(no subject)
this silence, this mask, this inner-haven of darkness... as I lean closer to the fire... as I wish for the poets lyre... a distraction, an inner voice, i seems to play to me in my sleep.. my trance, I wonder when will I wake, when will I peel this mask off.. when will the fire stop burning sweet smell of zinc poisoning the air, a deep breath of burning... an obvious lack of care.. when will I peel this all away
Life is a box.... a box has 6 sides, an inside and an outside, but how do you get whats inside out....
why does that still ring in my head... true, clear, resounding still from the day I heard it... an echo in the wind, in an open field, a haunting.... I wonder what it is that haunts me.. what am I searching for, why do I always feel inside out?
Am I just a heroin addict on the outskirts, looking for my paradise, my Island, with left fin sharks circling around my tall imposing walls. Is it I am just a chemical craving as yet unfilled. Is my tank low, waiting for the day I finally give in to biology and follow the footsteps of those who come before me...
no addiction seem so sweet, no high so great, and not introspection so clear...
as that without sleep..
A raging insomniac hooked on the peyote of dreams.... why do I still daydream. Fantastic things, hydraulic engines, a new world economy, leadership of a rebellion in a long fallen world... even the simplest things.. a conversation from years ago.. they all still haunt me.. visions in a seeming third eye... a movie screen on the back of my iris.... the stories play over and over.. with every revision shedding insight.. as to just what it is .. that makes us tick.. makes me tick... maybe the whole sordid affair is just a description of self.. waiting to see the insides out....
Maybe I am that box... and I keep putting whats outside in.......waiting for the day.. to pour it all out again....
Life is a box.... a box has 6 sides, an inside and an outside, but how do you get whats inside out....
why does that still ring in my head... true, clear, resounding still from the day I heard it... an echo in the wind, in an open field, a haunting.... I wonder what it is that haunts me.. what am I searching for, why do I always feel inside out?
Am I just a heroin addict on the outskirts, looking for my paradise, my Island, with left fin sharks circling around my tall imposing walls. Is it I am just a chemical craving as yet unfilled. Is my tank low, waiting for the day I finally give in to biology and follow the footsteps of those who come before me...
no addiction seem so sweet, no high so great, and not introspection so clear...
as that without sleep..
A raging insomniac hooked on the peyote of dreams.... why do I still daydream. Fantastic things, hydraulic engines, a new world economy, leadership of a rebellion in a long fallen world... even the simplest things.. a conversation from years ago.. they all still haunt me.. visions in a seeming third eye... a movie screen on the back of my iris.... the stories play over and over.. with every revision shedding insight.. as to just what it is .. that makes us tick.. makes me tick... maybe the whole sordid affair is just a description of self.. waiting to see the insides out....
Maybe I am that box... and I keep putting whats outside in.......waiting for the day.. to pour it all out again....