Is it a dream? Is it a lie?
I think I'll let you decide
the compass of hues blending above us are ascending from a deep cobalt stage. i watch the slowed trajectory of the second shooting star of the weekend with that inevitable humbled gape fixed across my face. it was as blindingly brilliant and arrogant as its predecessor, but somehow only moving half as quickly. i try to motion to the others as it crawls defiantly to its defeat. i don't want them to miss it, i don't want to see it alone, an old war general ambling stoically across an azure battle field of fading celestial bodies.
only fools look at stars and think they are something that comes from above.
though absinthe welled up in each of our stomachs, the night was not so bloated. debauchery had somehow been set aside. despite our repeated goes at stories and efforts, our guffaws in between reminisces, there was a lull in each of our hearts. it drained our buzzing heads and blushing cheeks of their warmth and robbed our tumblers dry.
i guess it's time for a change.
we put out the light, we put out the light.
my third night under this same blue vault i walked and walked. with the shore as my familiar partner i set out deep into the fog ahead. i found myself shifting in and out of objective and subjective perspectives with myself, foremost. i couldn't move on from here until i felt comfortable with my own thoughts. this was never an easy task. but after working far enough back in a reductionist net of rhetorical questions, i began gradually to recognize these core/base cognitions as my own. i could build from there.
i give up on the romance as long as you don't believe in it. i cancel out thoughts of our higher consciousnesses, ideology of the collective, belief in a true altruism, the experience of love outside of egoism. it is monochromatic here, and stuck in the rigidity of the arid rational framework of a human mind ensnaring itself. i make this into a room i can revisit, and i've been straightening it out and organizing the furniture and shelves with increasing (and measured) frequency. i use it dryly to write papers, and i stand in it numbly when you confront me. but i still don't have the heart to refer to any of the literature decaying on the bookshelf. i can't anthropomorphize all of experience in your way.
you put out the light. you put out the light.
i pass a tribe of children darting around like phantoms among the glowing scales of sand. they squeal with delight as night unfolds them to each other before ripping them away again. rhythmically they weave in and out of one another's orbit, half aware of their own systems. a little farther down a young girl hunts them from behind a dune. she is unaware or uninterested in me, and so her posture remains tall and electrified. i remember that same primal fire wrapped around her, the tenebrous air enlivening every current sweeping through her nexus of nerves. the warm pulse in her hands and the sting of a cool wind caught in her eyes. how it is to feel most alive surrounded by the unlit nebula that is the beach at night, when the sensation of your own chilled skin becomes indistinguishable from the fabric of the breeze. feels and is felt.
i try to stay mindful, try not to let the limited constraints of our tongues...these meaningless nets of language games
darken what's left of what i can see
[i love you,
and you love me]
which is the lie
i'll have to leave that for you
you'll have to decide
[the power's out in the heart of man;
take it from your heart, put it in your hand]
the compass of hues blending above us are ascending from a deep cobalt stage. i watch the slowed trajectory of the second shooting star of the weekend with that inevitable humbled gape fixed across my face. it was as blindingly brilliant and arrogant as its predecessor, but somehow only moving half as quickly. i try to motion to the others as it crawls defiantly to its defeat. i don't want them to miss it, i don't want to see it alone, an old war general ambling stoically across an azure battle field of fading celestial bodies.
only fools look at stars and think they are something that comes from above.
though absinthe welled up in each of our stomachs, the night was not so bloated. debauchery had somehow been set aside. despite our repeated goes at stories and efforts, our guffaws in between reminisces, there was a lull in each of our hearts. it drained our buzzing heads and blushing cheeks of their warmth and robbed our tumblers dry.
i guess it's time for a change.
we put out the light, we put out the light.
my third night under this same blue vault i walked and walked. with the shore as my familiar partner i set out deep into the fog ahead. i found myself shifting in and out of objective and subjective perspectives with myself, foremost. i couldn't move on from here until i felt comfortable with my own thoughts. this was never an easy task. but after working far enough back in a reductionist net of rhetorical questions, i began gradually to recognize these core/base cognitions as my own. i could build from there.
i give up on the romance as long as you don't believe in it. i cancel out thoughts of our higher consciousnesses, ideology of the collective, belief in a true altruism, the experience of love outside of egoism. it is monochromatic here, and stuck in the rigidity of the arid rational framework of a human mind ensnaring itself. i make this into a room i can revisit, and i've been straightening it out and organizing the furniture and shelves with increasing (and measured) frequency. i use it dryly to write papers, and i stand in it numbly when you confront me. but i still don't have the heart to refer to any of the literature decaying on the bookshelf. i can't anthropomorphize all of experience in your way.
you put out the light. you put out the light.
i pass a tribe of children darting around like phantoms among the glowing scales of sand. they squeal with delight as night unfolds them to each other before ripping them away again. rhythmically they weave in and out of one another's orbit, half aware of their own systems. a little farther down a young girl hunts them from behind a dune. she is unaware or uninterested in me, and so her posture remains tall and electrified. i remember that same primal fire wrapped around her, the tenebrous air enlivening every current sweeping through her nexus of nerves. the warm pulse in her hands and the sting of a cool wind caught in her eyes. how it is to feel most alive surrounded by the unlit nebula that is the beach at night, when the sensation of your own chilled skin becomes indistinguishable from the fabric of the breeze. feels and is felt.
i try to stay mindful, try not to let the limited constraints of our tongues...these meaningless nets of language games
darken what's left of what i can see
[i love you,
and you love me]
which is the lie
i'll have to leave that for you
you'll have to decide
[the power's out in the heart of man;
take it from your heart, put it in your hand]