Friday, February 04, 2011

 Obsessed with darkness. And the search for the nucleus of my own truth. A calm nothingness built of the threads of heavy whispers is my overcoat.
 Punching a heart shaped hole in a lifetime-thick wall with the lights off is my exercise.
I'm talking into the ether in the shape of no cry for help. Please dont help.
A blog is a blip in the primordial ooze of a faceless nation's daily minutia.
Music is shared, stolen and shunned between savages, savants and suckers.We shouldn't care that much.
We will go on with our business of shoveling driveways to get to our jobs to pay for the stuff that you and our children need because our neighborsparentsclergytelevisions told us so. What did you say, John?
I’m sick and tired of hearing thingsFrom uptight, short-sighted, narrow-minded hypocriticsAll I want is the truthJust gimme some truthI’ve had enough of reading thingsBy neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politiciansAll I want is the truthJust gimme some truthNo short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of tricky dickyIs gonna mother hubbard soft soap meWith just a pocketful of hopeMoney for dopeMoney for ropeNo short-haired, yellow-bellied, son of tricky dickyIs gonna mother hubbard soft soap meWith just a pocketful of soapMoney for dopeMoney for ropeI’m sick to death of seeing thingsFrom tight-lipped, condescending, mama’s little chauvinistsAll I want is the truthJust gimme some truth nowI’ve had enough of watching scenesOf schizophrenic, ego-centric, paranoiac, prima-donnasAll I want is the truth nowJust gimme some truth

John had millions to just pick up and go somewhere if he was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Thats not my truth. My truth is busted up into a bleeding ball of meaculpas and feeling sorry for myself. deadbeat chauffeur dad prize winning sperm donor. Lost city boy in the body of a suburban loner. Half trusted, half owner. Trapped on a crooked  path. living on the fumes of a forgotten laugh..sidetracked by gaffe after gaffe after gaffe.Shoegazing underwater trail blazing selfhazing. Fuck its just a blog. Just a jumble of words. Just faux poetic justic and some piss poorly updated critical wit. Put another 100 pounds on the bar gonna do another rep...white stripes broke up elton outs billy as analcoholic birthday party cheesecake lenny bruce and lester bangs i didn't start the fire it was always burning. Butterflies are free to fly into face first blotted out windows. tweet tweet about book face tripping on quote I know my place hate my face iknow how I begin and how I end strung out again looking at my lost reflection again while the tides coming in. most of you get your best information your most important post it quote and yahtzeed advice spilled out and phoned in smart 140 characters builds character always on the run and sometimes these words i shat out in "alcohol fueled rage" scroll by on your screens, your 3 inch screens the screens that house your secrets your itineraries your net worth your to do lists your to buy lists everything you want like need everything but the truth.

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous2:06 PM

    Man, the price of Truth is EVERYTHING. You willing to pay that?