in exile world
of graveyard
disenchantment
there is a blank page
pond ripples thunders through broken speakers. head cold and thick. my hat no longer fits. she is in the bathtub soaking out the fiberglass and my thoughts have left the country. no band practice tonight because everyone is sick and some even sicker than i. not in the perverse sense, but some of them are that as well. not with me, thank god. not them... all my friends are somewhere else, and i wish i was too. i sometimes think about playing guitar in a circular style. i can't see it or do it or even know what it looks like, but i can hear it sometimes. the chords spiral and move around and around like a sound bubble spinning. and i want to be able to play like that.
thinking of poetic journalism today. went to the ok hotel had some lunch for food food for lunch thought for food. i should write for other people more. i want to write about and write what i think and maybe people will not read it, and some will think i'm wrong or stupid, but some... some will say, "yeah... yeah!." and that's why i like to write what i think, because maybe it helps other people feel like they aren't alone.
we are all alone, but sometimes we feel closer alone.
i said i froze, but i meant to say i tried. you are waiting for me, and i'm not even moving yet. said i'd say that you are there for me, and i see and i know, but don't know where to go. The computer descending a staircase, smash cubism once and for all, and the circuit traces are more addictive than train tracks of junk swirling across what used to be veins. Music is an independent reality, and i'm half there. techno jaded and hating the hate, walking just to wait, feeling the weight and hating the waiting, i start to hate.
a hard rain comes down deep inside of me, not unlucky, but it rains for awhile. what is a star crossed lover? did i see my name under that picture? i really hope not. maybe the keyboard is faster than the pen. maybe the walls around my words are being shaken loose again. i wish i could make you smile, but who's really complaining.. just flowing with the sound and thought and shifting direction with a simple word. it doesn't really have to go in one direction, and if it has to make sense i might as well have stopped years ago. but i can't stop now. no.
gotta finish at least one of my books. just a little one. something that actually looks good. loving the fog is where i'm heading. and move my words through the screen into elswhere.. if i could do everything just by sitting here, would i be happier? i wouldn't be any lonlier, and i'd probably get lazier... but would i be happier. maybe.... if it wasn't quite everything. there are some things that a computer just doesn't work for. like, i can turn this machine on, but it doesn't work both ways, y'know. why do i always throw the wrong stuff away?
crown o' gems | darkwaves+larkwings sky
jewel@gleeful.com
a seraph production