It is as though I've taken up gardening full time. My art gone
out the window, it makes fine manure, works slow but
I give it a go. I sit for days under the window, shooting up
at every wink of the sun. The winds gossip and I join hands with
the hosepipe. Twice a day I dig up bones and appendices, twice a
day new ones must appear, dripping or stale,two days dead. I
miss the culinary activities, I miss my cat during his favourite part of
listlessness.I'm hunting but its still just bones, no organs showing up, no
marrow to build a beat.It is as though next, ill have them growing
out of the sound-hole, use the neck as a plough, fingers firm over
flying strings.We're making music, I tell you, but we still need
the red. You snap the fingers and nothing flows.You're still snapping
fingers, the sound of it calming you more than the birds ever helped,
and what else would we want the trees for anyway. Lets go to bed,
I say, and you're snapping fingers, too tired to dig the dead ones out.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
What other kind of sleep-walking do I need to practise, what embellishments do I add to my madness? Which is most appropriate to rub against the other, for my pride is eroding just a little slower each time. Punctuate and crosscheck. Wrap some more rags around the ticker, crosscheck, wash its feet and give it up, give up, put letting go on repeat and you can live without a care in the world.Several excuses have been used, but I'll give you the one that sells, diamond rimmed, pure platinum body, the whitest of baked lies.If only it spun a little smoother, two decades have been passed in these hitches,what are we even saying anymore, its been too long,we've come to far in to create or conquer sense now
Friday, July 16, 2010
this is exactly what i was afraid of.i knew that the moment i realise that my acquaintances from this city read this space too, i would somehow start refraining from posting. still not sure how or why, because its not as if its a personal choice, i just see patterns i wish weren't so marked in my behaviour, its very not cool.speculating on why it might have been, well, maybe because anything i churn out is so unbelievably weird ive got to be trying my BEST to be different, right, and oh long sentences of course and when would you find anything of substance anyway, why then such embellishments.
why anything when merging into,wait what do i call it, Blah, is so convenient, fun, and it works out for everybody so hurrah i guess.
(oh did i miss out how what im calling weird is actually so Boring you want to jump out of your skin and into an ocean or even a gutter would do, and oh when will i get what is really going on lulz)
the day before, a creepy grey eyed middle aged man stopped me in the middle of the road while i was walking back with a collapsing lung or something that felt like it was killing me, and said that he was stalking me and wanted to friend me. who else wants to friend me?