past 3am on a wakeup-at-6 school-night. this does not bode well! quiet distress, and the damn apples. uh-oh.
it's been long, and much has happened- but has it now...has so muchreally happened?
i think of the months that passed and of what stands out.
of goo goo eyes and the great rush. chemical romance? those tantric rhythms and rhymes- this is like a...
go away, come back another day. or, on second thought, don't. akh!
think, think- of anything but this! what of recent accolades, that morph seamlessly onto your mantel. what of logic, and reason?
i WISH. and i don't like thinking I have a passionless disposition, or a fear of rejection backing it. i don't like thinking that i'm too proud to get off my horse to pursue the elusive, to really get into the muck and mud. i can do dirty, i think.
the doe runs far into the thicket, wary of the encroaching shine. lest the armor be removed, and reality rears its ugly head. quick, think of the circle. of the merry-making and elixir. the clearing in the woods- saturday! lalala.
elixir. see now, on a conceptual level. very dorian gray in it's deceptive forever-young-ness. check it: to feel young (frisky?), every time. till you die. that's called forever.
forever young, but the receding hairline would perhaps beg to differ. crows feet? when do we stop playing, and let loose? the fearless, bold and reckless. battered and bruised, skid-marks to the casket, grave, whatever.
it's between being the freak and ring-master, really. to lead the circus, or be in it.
to fool or be fooled. to eat, or be eaten!
yada yada yada
it's sad that you deny me, sir that middle ground! the cave, the mis-match, the detachment. far from the madding crowd! cafe de hunza, and fresh air. the breeze, the berries and the beloved.
barkley: whose gonna save my soul now? how will my story ever be told.
he was the son of a big man. a big, communist man. a man with many children and many factories. I wonder often of his relationship with this big man, his big man.