| (no subject) |
[Dec. 9th, 2004|12:49 am] |
Raspy tones schmooze over lucid notes
Disrespect history
Homage to author long gone |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 4th, 2004|11:16 pm] |
Crippling debilitating paralysing beauty.
Breathe in deeply, the world stands frozen
Helpless but to behold until your release.
Suffering joins Sin, no greater sorrow,
Screaming to break the silence of my head
To have you pour back in, no space untouched.
I'll never let go or give up, even consider.
Want Need and Love. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 11th, 2004|03:15 am] |
Noone told me what you needed to say.
It hung on the air precariously.
You all just sat there gritting your teeth
at the frustration of it not quite falling.
Then like claws giving up and letting go
Bit by bit it slips, till it's about gone.
Crowd gathers and is rather fucked off now.
And it drops |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 3rd, 2004|02:04 pm] |
You're too bloody naive. You don't understand the ways of the world that surround you, yet you're trapped in it, too deep to get out, sinking in a tub of goo you know you could relax in if you just let yourself go. You want to give in, so much, because everyone else is lying back and enjoying the experience.
But to some of them, who gave up a long time ago, you're a beacon. You're the object of their jealousy, and an inspiration to the string of hope they're still only just hanging on to. You're a tangible and comprehensible obelisk, standing strong for your beliefs.
Don't let go. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 17th, 2004|04:46 pm] |
He looks at the painting on the wall, twists of oil and spashes of reds and blues reaching out to him.
Snap. His nose almost touches the canvas, and he notices every detail, each single hair of the brush leaving it's own path through the work, the paint curving up in a wave at the start of each stroke.
Snap again, he's walking backwards and sees a tree. Details erased, there is now leaves and branches. He allows his imagination to open the door to temptation, and in it walks with a sexy sway, creeping so slowly he doesn't notice her till she stands right behind him. She politely coughs and excuses herself before wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling herself close to him till he can smell that beautiful scent again.
Snap out of it. He steps back again, and a house is revealed. A house behind a tree, with a barn. Perspective changes radically in the distance of half a metre. He walks back to the painting and the larger picture is lost.
He hears a feminine clearing of the throat, and pandering to his script and much to the delight of his quickening heart, hears the following "excuse me", and waits for the soft hand to reach his side.
Snapped.
He leaves the way he came, this time noticing the sign pointing out very clearly indeed that the exhibit is closed, and could he come back later please.
Slips a crumpled note into the donations bin on the way out, smiles and says thankyou to a curator who doesn't look up or even hear him, then carries on back into the sunlight. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 6th, 2004|11:54 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Green Day - Time of Your Life | ] |
Close friend sent me this quite a while ago and I still have it, for a good reason.
Emperor
Buttoning his molten coat, he kisses kittens and flees the stark normality of the rumpus.
Importance in his stride rides high as step by deceptive step, he climbs a varnished mountain,
Nodding humerous good morning greetings to various imagined personalities.
At a silent peak, he pauses.
Waits.
Looks both ways.
A passing eight-legged prostitute winks his way as she stumbles home aimlessly from an all night dance party,
And the emperor ponders desire.
He watches his course and backing up, slips inside as sunlight splits the sky beyond dripping french doors.
Sweet forbidden comfort cleverly disguised as pale blue pyjamas lets him forget the wife and kittens.
Releasing sand-swept heavy eyes,
He secretly blesses the sleeping girl for leaving the rumpus door ever so slightly ajar... |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 3rd, 2004|07:55 pm] |
When you spread your wings, when everyone around you stands back and turns away, blinded by who they are next to you. When you jump and you yourself hardly believe it'll work but then it does, and your wings open right out and are dazzling.
When you're flying, will you look down and see my arm struggling to break through the crowd? Will I still stand out to you? Would you pick me up and carry me to whichever place it is you're going to?
When you reach the place you want to be.
Can I be there with you? |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 20th, 2003|12:06 am] |
| [ | music |
| | (Incubus) The Warmth | ] |
It's the same old shit. It's the same faces smiling the same fake smiles, with the same cracked yellowing teeth.
But this time it's different.
You've been playing for 16 hours. You're sure your teeth have just about gone through your lip, but what hurts most is that you don't think you're any better.
Who was I to ever try and infringe on the creativity of those who excel? What kind of a little shit brimming with arrogance would I have to be to even think people might listen to what I had to say? Who's even reading this now?
But when it's coming out, it needs to be the best thing ever. It has to be the most beautiful and compelling string of words, that sky full of stars that you know was painted for you alone, the lyrics written in a foreign country that make you learn another language just to get your head around the inflections and puns of it.
You get up there and for 10 minutes of your day, you're Oscar Wilde, you're your greatest idols and more, and you can't stop there. You're making these peoples' days worth living, you're creating a dream in their minds that they're richer just for glimpsing, and you love it.
And then you're done. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 19th, 2003|11:50 pm] |
Turn my head towards the figment of a memory of a dream of a whisper from where I've come.
I've lost my faith, compassion and love to my dreams, shut out feeling, void to the world.
Eyes are closed to all I never saw, mind is closed to all I never knew.
I am lost in a desert of wasted creation that never found out what I really was.
My love once lost to the dark realm of doubt, thought to be nothing but what could have been.
I was almost King of my castle, yet there would have been no dirty rascals.
Dreams of a winter solace embracing an icy utopia, harsh yet perfect;
All abandoned clumsily swathed in rags on the doorstep of a home of a stranger who will never care.
Blue shard crystals of ice pierce all I love about myself, depriving me my ability to see clearly.
Searching for light so long I never grasped the beauty of the dancing shadows.
Veiled eyes oblivious to the glimpses of gold hung in my face by the masked pupeteer.
Gaze into the mask of darkness and finally awaken to the truth, explanations are a waste.
Finally taking in the world as a newborne, open eyes to technicolour and scream in silence to an unseen mother.
At last grasping onto the string that dangled prizes in front of me, and finding power to tug.
The pain falls to the floor, yet with it the truth and beauty of life and my current point.
Your whisper's always been there, never led nor lagged, and I'm finally glad in the knowledge it will never leave. |
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