The spirit world is real. We are tied of it by a rope of white. You can feel on the back of your neck the proof our extension. Echoes are part of its complexion but not its complexity. Motive matters little. How, when, and where we re-materialize depends completely on the choices we make before we turn black. Please, try and live a good life - and not just the life you deem good.
Only until you realize you will remain who you are for eternity will you know who you are. There is much to know besides who you are, but acceptance of the self is the first step to take.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Wagering a Build for the Reminder of a Scent
Going on a great January
soon after the coldest fog lifts
and I catch its drag,
an orb of sensed muscles
tight and blue from an emotional
hibernation. They say you see one
in a photograph and that's a ghost. "She"
is the most beautiful
word I can think
of and it is as far as
anything. I could kill
To have your place for a weekend
without you
but give of me
a house of toil,
Lord: it is past our time,
our space is the illusion of long letters & leafy pokes,
what distant falls -- shuffling companions
to the way.
Your confusion brings us,
makes us a town; much movement. Just heard all over,
like a warm bath, stepping out the shower.
Suddenly, I am
with expansion and fantasies
of girls without much brains, curled
up, content, thin, and happy with old, rotten
me, my stink, and the boredom of my tastes.
Year round it gets like this, watching music
become a periphery.
soon after the coldest fog lifts
and I catch its drag,
an orb of sensed muscles
tight and blue from an emotional
hibernation. They say you see one
in a photograph and that's a ghost. "She"
is the most beautiful
word I can think
of and it is as far as
anything. I could kill
To have your place for a weekend
without you
but give of me
a house of toil,
Lord: it is past our time,
our space is the illusion of long letters & leafy pokes,
what distant falls -- shuffling companions
to the way.
Your confusion brings us,
makes us a town; much movement. Just heard all over,
like a warm bath, stepping out the shower.
Suddenly, I am
with expansion and fantasies
of girls without much brains, curled
up, content, thin, and happy with old, rotten
me, my stink, and the boredom of my tastes.
Year round it gets like this, watching music
become a periphery.
Friday, November 21, 2008
hello
Hi. I live in Muscatine again. It's been a shitty fucking year. But I'm glad and thankful to be back. I planned on writing a whole bunch with this first post in a long time, because there's a lot to say - but I just realized I can't do it right now. There's so much to say. It makes me realize I should be reading instead. But I'm listening to the new Boris LP. It is excellent - so much so I'll forgive them for needlessly putting it on two LP's. I look forward to seeing them and my friends Monday night. Instead of unpacking I'm going to read and listen to this thing again. Peace.
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