dream 111,112

   (these doubts attempt to ruin me. is it a struggle with myself or a struggle against reality?)

I dont know how i got here but we are in bed once again.  the sheets consume us both as we grow with each others warmth. now the dark maroon abyss engulfs our bodies as i move to please you. you have a cock, that's something i never noticed before. its small, your testicles are bigger than mine but you penis is smaller, i think its cute.  i lift your butt into the air as i taste your balls and squeeze you.  the look on your face is beyond ecstatic then you cum, all over your bed and face. theres no time to lie down. you quickly shower and dress up take a seat in the booth at the waffle house.  you're in a hurry im having to hunt for you... when i find you in the booth you are ignorant of me as if im just another server without your refill.  i attempt to explain myself but you wont even look at me as if you viewed me with disgust.  appalled at you in realization that you were over my sex, and uninterested in my body, i move out to riot on the midnight new orleans streets.

(now that i'm awake and aware of my fucked up mind it is time to masturbate yet again)

one more first try

the pond ripple has come to peak again.  swaying with the pendulum in absent orange myth, underneath the hollow forest, coaxed in green fleshy film. wear the animals, across your shoulders and around your head. we are the animals, breaking up boulders and decorating the dead. Where are the animals? they were much older than could ever be said.

diamondite implosion

im often curious what tune will be the last we make together.  as time slips beneath our feet like loose gravel on a steep slope.  beneath my crust i am no where near ready to slow down, but this hardened shell has grown heavier and heavier over time.  Burdened with true relations and wants needs to survive and needs of thought.  Maybe it was all fake, im mostly artificial.  For i cannot say where i came up with my self, i was made out of people.  Doesnt that make me synthetic? does that make me artificial?  Too timid to indulge, over fear i may become emotionally overwhelmed.  Sick of testing my depressed hypothesis.  I am unworthy of anything yet expect it all.  I am nothing special yet completely alone.  without words, without emotion, confused with our words, beaten with our emotions.

anti write inn

left out more often... now more than before.  i guess im a freak, or perceived that way through the reflection of light in the mirror.  i am out of the ordinary and my flavor is out of style.  leaving friends hurts.  now i wonder if its worth it to keep gaining more when they will be lost as fast as the others.  what is the point if the reset button will be hit regardless.  it is like me to overreact.

after it's name.

why end! why is there an end in the form of the major wave? An end to the most at once, to call forth those who are righteous,  maybe it simply is the nature of the continuum we are a part of. For the ideals of nature are much aligned with those in touching the aspect of the apocalypse.  Out of extreme chaos and anarchy of species, comes the deciding factor (of time) that some creatures are deemed unacceptable, at times.  There would be know people if there weren't triceratops buried beneath us. Armageddon is an ever more happening occurrence, along side an expenditure of particular exponential life.  Armageddon is the growth of knowledge within its spectrum, an infertile seed within the maze of evermore glorified life.

A mirror on the ground, up on th ee ar th.

antelope

oh piece of plastic rubber i have held onto you for years, multiple revolutions of the sun and season.  Are you worth my protection? what is?  when there are stars so close to my atmosphere and multiple galaxies within my grasp, i dare to notice the furry fuzz on the back of my hand.  Just enough to keep me warm... just enough to feel the air.  All objects i protect are just the memories of someone i wish to keep.  many times without material thoughts are inconceivable. i live for the alternative, hope i can master thought through this distinguished time.

ms. sing

have i become absent love?  am i the dull grey painted brick wall that i once ran into?  have i lost touch with the forestry i grew away from?

for i no longer feel such a passion for my surroundings while my hope for things to come is curled up stuck inside the town well.  i guess i must know why but only to fix the problem at hand.  for the short time cure is the long term problem.

trembulance cycle

as the wax statues start to rust, i need to leave the city im gonna take a bus,  though i know that im killing the dinosaurs, im not like them because they walk on all four,
legs.
when the paper planes soak up the mess, cardiovascular desire i feel within my chest, nausea spinning in the foreground of my distant past, the times that we realize dont happen so fast,
lee.

