"You cannot quit me so quickly
Is no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But Ive got all the time for you love"
...back when the sky was my bitch, it was easier. all i hadda do, it seemed, was loosely hold the reigns (or at least act like it...), and keep pointing on that star and cueing up the music and like that.
but now i share they sky, and have since stopped trying to seduce the moon, and when my back's to this new sun, the fire in my belly leaks out...not thru my eyes and mouth and fingertips with static reassuring warmth.. but in minute flares and lavaesque rivulets thru the cracks in me that i usually ignore...
"The space between the tears we cry
Is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between the wicked lies
We tell and hope to keep us safe from the pain
But will I hold you again - these fickle, fuddled words confuse me"
and, even if i contained my pureed heart, freezng the bits to keep them larger than the cracks, would i want to store it elsewhere? would any other jar keep? and would i be foolhardy enough to try..again...do i ever learn my lesson?
" Like will it rain today
We waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games were playing"
and this, i guess, is how it feels, to be saddled with another's dreams as casually as slipping your hand into another's in the dark lights of the theatre, or with all the feasible incredularity of The Nazerene losing his M&M's...
" Were strange allies with warring hearts
What a wild-eyed beast you be
The space between the wicked lies
We tell and hope to keep us safe from the pain
But will I hold you again
Will I hold..."
...and the irony, Ms Morrisette, is in my scramble and scrabble that resulted in the Richtofen of my Id grounding my preternatural psyche in it's chrome-plated Sopwith...coming out of the sun to catch me unawares, even as i continued to line up Kong after Kong, licking my lips in fetid anticipation of licking those wounds...those impossible wounds from sights set too high...but for the longest time, i could only survive on the flesh of the fantastic or the ultra-sublime..
"Look at us spinning out In the madness of a rollercoaster
You know you went off like the devil
In the church in the middle of a crowded room
All we can do my love
Is hope we dont take this ship down..."
...and what if don't wanna. what if i'm tired from the hunting and wanna sit an tan for a while, or toodle with my baubles and spin stories and dive from stacks of books into cool, clear pools of other's unfetterred psyches, humming songs of impossible grandeur and simplicity, absently tapping out rhythms on the bracers and breastplate of my Tin Man's suit...
" The space between where you smile and hide
Thats where youll find me if I get to go
The space between the bullets in our firefight
Is where Ill be hiding, waiting for you
The rain that falls splashed in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into
The space between our wicked lies
Is where we hope to keep safe from pain
Take my hand cause were walking
Out of here
Oh out - right out of here
Love is all we need dear
The space between whats wrong and right
Is where youll find me hiding, waiting for you
The space between your heart and mine
Is the space well fill with time..."
...there is comfort in the thought that i am spread out like the Milky Way, and there will always be too many of me to kill...but i've left too may trails, it seems, scattered myself in constellations made of Reese's Pieces on parking lots and ship decks and wheatfields and dashboards and now the answering machine curses at me like a 8 year old who's just learned the word 'cunt', and is awed by the effect it has on strangers in the supermarket. i have build the most wonderous playground that i can imagine, and love to open the gates wide, but the glaring obvious is as unavoidable as the proverbial elephant in the butter dish: it may never be warm enough to take your shoes off here again.
Is no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But Ive got all the time for you love"
...back when the sky was my bitch, it was easier. all i hadda do, it seemed, was loosely hold the reigns (or at least act like it...), and keep pointing on that star and cueing up the music and like that.
but now i share they sky, and have since stopped trying to seduce the moon, and when my back's to this new sun, the fire in my belly leaks out...not thru my eyes and mouth and fingertips with static reassuring warmth.. but in minute flares and lavaesque rivulets thru the cracks in me that i usually ignore...
"The space between the tears we cry
Is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more
The space between the wicked lies
We tell and hope to keep us safe from the pain
But will I hold you again - these fickle, fuddled words confuse me"
and, even if i contained my pureed heart, freezng the bits to keep them larger than the cracks, would i want to store it elsewhere? would any other jar keep? and would i be foolhardy enough to try..again...do i ever learn my lesson?
" Like will it rain today
We waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games were playing"
and this, i guess, is how it feels, to be saddled with another's dreams as casually as slipping your hand into another's in the dark lights of the theatre, or with all the feasible incredularity of The Nazerene losing his M&M's...
" Were strange allies with warring hearts
What a wild-eyed beast you be
The space between the wicked lies
We tell and hope to keep us safe from the pain
But will I hold you again
Will I hold..."
...and the irony, Ms Morrisette, is in my scramble and scrabble that resulted in the Richtofen of my Id grounding my preternatural psyche in it's chrome-plated Sopwith...coming out of the sun to catch me unawares, even as i continued to line up Kong after Kong, licking my lips in fetid anticipation of licking those wounds...those impossible wounds from sights set too high...but for the longest time, i could only survive on the flesh of the fantastic or the ultra-sublime..
"Look at us spinning out In the madness of a rollercoaster
You know you went off like the devil
In the church in the middle of a crowded room
All we can do my love
Is hope we dont take this ship down..."
...and what if don't wanna. what if i'm tired from the hunting and wanna sit an tan for a while, or toodle with my baubles and spin stories and dive from stacks of books into cool, clear pools of other's unfetterred psyches, humming songs of impossible grandeur and simplicity, absently tapping out rhythms on the bracers and breastplate of my Tin Man's suit...
" The space between where you smile and hide
Thats where youll find me if I get to go
The space between the bullets in our firefight
Is where Ill be hiding, waiting for you
The rain that falls splashed in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into
The space between our wicked lies
Is where we hope to keep safe from pain
Take my hand cause were walking
Out of here
Oh out - right out of here
Love is all we need dear
The space between whats wrong and right
Is where youll find me hiding, waiting for you
The space between your heart and mine
Is the space well fill with time..."
...there is comfort in the thought that i am spread out like the Milky Way, and there will always be too many of me to kill...but i've left too may trails, it seems, scattered myself in constellations made of Reese's Pieces on parking lots and ship decks and wheatfields and dashboards and now the answering machine curses at me like a 8 year old who's just learned the word 'cunt', and is awed by the effect it has on strangers in the supermarket. i have build the most wonderous playground that i can imagine, and love to open the gates wide, but the glaring obvious is as unavoidable as the proverbial elephant in the butter dish: it may never be warm enough to take your shoes off here again.