Monday, April 30, 2012

Distracting Distractions

there is a mere moment in the sound that seems to settle in my coat. right in the seems it gets all close, gathers itself and doesn't seem to leave. you feel that moment frenzy with each motion in any direction and the sudden pulse of something much more human, a little more heavenly fizzes at the contours of distraction. we'll both be the aid in the matter, you distracting me, me distracting you.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

I Am, What You Smoke

I don’t care, about your get rich schemes.

And I don't care, if you can't even breathe

Because your taking up, good oxygen for me.

And I don’t care, about all of the fleas you claim you can't get off your back,

And I don't care about your broken english, slinging around - because this and that is all "wack".

And I don’t care if you can't see me

I don’t expect the growth of your currency

Because your worth has deplieted, you are just speedin' because you think it's apparent to be like me.

And I don’t care, if you put in the effort.

And I don’t care if you think that’s it worth it.

I don’t care about the hotbox sceen, because there is nothing about me you can put on the screen.

The actuality of me, to your surrealism if a little off kilter, so go smoke some more weed and try find me

In the clouds that evelope your world, get lost in it. Try and find me in it. I'm a fade in and out of it.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Twist My Fork

The delicate morphing of twisting the fork and really getting to the root of the cause that has foiled the feeling of pitter pattering affairs on the tiny senses of everything. The coming in and out of the light to be slightly scorn for good measure, the jaded affect. Going to the unknown, yet remembering. get me hot, hot hot - I am so hot for you.

Nicotine Occasions

You smell like cigarettes.
You're not even a smoker.
You smoke me like a smokin' gun.
Take me.
Go along, do the things you do.
Your actions bounce off my skin.
Get a load of this.
You smoke me like a gun.
Like a cigarette, who's pack did
this decision come from.
Nicotine occasions and you
light me up again and again.
 The flicker of your match
catches the reflection of my eyes
before you divulge in me like a 
quick cigarette.
Cigarette night.

Junkies Kissing for a Soul Fix

The warm sock, pull me closer, let's get a little deeper now. The conversing, exploring the monarchy of our love. The smoke so much you're on the outside of the atmosphere and without the facade I would describe our place, that place, the same. We've become drugs, personal choices, chase it with a beer, move a little closer. The current function of adoring affections, affecting a desirable infection. We've become a cure to the disease.. The over thinking, compensating, secret place next to the heart, exposed and getting wasted. So wasted on each other. A couple of junkies kissing for a fix of one another's soul confidence. 

Friday, April 20, 2012

New Vibes

Beautiful motions circling not so beautiful times and suddenly I have become this person I am usually not. A sense of energy, from some other world has seeped into my skin causing me a natural sense of calming. The fret of worrying, because I am one to worry about worrying has left me and I am preeching this lifestyle that I have shuddered at in previous times. A positive wave, I am riding. A spring cleaning of sorts, to shake out all the negaitivity, to stp question and doubting and enabling myself from stepping up to the plate and really knocking it out of here. a buffer of this and that, a state of well being I am not use to being in. an approach towards better light and longer days, and summer is cooking my heart in a positive way.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

I Love Bed

I cannot be bombarded without this hibernation now.
I need the slumber, the darkness in my life, it makes things brighter. The days to follow are simpler with it. I miss the fluffiness of my routine. I miss the dance moves of dreaming into the late afternoon. I hate the bittnerness here, the stray sleep that has left the eyes of the people surrounding me. We all need sleep, all want sleep. Everyone craving this inclination of just being in bed. Not necessarily together, but I don't think we would say No if that was the only option. I want my bed, a bed. Any bed. Not the sex that comes with the bed, but the company of it's lining. Strange right. I love bed.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

