Return of the Living Agenda 5/27/03 (but only by a few minutes.)
1.) Agenda Items
2.) Harbinger?
3.) Refridgerated Life
4.) "Sucks to your Ass Mar"
5.) Heat & Moisture
it's because it's hanging over my head that i'm anxious, not because i watched it approach, gather up form and function in the darkness until the supple, mysterious shape stood there, just moments away, unbeckoning and darker than the shade around it, bringing my thoughts to bear about what could come as the warm wind swept it up into the clouds, rain waiting to fall and bring a cascading joy from unexpected heights, running over closed eyelids and outstretched fingers until i'm left soaked and shaking as the ground steams around my naked toes as the storm gathers again and moves on, and moves on, and moves on, framed against starlight and a conquering moon illuminating the long and wide fields with icicle-gleam love-light when She reappears and looks at me from across the stream, eyes steady as if to ask why i'm not there yet, why my struggle with this flow continues, this inability to cross the deep waters and join her in this winter blue radiance, why i only look and do not part these waters to come and rejoin these two patches of earth, but again the wind sweeps the world up and i'm left to ponder the rain that endears itself to me.
all forlorn imagery aside, i occasionally feel like this way of living is simply decay in slow motion, just an attempt to do all we can to stop the growth of that which will eventually spoil and cease usefulness, that underneath the grand gestures and marvelous development this preservation is simply a counter-attack to the fear that is found in the eventuality of desintegration of the self as a socially viable unit, both in the search for one's own gains and one's contributions to the many, to the whole. This, of course, invities the debate between the ignition of hydrogen or oxygen; whether one desires the explosion or the slow burn, for we all can discover our own half-lifes in time.
"nothing can stop me now, 'cause I don't care anymore." every so often, nothing seems to fit quite as nicely as piggy does.
some nights, all i want to do is let go and let the air pass over me, let the suspension of humidity within the lingering heat coax my thoughts out of my pores and into the ether of the evening, to bring these dreams down from the mind and let them play in the fingerpaint of my soul until i, as a canvas, am full and completed, drifting off to remember that there is something greater than even all of this, something deep inside that grows more complete and ready to be expressed each day, and in that haze of piano chords and wind chimes i can only pray to the nothing in the night that the day will come for that part of me to see the light of day, or night.
1.) Agenda Items
2.) Harbinger?
3.) Refridgerated Life
4.) "Sucks to your Ass Mar"
5.) Heat & Moisture
it's because it's hanging over my head that i'm anxious, not because i watched it approach, gather up form and function in the darkness until the supple, mysterious shape stood there, just moments away, unbeckoning and darker than the shade around it, bringing my thoughts to bear about what could come as the warm wind swept it up into the clouds, rain waiting to fall and bring a cascading joy from unexpected heights, running over closed eyelids and outstretched fingers until i'm left soaked and shaking as the ground steams around my naked toes as the storm gathers again and moves on, and moves on, and moves on, framed against starlight and a conquering moon illuminating the long and wide fields with icicle-gleam love-light when She reappears and looks at me from across the stream, eyes steady as if to ask why i'm not there yet, why my struggle with this flow continues, this inability to cross the deep waters and join her in this winter blue radiance, why i only look and do not part these waters to come and rejoin these two patches of earth, but again the wind sweeps the world up and i'm left to ponder the rain that endears itself to me.
all forlorn imagery aside, i occasionally feel like this way of living is simply decay in slow motion, just an attempt to do all we can to stop the growth of that which will eventually spoil and cease usefulness, that underneath the grand gestures and marvelous development this preservation is simply a counter-attack to the fear that is found in the eventuality of desintegration of the self as a socially viable unit, both in the search for one's own gains and one's contributions to the many, to the whole. This, of course, invities the debate between the ignition of hydrogen or oxygen; whether one desires the explosion or the slow burn, for we all can discover our own half-lifes in time.
"nothing can stop me now, 'cause I don't care anymore." every so often, nothing seems to fit quite as nicely as piggy does.
some nights, all i want to do is let go and let the air pass over me, let the suspension of humidity within the lingering heat coax my thoughts out of my pores and into the ether of the evening, to bring these dreams down from the mind and let them play in the fingerpaint of my soul until i, as a canvas, am full and completed, drifting off to remember that there is something greater than even all of this, something deep inside that grows more complete and ready to be expressed each day, and in that haze of piano chords and wind chimes i can only pray to the nothing in the night that the day will come for that part of me to see the light of day, or night.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
Your voice on the phone is such a nice tone,
your face in person ain't got me cursin'
Your suicide boys ain't no toys............
but i suppose this means we can hang-out for realz now