Home again.
Posted: February 4th, 2008, 3:22 am
some stuff I wrote in 2007... repost, remix. bear with me.
Can you go back home? I tried to go back to limitless places. Traveled for years. I found roads farther into limitless and looked back on the first viewpoint. Silent indifference. Me, a lazy dime store philosopher taking pot shots at a fickle moon. The case against fidelity: I was never here. Line up four walls and astronomy just so and I passed by here thousands of twinkled miles from here, to say nothing of warped cosmos and countless molecules lost to deferred maintenence. Orbits shift.
In razor passes, early morning flashes, gems shoot through circuits. Know thy intoxication; it is the way and the light. Life drunk on death. Dying drunk on health. These things are natural. A warrior says yes to razor pass and altered state, spins electrochemical novellas as I fumble for a pen. Yes to the temple and whores of devotion. Yes to disembodied righteousness. Yes to it all. Yang barters freely and sleeps by the well; comes around and cracks open granite with his eyes on a curvacious desert. Know thy intoxication. He was drunk yesterday and found God today. Everything is happening as it should; hence a low fetor of clockworn lover. Everything is a listless koan. Limitless.
I watched Death Valley's exquisite deficit from several different cliffs. Everything is happening as it should. Escapism is weakness, or the way and the light. It bears the stink of Zen as Jesus bore the stink of redemption. Freedom is fascinated by its own speech, by a storm rolling in on greasewood curls and lightning sheets, and I'm terrified of my beloved wide open, though it may only be a power blink in Reno. Will you be ready to send your boys into battle, or have some drooping excuse? Take magic beans along. One to think, one to screw. One to undo the other two. One to avoid leaving a couch entirely. Live behind a screen in this wondrous age of science.
Drink AM radio in a driving rain, some poor sole on the air. Acid rain without conversation. Holes eaten through the band. Izzm, skizzm, nitch switch to my brand of coffee while you sleep. It's all coming out now, nary a peep. Strum yer guitar. Crank my distortion. Sunset is up to some trickery. One potato two potato three potato war. I buy war a gift because no one should be lonely. I smoke war, get educated by war. The possibilities are endless and real estate is not. Metaphor of a hangover; now is not the time.
Most highways go south. I drink too much, think too much, engage in habits two, three steps from ruin, but I feel well. I shalt defeat the dragon thou shalt, knocked on my idealistic ass. For all I know I could put the hammer down. I could listen to a million politicians bent on saving what never needed to be saved. Safe haven at last.
Can you go back home? I tried to go back to limitless places. Traveled for years. I found roads farther into limitless and looked back on the first viewpoint. Silent indifference. Me, a lazy dime store philosopher taking pot shots at a fickle moon. The case against fidelity: I was never here. Line up four walls and astronomy just so and I passed by here thousands of twinkled miles from here, to say nothing of warped cosmos and countless molecules lost to deferred maintenence. Orbits shift.
In razor passes, early morning flashes, gems shoot through circuits. Know thy intoxication; it is the way and the light. Life drunk on death. Dying drunk on health. These things are natural. A warrior says yes to razor pass and altered state, spins electrochemical novellas as I fumble for a pen. Yes to the temple and whores of devotion. Yes to disembodied righteousness. Yes to it all. Yang barters freely and sleeps by the well; comes around and cracks open granite with his eyes on a curvacious desert. Know thy intoxication. He was drunk yesterday and found God today. Everything is happening as it should; hence a low fetor of clockworn lover. Everything is a listless koan. Limitless.
I watched Death Valley's exquisite deficit from several different cliffs. Everything is happening as it should. Escapism is weakness, or the way and the light. It bears the stink of Zen as Jesus bore the stink of redemption. Freedom is fascinated by its own speech, by a storm rolling in on greasewood curls and lightning sheets, and I'm terrified of my beloved wide open, though it may only be a power blink in Reno. Will you be ready to send your boys into battle, or have some drooping excuse? Take magic beans along. One to think, one to screw. One to undo the other two. One to avoid leaving a couch entirely. Live behind a screen in this wondrous age of science.
Drink AM radio in a driving rain, some poor sole on the air. Acid rain without conversation. Holes eaten through the band. Izzm, skizzm, nitch switch to my brand of coffee while you sleep. It's all coming out now, nary a peep. Strum yer guitar. Crank my distortion. Sunset is up to some trickery. One potato two potato three potato war. I buy war a gift because no one should be lonely. I smoke war, get educated by war. The possibilities are endless and real estate is not. Metaphor of a hangover; now is not the time.
Most highways go south. I drink too much, think too much, engage in habits two, three steps from ruin, but I feel well. I shalt defeat the dragon thou shalt, knocked on my idealistic ass. For all I know I could put the hammer down. I could listen to a million politicians bent on saving what never needed to be saved. Safe haven at last.
