Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
2d
How arrogant to think ourselves in control; how demeaning to think we're not.
On an unrelated note:
I am the cardboard cutout,
torn from the canvas
of artists who can't shade.
A new light source might cause glare,
and darkness still chalks the outline
of whose frayed edges even form a flattened latitude.
There, despite the density and facets,
all angles are equal.
Tap on me and the muted slap is consistent.
Right amount of wind, I'm downed or carried.
(Just make sure the brace is held tight,
and he'll stand all night!)
On an unrelated note:
I am the cardboard cutout,
torn from the canvas
of artists who can't shade.
A new light source might cause glare,
and darkness still chalks the outline
of whose frayed edges even form a flattened latitude.
There, despite the density and facets,
all angles are equal.
Tap on me and the muted slap is consistent.
Right amount of wind, I'm downed or carried.
(Just make sure the brace is held tight,
and he'll stand all night!)
Friday, October 22, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Murkier Acreage
This is another shocker. Eyedea, rap artist from Rhymesayers records, passed on. No details yet, but I think Hip-Hop lost one of its finer talents. The two times I saw him live were incredible; his ability to freestyle was rarely paralleled by another, and my introduction to underground hip-hop would not have been complete without his freestyles.
May he find peace in the next stage.
News
Freestyle with Slug
NOW!
May he find peace in the next stage.
News
Freestyle with Slug
NOW!
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
a cup of tea she would admit to no one
Waiting for you to pop out from behind that wall.
PUNKED!
HAH! Joke's on you, yeah?
Joke's on me, fine.
But it won't happen.
Instead, I must be stone when faced.
No polished surface with lost soldiers,
No reflection of helplessness.
Those fingers that trace letters
and names
and souls
will just point.
Just, this point?
That's never for me to answer.
(Title Quote: Belle and Sebastian, "If You're Feeling Sinister")
PUNKED!
HAH! Joke's on you, yeah?
Joke's on me, fine.
But it won't happen.
Instead, I must be stone when faced.
No polished surface with lost soldiers,
No reflection of helplessness.
Those fingers that trace letters
and names
and souls
will just point.
Just, this point?
That's never for me to answer.
(Title Quote: Belle and Sebastian, "If You're Feeling Sinister")
Saturday, October 9, 2010
My inspiration
This is my favorite group on the planet.
Themselves @ Camp Basement with livemusic.fm from anticon. on Vimeo.
Friday, October 8, 2010
HiddenOndiSplay
You
is were and ever shall be delicious
I taste your delicate sin along my forked tongue.
I hold one hum
from that gentle pursed-lip frown
and i mold a porcelain crown
for the shoebox princess to sport.
the clown at your court
the suite to your song
no wonder i don't know the words
but I can still sing along.
in this abscess of your absence
there's a hollow prolonged
across whose pulled flesh
my wrinkled digits beat out the rhythm.
I'll weave it in pagan parades
open heart, fresh blood on display
and you'll pass by
with a slanted eye
and that same frown
drawn
through which no words can escape.
is were and ever shall be delicious
I taste your delicate sin along my forked tongue.
I hold one hum
from that gentle pursed-lip frown
and i mold a porcelain crown
for the shoebox princess to sport.
the clown at your court
the suite to your song
no wonder i don't know the words
but I can still sing along.
in this abscess of your absence
there's a hollow prolonged
across whose pulled flesh
my wrinkled digits beat out the rhythm.
I'll weave it in pagan parades
open heart, fresh blood on display
and you'll pass by
with a slanted eye
and that same frown
drawn
through which no words can escape.
theNow
nowIcheckMybLogliKemY Facebook account
but the tangled web of blogdom is that hollow downtown
overrun by the bigboXes a few blocks away
it's got that charming personality
snap a picture, move on
but the tangled web of blogdom is that hollow downtown
overrun by the bigboXes a few blocks away
it's got that charming personality
snap a picture, move on
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Truth
"All I'd really like to do is quit all this; get a small room... devote myself to my writing, contemplation... doing whatever I wanted."
Ginsburg
Ginsburg
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
There is no place for me in modernity. Seriously.
What is need? What is want? What is regret?
I'm trying so hard to keep everyone happy that these responsibilities won't let me breathe. I stab words at the sky; they bleed the sky, but no one is dyed. All I ask is some clarity. One work day of peace of mind. This doesn't exist. One action that doesn't sacrifice something critical. This is all I ask. I turn my fucking head the wrong way and I spite the other side of my neck.
Fuck gravity: the new universal law is that nothing is sacred. You can't satisfy one thing without destroying something else.
I haven't spoken to my father in about a month for no reason. I haven't spoken to my dear friends in longer. I'm so at odds with myself that I regret my own thoughts.
Words like poison. No. Words like soda, the slow decay.
Who has time when the world begs?
When picturing the enormity of every decision, who has the means to justify a nap? A day away? A day where everything and everyone is greeted with a no.
Here in the sweet afterthought of some small manifestation of my turmoil, I lie in the dust, loth to action. Shields that blind with polished faces, swords that weigh with heavy hilts.
Here I am.
My biggest fear? The severing of strings that bind me to some whole. The bindings are pulling, pulling, pulling. If I loosen my slack on one, the other become more tense and tenuous.
What is need? What is want? What is regret?
I'm trying so hard to keep everyone happy that these responsibilities won't let me breathe. I stab words at the sky; they bleed the sky, but no one is dyed. All I ask is some clarity. One work day of peace of mind. This doesn't exist. One action that doesn't sacrifice something critical. This is all I ask. I turn my fucking head the wrong way and I spite the other side of my neck.
Fuck gravity: the new universal law is that nothing is sacred. You can't satisfy one thing without destroying something else.
I haven't spoken to my father in about a month for no reason. I haven't spoken to my dear friends in longer. I'm so at odds with myself that I regret my own thoughts.
Words like poison. No. Words like soda, the slow decay.
Who has time when the world begs?
When picturing the enormity of every decision, who has the means to justify a nap? A day away? A day where everything and everyone is greeted with a no.
Here in the sweet afterthought of some small manifestation of my turmoil, I lie in the dust, loth to action. Shields that blind with polished faces, swords that weigh with heavy hilts.
Here I am.
My biggest fear? The severing of strings that bind me to some whole. The bindings are pulling, pulling, pulling. If I loosen my slack on one, the other become more tense and tenuous.
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