Friday, March 30, 2012
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.
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.
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
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
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
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
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 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
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
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.