(no subject)
The wind here is the perfect complement to the stagnant air inside our paralyzed lungs. We sit and we talk and we run, we fight, we clean, we sleep, eat and masturbate. We talk about home and we talk about what we want to do when we get back, what we miss and who we've fucked. We sit and we wait like so many missiles in so many silos, strewn throughout so many countries and so many miles. We're waiting.
We all know it will happen; its inevitable. We watch like a child who has just tossed an over-full water balloon at hiss parents; he knows that it will explode and enrage the parent (althogh he hopes in vain that it won't), he just waits and watches for the maelstrom. We wait for those six words that will launch us seaward, green but ready to prove ourselves. We are in the stands of a stadium built in farthest antiquity, observing the push and pull of a wrestling match that has been at a stalemate for years like to the number of grains of sand on the all the world's shores. We look east, and we are waiting.
We feel the presence and the danger of these bombs and guns like God feels the waxing and waning of the souls He so carefully created. They are our impatience, our haste for peace and power, for a solution to this madness we make. They are the sailors, the soldiers, they are the souls of all warriors past and present who have broken on the foreign shores like blazing waves of napalm, unleashing their patient fire on all who were too slow or too weak or too afraid to move. They, like we, are waiting. They, like we, are hungry.
So many anwers for just one question
Danno
We all know it will happen; its inevitable. We watch like a child who has just tossed an over-full water balloon at hiss parents; he knows that it will explode and enrage the parent (althogh he hopes in vain that it won't), he just waits and watches for the maelstrom. We wait for those six words that will launch us seaward, green but ready to prove ourselves. We are in the stands of a stadium built in farthest antiquity, observing the push and pull of a wrestling match that has been at a stalemate for years like to the number of grains of sand on the all the world's shores. We look east, and we are waiting.
We feel the presence and the danger of these bombs and guns like God feels the waxing and waning of the souls He so carefully created. They are our impatience, our haste for peace and power, for a solution to this madness we make. They are the sailors, the soldiers, they are the souls of all warriors past and present who have broken on the foreign shores like blazing waves of napalm, unleashing their patient fire on all who were too slow or too weak or too afraid to move. They, like we, are waiting. They, like we, are hungry.
So many anwers for just one question
Danno