The Softness of Soda

Languages being spilt on table tops, like sodas wilding escaping the mouths of their cans, a rather messy situation has erupted at a different altitude of volume that isn't experienced with such soda. where is the softness of soda in your tune? please, slurp, slowly, dear consumer. the mixed up confrontation of cola in the ups can when the dark is light and the light is dangerously dark. stacking nouns like cases and wishing you could drink in all the places you're thinking of escaping to. just you and your words and all the sodas you can buy, they say, talk is cheap.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Something Lovely

distant closeness, not looking for closure but comfort. liable reassurance to this heavy heart. the other kind of difficult, the severe case of difficult. sadness, balloon filled sadness, bursting all over the place. downsized parties to create less of an upset. almost at the ledge, but turning back because you've forgotten that and remember something lovely, right at the minute when the clock struck another minute. always striking, the fluid moment of forever, always happening, capping at your toes like wishy washy waves of bothersome.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

I Pray To Beauty

the upsetting discovery of something deeply beautiful in someone so truly ugly, and where does the line begin to fade - where does the two entities merge together and create a super being.. silly cinderelly stories, adapting magic to things that will neve rbe magical. there is something beautiful in you, that will never be found in me because i am not the sort of magic you are. but you, well you are magic and who would've known, i think i always knew, i think i am lieing, i've never been one to know much of anything, i know so little about this, and that.. i know nothing. but i can tell you this, i know you are beautiful. yes. yes i know that to be true.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Ebbing Sandwich

There is a chance that the heart can function without the bliss of memories, a hard knock case of favourite forgetting. Conceiving a time and place that has no rabbit hole connection to the heart of old times. Seasons are pumping the valves with a substance of being, draped in a courageous lace. Postpartum depression revealing a different kind of love, mishapened like a sandwich bag. A lunch for one. A beat to keep the flow of you always ebbing forward.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Bathtub Reasoning

there are no reasons and i cannot leave anything in this bathroom, there is no room, no room for all the things i want to leave, the new the old, the constant things that are always different and the same... there is a splash of something else coming into something old that is constantly changing and blooming into the new. old things, suddenly not so old - shed in a newer light, an undecided light that has made old things new again and again, time again.  the power of these things never stale, always embracing a little tighter a little lighter, always splashing things into you.. the feeling always resisting against your being, against your mind set, your place, where you are doesn't matter because things will happen there too. new things, old things, all the same things in a different way - fading in and out like movie titles - expanding the feelings, heightening the reasons, is there ever an OK reason..

Sunday, April 8, 2012

All That Could Happen, with Swift and Quick Reacting

there is a distant danger growing all around these feelings, and i am on the verge of persuasion. the sharpness to the thyme, is making this herb appear in a whole new darkness. the flick of a serpent's tongues,  in a mythological, eerie, condensed swing of relinquished obscenities has everything rather distorted in an daisy tone of empty beer bottle vision. the blade, gleaming with action, looks a helluva lot better when places closer to my skin. the pain, wincing at it's capabilities, have everything sort of fizzing around the edges. the heat of sudden opportunity collapsing on the merriment of all that could happen with swift and quick reacting.

Sensations in Your Landscape

the tell tale signs that everything is happened, open the eyes, taste with the pupils - the sensations in your landscape. scrape the bottom of the barrel and stand a little taller, retrieve whatever you are looking for and become a little bit brighter with the impulsion of all the realism that is making sweet sweet love to your eyes. fucking vision - you've got it. savour the moments, little tiny pictures being taken with each rapid blink. the back and forth motion of this and that, you feel it - work it. indulge, dive a little, get a little close, relish in the being, the state of being - just being, isn't that so easy, wasn't so hard now, was it? ask the questions, with the silent flick of each eyelash engulfed in all around you, everything around you. around around, your eyes haven't seen it all. smell the vigour, with your eyes? get that out of your eyes - step up, step down, tilt the perspective, what are you waiting for now - blink, it won't go away. blink. blink. blink. 

Searching the Weather for the Souls of our Beloveds

The sudden losing for those around you, pretending to know but each system unadaptable, each system not making sense to one another. Sure, it happens but it surely is not the same. Inevitable, yes. Tragic, yes. Different, entirely on a level that we cannot consummate because of the ever differences in us to them, them to us, everyone linked to each other, together and separately. All so different. Searching the weather for the souls of our beloveds. Lost and hearty so lost and heart. Shipwreck, I am a mess of sudden emotions. The need to stay and go are equally pressuring. Pressure me to do something, I am out of touch. I do not belong with these thoughts inside me. Take me to a place to see, for my eyes have left me, returning dusty. A haze of what is what and I am so far gone.

