You can't weigh up the future to be your present. It will never be more heavier than when you do that. The trick is not in the past. It is happening now. You are in a car, with the brake on. The other people on the highway pass you by in lightning speeds, smiling with white teeth and braces. The tires are gripping with every inch of rubber but never go forward.
When you saw that girl last week, from the past,
it is happening now.
If you have a losing streak,
it is happening now.
If you mask and never speak,
it is happening now.
Why go to the grocers when you can have fun.
I have never starved.
What good are they to me,
when my life is ecstasy,
and it can't be happening now, it can't be happening now.
Saturday, 10 July 2010
Monday, 3 May 2010
Douche
Douche
It's suggested to you,
you're looking at the wrong cup.
Salt water.
Well I have a condition,
You see,
I miss the ocean.
What do you want me to do?
I'm sorry, you're right and,
I'm going to go along.
Suddenly nothing can be, well, untrue.
Take this cup beautiful.
I never doubted you for a second.
Landlocked as you are,
Boats are only trees.
It's harder to slip the ring,
over the clammy blue finger.
The kids won't shutup.
Usher come 'ere,
The groom is dead.
Wipe those crystals off 'is tongue will ya?
This fucking mackerel drowned outside Bridge's house next to the chip shop.
But we still carried him all the way to the alter.
Told us he could still walk.
Nah.
Didn't know how to walk.
He's a fucking fish 'int e?
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Baby.
I wish I could kiss you for every time you said I could do it,
The crowd came by today to watch the whale,
It sang for some time but it's song never made a sale,
They cut out it's throat to see how it was done,
For novelty reason only they endured the sun,
Once figured out it's ways they spat and turned.
The whales song was now a human tale for sure.
She's going for it all now.
I can build a marble tower, but I could let it fall into a sea of glass as well.
The crowd came by today to watch the whale,
It sang for some time but it's song never made a sale,
They cut out it's throat to see how it was done,
For novelty reason only they endured the sun,
Once figured out it's ways they spat and turned.
The whales song was now a human tale for sure.
She's going for it all now.
I can build a marble tower, but I could let it fall into a sea of glass as well.
Friday, 16 April 2010
Trash Can Humpers
When the bed gets hot and boring, I chuck my shit on the floor and open the window.
It makes the duvet more important when the floor is hard and the breaching cold won't leave you alone. It gives you a reason to be attached to this amalgamation of material, no matter what it looks like or where it's been.
I don't get how the curtains change from red to blue, or why the sun came up grey, but in all it's strangeness, it looks like a nice day.
we're all sluts.
The difference when you no longer have the right to eat something that's there whether or not you would.
Because you don't chew up something that's beautiful. Beauty fades. Hunger gains. Fuck a trash can.
There was a blush in your stomach last summer.
it doesn't matter.
It makes the duvet more important when the floor is hard and the breaching cold won't leave you alone. It gives you a reason to be attached to this amalgamation of material, no matter what it looks like or where it's been.
I don't get how the curtains change from red to blue, or why the sun came up grey, but in all it's strangeness, it looks like a nice day.
we're all sluts.
The difference when you no longer have the right to eat something that's there whether or not you would.
Because you don't chew up something that's beautiful. Beauty fades. Hunger gains. Fuck a trash can.
There was a blush in your stomach last summer.
it doesn't matter.
Monday, 12 April 2010
Mujer
She spent her life trying to make twigs out of her hands. Bought up all the forests and then burnt them down. It needed to be pure, and it needed to be all her.
The internet overblew my mind
Way over blew.
Green Brown Blue.
Can you remember that?
Ok. I'm seeing it, sitting on top of a man made hilltop. After the Normans invaded, pretty well actually - they set up a lot of these Castles, motte and bailey. They basically piled up mounds of earth ( creating what some would call, a hill) and stuck a castle on top. I know some of y'all know this from your history lessons, but anyway they did this shit everywhere. You see it's a lot better when you got horses and men running up to meet you, only to be to exhausted to plunge a sword into you, instead down come some arrows and ECK.
The other advantage o course, is that you can see pretty damn well being high up. Yup, it's actually scientific fact, I read it up, on a mountain, so I could read it all.
So i'm sitting up here on this artificial creation, being able to see Green Brown and Blues, they don't change much.
I then go home to the internet and suddenly i got yellow red orange green green blue yellow silver turquoise pink grey rojo azul yellow yellow red orange green black white beige burgandy yellow, and it's changing like woah WOAH, I can not remember what colours I see on the internet for shit.
The thing is, if a squirrel ran past while I sat on the hill, it would be like ok, look at that squirrel. that's nice.
Fuck squirrels on the internet, how fucking boring would a normal squirrel be on the internet. It doesn't even change colour or have a hyperlink to pictures of squirrels in mexican sombreros or even the top five you tube videos. But other shit does! And I'm clicking that shit!! THAT
SHIT
IS
DOPE.
is what my brain is telling me.
Did i even go to the park the other day - AH fuck that, that memory is fucking lame. I'm finding out that you can now get Nike high tops in tye die, that's crazy, SO MANY FUCKING COLOURS.
The internet is dope.
And i've been smoking it too long. I can't remember shit.