rye eeds

i am the subject of suspicion.  my existence is somewhat of a test.  i am the flavor of guilt, with the scent of worry.  tonight i am low on the totem pole, some think i am stoned, when truly i have just finished a cry.  as usual my instinct is to hide, and divide perception into two truths.  i want to move faster, from a mental perspective.  i want to easily forget.  i want to fill in the blanks.  I need to dry my eyes, more left than right.

duckduck...

you hold the dead presidents in your hand, is it luck?
she plays the instruments in the band, is it luck?
i feel my toes toes between the sand, is it luck?

is it luck?

i still have vision when im asleep, is it luck?
that wolf was killed off by the sheep, is it luck?
you have to find the things you keep, is it luck?

is it luck?

we wont remember our first sight, is it luck?
throw the first punch and win the fight, is it luck?
he's heading directly towards the light, is it luck?

is it luck?

goose or a duck?

is it luck?

mathematics upon the orgasm of springtime

i have allergies.  if a sneeze is even one one hundredth of a simple orgasm. i sneeze 100 times more in the spring than any other season. because the plants choose this time of year i must also share with them a subconscious orgasm, as i believe all plants are a matter or subconscious only.  likewise, consciousness is a matter of higher level subconsciousness which all those animalia and upward posses.  we who are animal posses plant beneath our organs. only more finely tuned to the beating heart of blood,than the flow of water.

type right or left (the room)

It is not that we should fight against war, but make love with it. For if there is an end to the mass destruction, let there not be an end to all destruction. However sorrowful the truth is we must allow each other to keep each other strong. Or maybe the scale has become simply outweighed by our own knowledge. Is it possible that we may forget?

worrynder (25)

i want it to be known how i feel about something. as i moved through adolescence i unusually felt that i would not exist past the age of 25, its just that i never saw anything there. i have no image of myself past that age.  I find it strange, but my mental timeline stops at once im halfway through my twenties.  this could be societal pressures that make my visions blank but i believe it is a deeper meaning as though i am in store for absence or massive rebirth and change.  Still, i stress the importance of society and my cultural phenomenon through number 25, being a quarter of one hundred and one hundred being my definitive span of a human life.  this thought had to be written down as it may hold psychic instincts within it.

Dream 8,894.0

went to bonnaroo, drove my new van. got lost in the hiccup for four days left my van around the camp site with all my things including my drumset.  friends were camped near the van. i returned out of a haze to find my van empty and crushed as if it were an abused convertible.  Soon i found my friend andy i asked what happened he said it wasnt his fault that i left my van unlocked.  i asked why he didnt protect my things or stand up for me.  he responded by shoving a white stick that which is used for a lollipop into my mouth.  he told me it was lsd and i should figure it out.  ashamed and angry i wandered for clues to find my things in disbelief that my friends had abandoned me.  when i began to hallucinate i came across the first of my clues one of my drums lie in front of a persons camp that i vaguely remember from last year. after taking it and declaring him a falsity. i continued to look for clues, knowing well i couldnt call the police, those items missing are not to be held responsible.  eventually i found more of my drums and cymbals in a likely fashion.  i awoke clearly without my backpack, snaredrum, and transportation out of my campsite... three things i hold dear.

tribute. shape of punk to come.

Worms of the senses I got a bone to pick with capitalism and a few to break. Grab us by the throat and shake the life away. Human life is not commodity, figures, statistics or make believe. And yeah I like eating excrement and not getting paid for it. Play the guilt, play the fear and play the anxiety x2. Seduced by the opportunity and robbed of hope. Human suffering is not commodity, figures, statistics or make believe. Marginalise away the joy and sell us boredom. And yeah I like working doing nothing and not making anything. Blame the poor, blame the uneducated and blame the sick x2.

Faculties of the scull I took the first bus out of Coca-Cola city cause it made me feel nauseous and shitty. I took the first bus out of Shell town cause they didn't want me hanging around. YEAH. YEAH. I took the first bus. Let's take the first bus out of here x8.