Dreamers, Cut Back

dreamer of dreamers, nightmares slashing forward, back slashing the upper cuts of all the cuts that seem to dig a little deeper in and out of idealistic places. the places of ideals have all been cut out, taken out with cut backs, and we are left here - dreaming.

Reflecting Badness

reflecting on reflections that seem to peer deeper into the thoughts of all the people once reflected by a moral code, a code that doesn't reflect on any of the attributes you claim to have. throwing away all the mirrors you might encounter so your reflections will no longer haunt the reflecting actions you continue to exude on all the reflective faces. You will no longer reflect your badness on the lives around you.

Friday, April 6, 2012

Mixtape Trouble Clefs

the disgusting entities of a mixtape that has you figured out before you even considered yourself for some configurations. the process of tapping into your senses when you're senses are just fine, clearly not, sudden pain and happiness, a twisted mix matched oasis of everything you've ever felt, recognized and unrecognized, sits on the surface of your skin, screaming for attention. the trouble clefs of the naughty mixtape, sudden probing your troubles. knifing your ears with a percussion you longed for while your worries are now bossing your soul around and you are immediately reminded to think of everything you've never wanted to think about. and the dial on the mixtape falls off and you are slowly cut up into little elements of music and thoughts a dirty mix of hate and love, want and need, dont go there - but too late, it's up too loud now.

Our Ideas Disguised as Fluff

seems like we're burning up the ideas for boarders and matching them to the ideas of sparks and everything is suddenly burning up, all fast and glittery, and we'll admit, we don't even mind - not one bit, not one bit at all. the turning tables of everything you thought wasn't actually turning, burning up - burning up. the drive to the fire and roasting all the wonderful marshmallows, our ideas disguised as fluff, might be actual fluff, but we burn it all up, keeping it all beautiful, and in shock in awe, we love the way our dark demons are suddenly illuminated by our action of "tossing it into the fire" we shouldn't, but I'd hold your hand, and jump in with you. what do you say? wanna jump in the fire with me. let's jump, fire jumping with all our fluff.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Demolition Dank

distant yourself from me. divide yourself from all of this. devise a plan so dangerous you are willing to go all out and sort of dank to get rid of it's meanings. enjoy the state of demolition you have entered, dissolve into the being that is suddenly pricking your skin with urgency to become. become, i dare up. dance within the runway of all that is wanting you to divulge your secrets, dig a little deep, a little darker, a little more. in need of a doctor note, some sort of answer to all of the questions and a little light on the sidewalk to keep from all the stumbling. don't stop, do more, go the extra mile or five. double or nothing take it all. the talk isn't cheap, the drinks will be poured, keel over on the floor - whatever you do don't head for the door. put a fight, stand you ground, not even strand of sounds will break your concentration, you've got this covered. do more, do more louder. 

Monday, April 2, 2012

An ESC Out

The continuous motion of bombarding my social media with unsocial aspects of everything you claim to be about, go back in time - come back not so empty. You are withering away to pixels and micobytes all on this hunk of fibers and electricity of a membrane, the disappearing act of saving and sending, copying and pasting. PDF my memory, shift control - you cannot get rid of me. Infiltrating like a virus, control alt delete soon will not provide us with, an ESC out.

Take Your Silhouette With Me

There was a time when the time didn't matter and all we had were each other and the days all morphed into one because we'd stay in bed, never seeing the sun. There was a day when I didn't move my limbs out of bed because the ground was lava, and I wasn't even twelve, I just liked the idea that I was safest there with you, and choose not to break the comfort with any movement. There was an entire week where all I ate was candy, gummy eggs for breakfast… gummy hotdogs for lunch… little gummy coca-colas after work, I'd throw back a few with you. There was a month when I didn't even realize it was that particular month because everything was perfectly lined up with you. There was a moment when I'd see you through the window and just want to cut you out, in the glass, and take your silhouette home with me. There was an hour I listened to you sleep, another hour I watched, and another hour I laid awake beside you as the rise and fall of your breathing slowly rocked me into dreamland.