Old poem..
...it fits tonight..look up "Pretty Voice" by Cloud Cult as well, and listen to it. I am in a dreary place tonight.
"I can't feel you anymore..and I can't even touch the books you've read..
I kiss goodbye this howling beast that separates you from me.." -Bob Dylan.
I have a vase to show you, come in.
It is old, see? The skin on the glaze is cracked in thousands of veins,
like water running down glass.
It is an old thing, a tossaway thing, something that belonged once in a house with an old woman,
cats and the constant smell of decay.
I own it now, I won it from the devil.
Reach inside, I promise there are no teeth, or spiders or the scurry of something to bite you...
Do you feel that?
What is it? Dust? no
Ash. A foot of it there. Please..
Please..
Dig deep. Do you feel it crumble in your hands? Can you know where that came from?
Friend, I will tell you..if you keep my secret.
(they are hearts, buddy. There are six of them, I have been collecting the ash since I was 18 years old. Do you like the way it feels in your hands? )
I run my fingers through it sometimes, and maybe I put those fingers slowly, carefully in my mouth..
to taste what those hearts were like, to remember..
I know, it seems like alot of decay there, six hearts. I know that it can be a burden, but I keep it on the shelf you see, up there, next to three rings, and a book full of emptiness that you could read too.
See those rings? They sit there? Next to the vase?
So much there for me to look at , it is good they have such a central place. Wipe your hands here, it is just dust and time..
It will wash off.
It always
washes
off.
That is it. Up to Vermont this weekend. Faster and faster we go.
"I can't feel you anymore..and I can't even touch the books you've read..
I kiss goodbye this howling beast that separates you from me.." -Bob Dylan.
I have a vase to show you, come in.
It is old, see? The skin on the glaze is cracked in thousands of veins,
like water running down glass.
It is an old thing, a tossaway thing, something that belonged once in a house with an old woman,
cats and the constant smell of decay.
I own it now, I won it from the devil.
Reach inside, I promise there are no teeth, or spiders or the scurry of something to bite you...
Do you feel that?
What is it? Dust? no
Ash. A foot of it there. Please..
Please..
Dig deep. Do you feel it crumble in your hands? Can you know where that came from?
Friend, I will tell you..if you keep my secret.
(they are hearts, buddy. There are six of them, I have been collecting the ash since I was 18 years old. Do you like the way it feels in your hands? )
I run my fingers through it sometimes, and maybe I put those fingers slowly, carefully in my mouth..
to taste what those hearts were like, to remember..
I know, it seems like alot of decay there, six hearts. I know that it can be a burden, but I keep it on the shelf you see, up there, next to three rings, and a book full of emptiness that you could read too.
See those rings? They sit there? Next to the vase?
So much there for me to look at , it is good they have such a central place. Wipe your hands here, it is just dust and time..
It will wash off.
It always
washes
off.
That is it. Up to Vermont this weekend. Faster and faster we go.