The only people I recognise any more are the dealers of instant cyber gratitude, the Japanese Prank pushing youtube, Dr. Facebook hooking me up the biggest crowd ever, fuck the wrong crowd.
Damnit.
Anyway.
I kept a little black book.
I wrote some shit in there.
And then my girl fucked me over. I became a manic depressive, and i'm injecting Snuh.tumblr into my veins quite regularly now.
Fuck being "artificial" that's pretty 90's now. Shit that was two decades ago, and it was happening since 1066 anyway and giving out pretty relaxing views. No I can deal with a heightened view, but not 20,000,000 hits a month.
God help us all.
Green Brown Blue.
Can you remember that?
Ok. I'm seeing it, sitting on top of a man made hilltop. After the Normans invaded, pretty well actually - they set up a lot of these Castles, motte and bailey. They basically piled up mounds of earth ( creating what some would call, a hill) and stuck a castle on top. I know some of y'all know this from your history lessons, but anyway they did this shit everywhere. You see it's a lot better when you got horses and men running up to meet you, only to be to exhausted to plunge a sword into you, instead down come some arrows and ECK.
The other advantage o course, is that you can see pretty damn well being high up. Yup, it's actually scientific fact, I read it up, on a mountain, so I could read it all.
So i'm sitting up here on this artificial creation, being able to see Green Brown and Blues, they don't change much.
I then go home to the internet and suddenly i got yellow red orange green green blue yellow silver turquoise pink grey rojo azul yellow yellow red orange green black white beige burgandy yellow, and it's changing like woah WOAH, I can not remember what colours I see on the internet for shit.
The thing is, if a squirrel ran past while I sat on the hill, it would be like ok, look at that squirrel. that's nice.
Fuck squirrels on the internet, how fucking boring would a normal squirrel be on the internet. It doesn't even change colour or have a hyperlink to pictures of squirrels in mexican sombreros or even the top five you tube videos. But other shit does! And I'm clicking that shit!! THAT
SHIT
IS
DOPE.
is what my brain is telling me.
Did i even go to the park the other day - AH fuck that, that memory is fucking lame. I'm finding out that you can now get Nike high tops in tye die, that's crazy, SO MANY FUCKING COLOURS.
The internet is dope.
And i've been smoking it too long. I can't remember shit.
The only people I recognise any more are the dealers of instant cyber gratitude, the Japanese Prank pushing youtube, Dr. Facebook hooking me up the biggest crowd ever, fuck the wrong crowd.
Damnit.
Anyway.
I kept a little black book.
I wrote some shit in there.
And then my girl fucked me over. I became a manic depressive, and i'm injecting Snuh.tumblr into my veins quite regularly now.
Fuck being "artificial" that's pretty 90's now. Shit that was two decades ago, and it was happening since 1066 anyway and giving out pretty relaxing views. No I can deal with a heightened view, but not 20,000,000 hits a month.
God help us all.
Saturday, 20 March 2010
The universe is in my room.
There is an engineer on hand downstairs. Sometimes, out of bitterness, in over hearing the ill beeps of hardware call out from the heavens, he visits.
The electronic screams, raising green pixelated pins, spreading across the side of the head, within the drum, to the fingertips, to the heart, resonating in nostalgia, revisited in converstation, what does is it ask for? Without an answer, It spreads across the airwaves infecting the ear drums.
Sometimes humble bass emerges. The heavy sound of the Boeing for instance. And it could almost comfort us, as we sit and watch out the window, the sands of China melt in the contours of forks, spraying hot blindness, dry nothing, searching across the desert. It's a river of it's own, you cannot hold water without glass.
Into the trees of an oasis, the wooden bronchi reach out to drink the sun.
What patterns then, could there be in the firmly carpeted hallway beyond?
Quick steps of the engineer. Door slammed definetly, you can hear a full click of the lock. The mechanism still works. How long will the mechanism work? He opens the door, with a bleached forehead. Underground for the last ten years, he scouts for fault in the heavens.
You will not say, "What's the problem son?"
Because without hesitations, more work can be done.
There is an engineer on hand downstairs. Sometimes, out of bitterness, in over hearing the ill beeps of hardware call out from the heavens, he visits.
The electronic screams, raising green pixelated pins, spreading across the side of the head, within the drum, to the fingertips, to the heart, resonating in nostalgia, revisited in converstation, what does is it ask for? Without an answer, It spreads across the airwaves infecting the ear drums.
Sometimes humble bass emerges. The heavy sound of the Boeing for instance. And it could almost comfort us, as we sit and watch out the window, the sands of China melt in the contours of forks, spraying hot blindness, dry nothing, searching across the desert. It's a river of it's own, you cannot hold water without glass.
Into the trees of an oasis, the wooden bronchi reach out to drink the sun.
What patterns then, could there be in the firmly carpeted hallway beyond?
Quick steps of the engineer. Door slammed definetly, you can hear a full click of the lock. The mechanism still works. How long will the mechanism work? He opens the door, with a bleached forehead. Underground for the last ten years, he scouts for fault in the heavens.
You will not say, "What's the problem son?"
Because without hesitations, more work can be done.
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