Thursday 20 February 2014
Sunday 2 February 2014
Sunday, 2nd February 2014
Taken from a time out of mind, secrets lying there undisturbed, if prodded react aggresively to the perpetrator. How can one help but seek a truth? Nonsense they say, I speak the word of the Lord, but many men have lied since and graves are filled with known unknowns.
History and hospitality entwine at the home, no one knows themselves, let alone another who doesn't know themselves either.
Essays by Francis Bacon, little old Frankie Boy Douglas, Jon Boy from the Waltons. New Years eve in 1998/99, watching Titanic for the first time. Spice Girls rings and posters. White jeans. Who are these people? 16 years on and only skin cells change, reinforcing the idea of a soul or spirit, one that magnetises atoms to surround itself, keeping itself together for as long as it can stand. But a candle that burns twice or thrice as bright leaves only the memory of its brightness.
I am dim. A din in a peaceful retreat. Ommm, go the men in their white robes and flannel shirts. "Does it hurt?" says one to another. Hurting is subjective and so is choice.
Oh, to cut this piece from my skull, the part that cares too dearly. Too much of anything is poison and everyone comes to know this after a while. So to dilute, to dissipate, is it a choice? Can we lessen the effect by willing it to be so? Is solitary confinement the answer? Who do we know? They know not us, not me, for I can't even begin to understand myself or you.
Time goes by, by varying degrees. One day you are fast, the next slow, and we circle each other like galaxies never quite touching and never quite seeing each other fully.
My mother was one of seven. Only one has passed, the second. I like to believe he is visiting my father in Australia where he has been stationed these past 8 years. He digs for gold you see, opals long forgotten and oil now just a black cloud on the landscapes. Deserted in the sand his hands calloused with the grains. Saltwater sweats from his limbs and I look at water water everywhere but there's never a drop to drink.
Just think, last year so many people hadn't met yet, and in another year yet more will meet. All these grains mixing and meddling and time only ever goes faster each day you look at it.
I rarely ever see my mother. Maybe she also visits Australia often, I wouldn't know, and curtains close on another show where not much was really learnt in the lecture.
A bow.
A bow tie.
Frown you clown, don't smile at the children full of joy in the front row. They smile because they don't know, and you are there to pretend, to extend the period of ignorance.
Where was my clown, where did they go? I would've said 'he' but there are 'she' clowns too y'know.
So take a bow. We put on a good show.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Go go gadget legs, long enough to step from one planet to the next
Hurdle and leap over the 3rd and 4th, take me to the distant edges of the Earth's orbit
Spinning, toppling over the edges, geometric shapes are the language of our travels through space
Crop circles represent this, the various pullings of magnetic fields from planets and solar systems distant
Each snowflake is unique they say, they look amazing up close you should go see
Do I look just as beautiful up close? Are you looking close enough? Maybe you just see the flake falling and landing on your nose, melting before you can really appreciate its magnificence.
I think I see yours. The special lines and shapes within yourself, the individual markings that make you so different from the rest.
The rest are different also of course, but some shapes fit with other shapes, or are so different that they make the first see things they'd never seen before.
But we all have our preferences and they can't always be altered by will.
Maybe my shape is displeasing to your eye, maybe the language is too foreign to fully comprehend
Either way we fall and disappear when the time comes
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Trucks stop upon the trucks top, careful not to fall over the edge, into the pit. Stop before you topple, after too many tipples the reaction times stutter and falter at the seams. Streams and dreams the inbetweens of careens and weens the blue bottled teems of teens in the past with hair cuts ducked and bobbed, boned and skull shown.
Blow me down says the cartooned man, his daughters face on a carton made of cows in a factory with matchsticks for company and wedding cakes tiered for future years and oncoming tears. Pears and truces, through says Dante his eyes in a knowing slant, picture this a puzzle of thistles and thorns is what it means to be born, torn from the scroll and beaten with the pulp made by mother tree the apples and me. Dire strait a straight dive into the circus cup of holy water being beamed into scripture by lasers and the lazier gods of forethought.
All for what? For naught, a cross, an empty map with gridlocked traffic, eyes coming out of windows, glass reflecting their own shadows, the sun bursting colours upon out eyeballs.
Information computed and disputed round and round a circle we circumnavigate until we think we see the loose link, the notch in the curve to rest our weary bones
Feet tread discreetly and disquiet the crowd from the drudgeries of following the steps in front, laid out and bare without a thought that was laid there before in a time we can no longer remember. A symbol comes crashing and we wake to a thrashing, the sticks upon our skin, turning us all into thin beings all brain and no feeling, but we're wrong, there's always so much more and we only think we know it all but are unwilling to give up the illusion of comfortable arrogance towards the entranced state that we find ourselves in.
Come brother, come sister, our family is still overflowing with mistakes another heart that breaks is only our own heart forgetting its true state.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Growing thin the blasting trembling fingers triggering duped persons into shows of affection and affectation
Waving wagging implicit prodding revealing more in its own speaking than in the acted listening
Making eyes at me, imagine that for a moment:
Making-eyes-at-me
How would one go about that? A swig of alcohol and jelly spheres the electric signals getting sent as words and being read in the front of the class, unable to speak or recite the poem you so ardently learnt for evenings previous
A fail grade, upturned charade the carousel spins and princesses fall in love with knights, a friend, a fiend, a thief in the night, stealing our beautiful wives that never seemed to fight
Fly fly on away, or stay, I'll pray if you'd like the words I say but so many things accounted and printed I can't pretend I'm not like him, the dubious mind warring with itself to just become a formed reason
Concealer worn a makeup inked skinlike
Taken from a time out of mind, secrets lying there undisturbed, if prodded react aggresively to the perpetrator. How can one help but seek a truth? Nonsense they say, I speak the word of the Lord, but many men have lied since and graves are filled with known unknowns.
