Lets smash this, give it a shot.
A full entailment, unveilment, sale mate, settlment. Mettle mean. Man a tee.
Maintenance. Countenance. Flourish. Parish. Partish.
Friends People. Messages. Megg.
message and attribution.
Words in a song that aren’t words, and have no meaning, yet still have power.
Are potent. And strictly emotional.
Noxos, noxis, noxes, toxic. Nocturnal.
Warm water and wine time. Fine, blimey.
Daily prayers, biblical.
Hope. Fate, death and destruction.
Darkness, and blind to the inevitable. The synapses closed, not rubbing.
Not excited, alive, human, conjoining or able.
To link all things together.
To find what I seek.
That deeper question, that function, and help, the AID of comprehension.
That black and white of the piano keys.
Touching different note, twinkling like the stars in the sky.
Pointed, visible, yet vague beyond comprehension or numerical value. No time, no effort made. Sick and deathly to be so transfixxed. Hopelessly lost.
Outstanding, subduing. Shackled by out fear of the outside.
Of laziness. Hoo-hooo?
Out sugar addictions, childish ways and mean, our loss and pathetically short, barely regimented lives. Nonsensical. Brains made to make us last as long as we can.
But sometimes thing, all things, everything we sense, speeds up. And we just glide on through.
Put your salmon down, quit and hope, spash and grab at hospitality’s hope.
Up close and personal. GOD ADS. Shame on you, but i love. Love rock planet.
I read a great sad thing about love yesterday.
People say they love objects that are inanimate objects. This is perverse and undoes our vocabulary.
People posit and position themselves in a way as to seem superior.
Where do you draw the line between the idiot, the fool and the honest. Furthermore the disabled? Who decided this spectrum? Ah yes, lets measure, chop into brains and try to demonstrate and understanding. Jesus CHRIST. I could blagg, I could brag,, be a god among all in a world of the demented. How sporadically functional I could well be. Lets play the drums.
The hairy hairy drums.
Pool and silk. Sex on the pool table.
An album tour, by the vasco era.
Define all those words.
yes yes yes yes yes.
would the writer murder his own mother for money, thankyou Faulkner.
and the poetic, uprising, damned.
The yellow smoke and hating yourself.
The cat meets dog, analogy, growing old but still tempted, disturbing and honest.
Lemon pie apple tart organised. Orgies and door men.
The woman in charge of the lift has her ups and down.
I use my work to drive me, onwards to other tasks.
Coward, but hey we’ll revisit this moment perhaps, one day and wonder, yes yes we will wonder.
And THE LIGHTHOUSE, it could well be good, i’ve heard good things after all.
and that beady eyed bastard wasn’t all that bad. Thankyou for Bon Iver.
Reminded me of “and then I just chundered everywhere”
Gap year bollocks. GAP YAHH.
I’m literally in BURMA.
and all the jazz, about “PRAH” Per-ahh… *Peru*.
yaaaa! PRAH darling.
Language and its functions. Hypocrisy will always be for me.
Guzzle guzzle, swollen eyes and world wards.
We are all dehydrated.
Something to mark the time, scars and all.
Burns, victims, insatiable hunger.
How long for a full reset.
Wipeout, meltdown, shut-down. Tones and whistles as the bombs fall.
What will tomorrow bring?
Don’t forget to vote, if you want to.
People don’t have to vote.
Some aren’t qualified.
Imagine if there was one person for the time, that was qualified and because of the majority, the platform, mischance of sick and wayward, weird hap of stance and chance, change and make us all blind to fact and necessity.
But if it is, then it would and if it didn’t then… Nothing.
aye laddie. Nothing.
Don’t leer or Lear. For nothing.
That is all.
Signifying nothing, pah and fie and hark.
And all that jazz.
find me a tune that inspires beyond.
I’m yet to finish this drink and feel up to this.
Feet cold, not ever. Not like last night.
Added Bruno to my friends list on facebook, there is my one mention per day.
God life can be structured and banal.
I wonder if somewhere out there.
I wonder if somewhere out there, there are people that think like me.
With the same beliefs, hopes and fears.
They see the lights of the city at night.
And they see an opal.
They see the planet as a macrocoms.
They see the planet as a microcosm.
The big is small and significant.
The significan is an unseen natural order.
“Gravity dude” – as a fool once repeated to me, over and over.
God how that annoyed me. I’ve the blessed trouble of asking why.
The problem. The task, the innate.
I am the boy looking up,
looking out, smiling and fighting tears in the cold wind.
Tired but a moment from coming into energy.
Just wait. I digress. A poor man’s mind.
Man oh man.
Unconscious, eyes open to all I do not see.
Floating, in and above.
Full of air – don’t you see.
I bet there are people out there like me.
I should look, I try to ask.
But I can’t explain my ideas.
I’m bad. Not the best.
So the world is like an atom.
The motion of the solar system around our sun.
The sun is the centre of some middle manifestation.
A giant part of what we can comprehend using sight – directly.
It takes so much time to set up in the mind, like pins.
Like bowling but so far from it.
The materials that make everything up.
Our definitions and language is so young.
Our consuming a sickness.
Unsustainable I think, I worry we’ll die out before we get the brains to fix us.
To get factual, not mumbo and jumbo.
If our planet was once green and the burning off of fossil fuel causes the darkness, what will we become.
Will earth turn arid. A red planet in Time?
From Green and Blue to Red.
What are the materials that we attribute to colour.
I look out at night and I see the Opal.
We attribute wealth to stones, and we see them for their colour, their makeup,
strength, use and after a fashion their allusion to our internal.