Liberation frequency It's coming through the air for all of us to hear. Could it be the sounds of liberation or just the image of detention? We want the airwaves back, we want the airwaves back. We don't just want airtime we want all the time all of the time. We want the airwaves back, we want the airwaves back. We want transmission for the people by the people. What frequency are you getting? Is it noise or sweet sweet music? On what frequency will liberation be? On what frequency will liberation be? It's coming through the air for all of us to hear. Could it be the sounds of liberation or just the image of detention? Control my flower, business and news all ready to devour. Who's in charge and what does he say? Is he playing alternative or does it sound the same old way? We want the airwaves back...

The deadly rhythm This union that made us powerless is talking over our heads. Claiming prosperity in a downward spiral plan. Stuck by the deadly rhythm of the production line. This power that made us unionless is taking out of our hands. Cheapest labour at our expensive cost, auctioned our lives away. We consume our lives like we are thankful for what we are being forced into. Is it our duty to die for governments and for gods? Is it our privilege to slave for market and industry? Is it our right to follow laws set to scare and to oppress? Is it our gift to stay in line and will it take away the blame? We can no longer pay the price. We'll get organised. We will no longer believe that working for you will set us free.

Summer holidays vs. punk routine I'm tired of losing myself to some stupid childhood dream of what I could have been. Money proves the point and I'm stuck between summer holidays and punk routine. I shoot off a 100 things to remain more sorry than safe. You see, I only get this chance once and I just can't let it be. And I'm still certain that what motivates me is more rewarding than any piece of paper could be. Well adjusted and corrupt, all those icons that stole our teenage lust. A scenario of simplicity, a scenario of you and me x2. Rather be forgooten than remembered for giving in. We're all tired of dying - So sick of not trying. Scared that we might fail - We'll accomplish nothing. Not even failure.

New noise Can I scream? It's here for us to admire if we can afford the beauty of it. If we can afford the luxury of turning our heads. If we can adjust that $1000 smile and behold the creation of man. Great words won't cover ugly actions and good frames won't save bad paintings. We lack the motion to move to the new beat. When the day is over the doors are locked on us. Cause money buys the access and we can't pay the cost. And how can we expect anyone to listen if we are using the same old voice? We need new noise , new art for the real people. We lack the motion to move to the new beat. We dance to all the wrong songs and we enjoy all the wrong moves. We're not leading. Yeah. The new beat x10000.

The refused party program This is the pulse - This is the sound. This is the beat of a new generation. This is the movement - This is the rhythm. This is the noise of revolution. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Refused party programme x3. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Protest song '68 "To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs and a little knowledge of music. It is not neccessary to have an accordion, or a guitar. The essential thing is that I want to sing. Then this is a song, I'm singing." -H. Miller I breathe in and i create - rewoke the spirit '68. Fresh meaning to torn ideas - let's bring life to old clichés. Punch a hole in tradition - yeah, let's listen to the songs of discontent - the chords and the movement. It could all be so simple. We would all stand baffled by the precision and accuracy. Our jaws would hurt from dropping so hard, fast and unexpected. It would be the perfect metaphor. It would be the perfect song we'd be singing. I breathe out and i scream - rewoke Malatestas dream. Inspiration from the past - focus to the future at last. Fixed dogmas can't substitute - creative thought and action. We could be dangerous - art as a real threat. And all it is it is words. Words said a million times before. And all it is is a song. A song sung a million times before. I breathe in and i create - rewoke the spirit '68. I breathe out and i scream - rewoke Malatestas dream.

Refused are fuckin' dead Beyond ability and control we could be weekend lovers. Steal a sentence and make a catch phrase parole for our revolution. Whispered all across the street about the new cool call. Or screamed at your face like a scabs payroll. Faces like angels, licking our fingertips. We don't have the patience to deal with it. With battered bodies and puckered lips. We don't have the patience to deal with it. A naive young secret for the new romantics. We express ourselves in loud and fashionable ways. Yeah, get down, get down, yeah. Can i get a witness? This I gotta see. Bring it in one more time for me x2. We don't have the patience x4.