History and hospitality entwine at the home, no one knows themselves, let alone another who doesn't know themselves either.
Essays by Francis Bacon, little old Frankie Boy Douglas, Jon Boy from the Waltons. New Years eve in 1998/99, watching Titanic for the first time. Spice Girls rings and posters. White jeans. Who are these people? 16 years on and only skin cells change, reinforcing the idea of a soul or spirit, one that magnetises atoms to surround itself, keeping itself together for as long as it can stand. But a candle that burns twice or thrice as bright leaves only the memory of its brightness.
I am dim. A din in a peaceful retreat. Ommm, go the men in their white robes and flannel shirts. "Does it hurt?" says one to another. Hurting is subjective and so is choice.
Oh, to cut this piece from my skull, the part that cares too dearly. Too much of anything is poison and everyone comes to know this after a while. So to dilute, to dissipate, is it a choice? Can we lessen the effect by willing it to be so? Is solitary confinement the answer? Who do we know? They know not us, not me, for I can't even begin to understand myself or you.
Time goes by, by varying degrees. One day you are fast, the next slow, and we circle each other like galaxies never quite touching and never quite seeing each other fully.
My mother was one of seven. Only one has passed, the second. I like to believe he is visiting my father in Australia where he has been stationed these past 8 years. He digs for gold you see, opals long forgotten and oil now just a black cloud on the landscapes. Deserted in the sand his hands calloused with the grains. Saltwater sweats from his limbs and I look at water water everywhere but there's never a drop to drink.
Just think, last year so many people hadn't met yet, and in another year yet more will meet. All these grains mixing and meddling and time only ever goes faster each day you look at it.
I rarely ever see my mother. Maybe she also visits Australia often, I wouldn't know, and curtains close on another show where not much was really learnt in the lecture.
A bow.
A bow tie.
Frown you clown, don't smile at the children full of joy in the front row. They smile because they don't know, and you are there to pretend, to extend the period of ignorance.
Where was my clown, where did they go? I would've said 'he' but there are 'she' clowns too y'know.
So take a bow. We put on a good show.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Go go gadget legs, long enough to step from one planet to the next
Hurdle and leap over the 3rd and 4th, take me to the distant edges of the Earth's orbit
Spinning, toppling over the edges, geometric shapes are the language of our travels through space
Crop circles represent this, the various pullings of magnetic fields from planets and solar systems distant
Each snowflake is unique they say, they look amazing up close you should go see
Do I look just as beautiful up close? Are you looking close enough? Maybe you just see the flake falling and landing on your nose, melting before you can really appreciate its magnificence.
I think I see yours. The special lines and shapes within yourself, the individual markings that make you so different from the rest.
The rest are different also of course, but some shapes fit with other shapes, or are so different that they make the first see things they'd never seen before.
But we all have our preferences and they can't always be altered by will.
Maybe my shape is displeasing to your eye, maybe the language is too foreign to fully comprehend
Either way we fall and disappear when the time comes
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Trucks stop upon the trucks top, careful not to fall over the edge, into the pit. Stop before you topple, after too many tipples the reaction times stutter and falter at the seams. Streams and dreams the inbetweens of careens and weens the blue bottled teems of teens in the past with hair cuts ducked and bobbed, boned and skull shown.
Blow me down says the cartooned man, his daughters face on a carton made of cows in a factory with matchsticks for company and wedding cakes tiered for future years and oncoming tears. Pears and truces, through says Dante his eyes in a knowing slant, picture this a puzzle of thistles and thorns is what it means to be born, torn from the scroll and beaten with the pulp made by mother tree the apples and me. Dire strait a straight dive into the circus cup of holy water being beamed into scripture by lasers and the lazier gods of forethought.
All for what? For naught, a cross, an empty map with gridlocked traffic, eyes coming out of windows, glass reflecting their own shadows, the sun bursting colours upon out eyeballs.
Information computed and disputed round and round a circle we circumnavigate until we think we see the loose link, the notch in the curve to rest our weary bones
Feet tread discreetly and disquiet the crowd from the drudgeries of following the steps in front, laid out and bare without a thought that was laid there before in a time we can no longer remember. A symbol comes crashing and we wake to a thrashing, the sticks upon our skin, turning us all into thin beings all brain and no feeling, but we're wrong, there's always so much more and we only think we know it all but are unwilling to give up the illusion of comfortable arrogance towards the entranced state that we find ourselves in.
Come brother, come sister, our family is still overflowing with mistakes another heart that breaks is only our own heart forgetting its true state.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Growing thin the blasting trembling fingers triggering duped persons into shows of affection and affectation
Waving wagging implicit prodding revealing more in its own speaking than in the acted listening
Making eyes at me, imagine that for a moment:
Making-eyes-at-me
How would one go about that? A swig of alcohol and jelly spheres the electric signals getting sent as words and being read in the front of the class, unable to speak or recite the poem you so ardently learnt for evenings previous
A fail grade, upturned charade the carousel spins and princesses fall in love with knights, a friend, a fiend, a thief in the night, stealing our beautiful wives that never seemed to fight
Fly fly on away, or stay, I'll pray if you'd like the words I say but so many things accounted and printed I can't pretend I'm not like him, the dubious mind warring with itself to just become a formed reason
Concealer worn a makeup inked skinlike
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