our throwing pots and pans and puns and insults. Minus the pleasurable gasps of naked contact, minus the clasping of items and the stomps of feet leaving. Left. Left.Home sweet home.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Pieces of Me in Mind

the compulsion in my bones has me doing things i normally would do, but with a lot less thought. the thoughts i would usually conjure up in times like this have all been spent on gloomier days, and somehow the heat has found me within the chill of these wintery days and has caught my step, blinding my eyes, i am so happy in my nativity, you think i was baby Jesus in a manger. drinking to pass the time, this company is so great, so shiny and glassy. you with your beautiful cork has me pulling for reaction. warmth, in the crazy of cups. eyes chilled and serving questions.. pull the sheets over my head, i am waking with the urge to stay in bed and read. i really would rather escape and play in these powerful pages of places and people and their lives and their problems and silently draw relief in the mix matched tales that all seem to have been written with pieces of me in mind.