The shape of punk to come Hey baby you never felt this good. Freedom through the stereo and you wish you could take a bite, do a dance and get lost on a crusade. Jump on this soul train with destination unknown. Hey baby never felt this free. A pair of new shoes and a punk rock show to see. Give acclamation to these blue ribbon babies. And check the calendar for the expiration date. We've all been bitten - we've all been underground. We've all been beaten, battered, bruised, told to get down. All dressed up with somewhere to go. I told you so. Adolescent beats with a new thing to see. Smashed guitars just like you've seen on TV. With burning speakers and flaming hair. We'll have a riot right here.

Tannhäuser/Derivé So where do we go from here? Just about anywhere. Disorientated but alive. Boredom won't get me tonight. Let's bring this city to life - to light - tonight. There is no destination but with a goal in mind we can all be realistic and demand the impossible. Let's bring this city to life - to light - tonight.

The apollo program was a hoax Petrol bombs and barricades - Anything to have our say. Consequence of no choice at all - Empires rise and empires fall. It's time to flip some coins and it's time to turn some tables. Cause if we have the vision I know that we are able. Suck on my words for a while and choke in the truth of a million dead. There is no prestige in your titile, we are after your head. The destruction of everything is the creation of something new. Your new world order is on fire and soon you'll be too. Sabotage will set us free. Throw a rock in the machine. 

(to laugh)::*

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  We are trying. As the fish do try to grow. To find a new path after so many forks in the road.  With a spoonful of sugar upon my sweetly satisfied tongue.  With a knife cutting dust that i may breath into my lungs.  As the tide turns over, as the wave breaks my fall.  We collaborate and wonder what it takes to feed our souls.  

       Despite our different pace, different path, different face we share a mutual laugh.

  We are trying. As the net does wish to throw. To find a steady path after so many come and go.  With a top of the world as my only home.  With a shark getting food from my unclean bones.  As the wheel rolls over, as the glass breaks my fall.  We collaborate and wonder what it takes to feed our souls.

       Despite our different pace, different math, different face we share a mutual laugh.

  We are trying.  As the rivers keep their flow.  We've found a steady path and now our worry is below.  With the taste of tomorrow in the head of the arrow.  With my target defined I release my bow.  As the heat moves up, as the warmth breaks my fall.  We collaborate and wonder what it takes to feed our souls.

       Despite our different pace, different craft, different face we share a mutual laugh.

this belief./.^^

this belief that i am incompatible with those opposing puzzle pieces, beyond a physical stand point. It is outrageous. I have always been capable, my mind is not any lesser than.  I must shun this fear from my eyes, and shine the love of her light into my life.  Those beams and rays of invisible taste i aim to savor.  To tell myself is not enough, to act upon is all i intend, no need for words, for they are simply whispers to my actions.  have i stopped my growth? not completely.  not completely.

passaporte

in my dream. i took a trip to amsterdam. though i barely made it there, through a tense relay between two computers and much needed miscellaneous information. in an alien sprung terminal my friend, daniel pryor and i finally made it to the european sweet lava. when i arrived i realized i forgot my passport and could not return home this disturbed me into awaking. now that i am conscious am i still in amsterdam?

mad urr,

we are matter, we matter. i am matter, i matter.  you are matter, you matter.

what the hell do i know of freedom, i take what is dreamt and sharpie it in, color outside the lines and expect great beauty.  decided to forget the information i knew, did i ever know it at all?  as far as i could throw a stone, my lifetime.  reality.  can't help fighting myself.  can't get a ring of the bell wont get my time in the corner, this fight is one round only.  i am a mystery to myself you are my clues, consequence the detective,judge and jury.

friedum

what is it about this form of freedom that pushes me to give my freedom away? (via acts of benevolence) laws, third world, environment, nature, self?

hmmmm g45ht09

have i been without friends for so long under the company of my own subconscious to be mislead by miscellaneous fear.  now i can feel the will to go to a random bar and know someone new. it feels good.  have i forgotten my friends behind the wall of my own subconsciousness.  now i can feel the will to go to a miscellaneous bar and know someone new. maybe its been there hidden beneath the resin and shells. (coral and fur)  i am sure of one thing my laughter is a decrescendo only meant to rise before i finally fall.

my life

the search for bigger smiles