How strong are these stones?
How durable and sure of themselves.
Are we planet from emerald and sapphire to DIAMOND?
Will we glisten and reach outer space?
Or will we turn ruby, burn up our resources and become barren, like clay or dessert sand. Common and disfigured? When was our charcoal stage?
Were the ice ages us as a snowball? Can we last? Do we just dig?
Bury our heads in the sand, as the heat rises around us, we’ll suffocate.
Selling fresh air, if that’s our future then I know why she did it.
Why she ended it all.
But there’s so much, much to experience that can be a little blessing.
Couldn’t your sickness have just riddled you and left you ridden on the couch.
I know pleanty that would have ridden you, just not me.
Not your breath. Not your own charcoaling of your soul.
My aversion to the burnt smell of tar.
I am afraid of the pitch within my mind, so I need it not on the breath of loved-ones, nor in their lungs.
Is cancer curable? Are the insufficient systems in place at the momement just a business opperation? Skinny love, put on your beanie, step out into the cold.
Hang it all.
Ask my friend Rhys, Reece bars. I am be twix.
Why not wine about it all.
Fill that void, he said. Fill the void with what?
I don’t know, you just occupy the space, hand no hankerchief or tissue, what’s with the importance of the tears and snots that you wipe up anyway.
Significane is again misattributed.
Are we all just posturing?
caught on a small, minute and miniscule loop of thought?
Potty trained for all things?
Quick quips, lost in the already occured.
Gods the tears stream.
Seizure as placebo thing.
Bit hands that reach for your mouth.
Save your tongue,
blood, blood, blood everywhere.
And my tears dried in my mind.
And I just watched.
Oh I was stunned.
Sick, morose and morbid.
Useless, but allowing myself my only function.
Stare, comprehend, judge, allow affection.
The rise and drop.
I’m so bloody sorry.
I wish I could have made self sacrifice.
That wonderful look you had.
The games we play.
Nails pinching eyelids.
For fear of missing the watch.
Stay awake, or go away.
Choose if you think you are,
if you think you can.
The suicide narrative, but none of their parents did it?
Because, oh well maybe, they reproduced then did it..
“them’s the times” alack. A lack of knowing, is always with me.
Why and the why of whys.
Sloppy rig, be dashed!
let me loathe.
Loath for want of something else, always.
Put your sugars away,
lock them in a tower.
its all been done.
Unique? We are duped.
The duplicity of my reality, the tandem, and retardation of my mumbling grumbling quantom of nonsensical wantonness for friendship and shared numbness. A lostness, hope for a wrapper for my life.
To tell me, with instructions what was needed then, will be needed then. And then and then and then.
Now and then and then. Future and past and so.
my fucking holy shorts.
Eat my shorts.
What’s that doll?
Running hot. Cold feet, piano and my thoughts.
Will the planet ever be green again?
Will we outlast the Topaz in the sky?
I can’t even stare at it.
Its unreal to me.
I can only bask in its glory.
I know why you believe in god.
Its like the sun.
What the fuck is going on here.
When you exercise do you steal energy from the universe?
Why am i still thinking so small.
Surely there is something smaller than atoms.
we aren’t so naive to think we’ve discovered the ULTIMATE building blocks to all things. Our rules for science and are the best we’ve got and we’ve got shit.
Smeared on walls, or broken down and recycles, constructions made from trees.
Suffocating in the byproducts. Our bipolar disorder of dread and happiness sought oscillates, reverberates, ripples through us all. Is shared, as a burden on naivety that can’t reach beyond the clouds.
Thanks for the lollies.
So there must be something smaller than atoms.
What causes gravity?
You can’t see it.
Do we just use maths and the word QUALITIES?
Can we understand that we’re lost in the mist?
We’re blinded by the sequins of the sky.
And this address and broken my own heart and its tragic.
Our size. Matters.
We aren’t large or small.
We don’t HAVE perspective.
I don’t mind the creations-
the ideas and constructions of shapes.
perfection doesn’t exist?
Then we deny the function of our days.
There is mystery.
But there is order, is happening.
Action. Fear reality or not?
Do I stand and try to prove this to myself?
As my chest rises and falls.
I could climb on the roof, hell!
Yell and shout, cause a fuss.
and money, oh the money i’d pay.
And the death row i’d be on.
A skid mark of society.
My day to fucking day.
Jesus Christs. Girl.
Baby. Squeeze lime into my eye.
what do I want.
What do I want to say.
What do I attribute value?
Destroy me, let this dead guy sleep.
Put me in a washing basket,
Hit me with the spade,
Cut my throat with the blunt tool.
Knock me out, see if my will,
my thinking, wanting, need for life.
A desire keeps me on-going.
Maybe i’m too torn from the real.
Maybe I’m ahead of myself.
But I want to share, to ask honestly.
because I want to know
To know, if you’ll help me attribute value, share and understand.
I’m alone, annoyed and the fear and dishonesty.
The scarecrows wandering each day.
Nobody, the sheets that you are wrapped,
God my headache.
Watch this shit,
this ship- go down.
How long is our moment.
Economies, trade and survival.
Put the money where the mind is.
And just be happy.
First place in the race to nowhere,
nothing and doom.
Sparring and sparks, are meaningless.
Is the journey of Niggle and Marlow important?
How long will their memory last?
THIS IS WHAT DETAINS ME.
THIS AND THE MACROCOSM AND ITS SAMENESS TO THE MICRO.
You’ve got your mother eyes.
What’s going on?