Cold Meat and Cold Cornbread, Being in Jail is Heavy as Lead
Not that I would know.
Me and Erin saw Sleepytime Gorilla Museum and Secret Chiefs 3 and it was super great, that happened Tuesday nite. What a fantastic couple of bands, really, I'm proud to be alive to witness that finery. Sleepytime made me want to go to Hell, because there is no way that they can play such music as that in Heaven. Secret Chiefs made me want to seek hidden knowledge, to read dusty tomes and breathe hot sand and drown in hash oil and overdose on figs and dates and to break out of a dry tomb to experience the delights of the houris and everything else like that. Trey shreds a Saaz.
In general, though, despite that highlite, I have been kinda blah, kinda eh, kinda duh....Partly I could blame the foggy mists of doom that sweep and swirl about our town, buffeting us with unkind winds and cruel soaking rains, but more than that it's the feeling of uselessness and of having zero accomplishments that is haunting me like a murdered landlord under the floorboards. It's overblown, but not baseless. I wish somebody really persuasive would tell me to cheer up, but who can you believe these days?
Aaaaanyways, I'll try again for to write.
You can hold your breath forever and I won't notice
for I myself I will be in the same,
the likewise closing mouthlung airless trapper
that squeezes out the errant thoughts and halts the idle jests.
To be a quiet man and shut your teeth and stop your jawbone
and tie off all the tubes and pipes and veins and ducts and vents
and sit and stew in slowly heating blood and gastric juices as all around me
the noise keeps ticking on and off and old men cry and babies cough
and I can hear my ears begin to hum from deep inside my head, breathe,
breathe, dummy, breathe....that doesn't prove anything, and means less.
Daddy Dee can beat Pierre any day, he has mastered all disciplines, he is 76 years old and hard like an oak. His beard speaks of his battles, each white hair a testament to a life he has ended. Daddy Dee snoozes on a throne of skulls, forget that not, ye who wouldst challenge that aged leathern titan. I need a new memory card, they shouldn't still cost 20 bucks when the PS3 is so close to coming out. Ripoff!
Out.
Me and Erin saw Sleepytime Gorilla Museum and Secret Chiefs 3 and it was super great, that happened Tuesday nite. What a fantastic couple of bands, really, I'm proud to be alive to witness that finery. Sleepytime made me want to go to Hell, because there is no way that they can play such music as that in Heaven. Secret Chiefs made me want to seek hidden knowledge, to read dusty tomes and breathe hot sand and drown in hash oil and overdose on figs and dates and to break out of a dry tomb to experience the delights of the houris and everything else like that. Trey shreds a Saaz.
In general, though, despite that highlite, I have been kinda blah, kinda eh, kinda duh....Partly I could blame the foggy mists of doom that sweep and swirl about our town, buffeting us with unkind winds and cruel soaking rains, but more than that it's the feeling of uselessness and of having zero accomplishments that is haunting me like a murdered landlord under the floorboards. It's overblown, but not baseless. I wish somebody really persuasive would tell me to cheer up, but who can you believe these days?
Aaaaanyways, I'll try again for to write.
You can hold your breath forever and I won't notice
for I myself I will be in the same,
the likewise closing mouthlung airless trapper
that squeezes out the errant thoughts and halts the idle jests.
To be a quiet man and shut your teeth and stop your jawbone
and tie off all the tubes and pipes and veins and ducts and vents
and sit and stew in slowly heating blood and gastric juices as all around me
the noise keeps ticking on and off and old men cry and babies cough
and I can hear my ears begin to hum from deep inside my head, breathe,
breathe, dummy, breathe....that doesn't prove anything, and means less.
Daddy Dee can beat Pierre any day, he has mastered all disciplines, he is 76 years old and hard like an oak. His beard speaks of his battles, each white hair a testament to a life he has ended. Daddy Dee snoozes on a throne of skulls, forget that not, ye who wouldst challenge that aged leathern titan. I need a new memory card, they shouldn't still cost 20 bucks when the PS3 is so close to coming out. Ripoff!
Out.