Oh, the farmers and the businessmen, they all did decide
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~dylan~~~~~~~~~
Bad things keep happening to her. It's a bad season that has lasted 15 years. Last night was a scene I certainly would have loved when I was younger and thought less about throwing myself under the train of a love that has no shot. Rained on in a trench coat in a strange part of the city to pick someone up from a decidely bad idea. It was rather odd in a way. She's more lost than I've seen anyone in a long time. So far lost that I really don't know what good I can be to her. Too much to excavate and she has no desire to go a-digging. Sitting in Chinatown drinking and smoking in doorways she seemed happy and together and yet, well, I know what she feels when she goes home. She gets hit, she gets hit by something that makes her look at her digs and say 'I cannot stay here anymore' and so she flies out into the night invariably ending up in a place from which she'll send a flare up at a later date.
I know her. I know the screaming chest that says 'It's all gone horribly wrong' and I know the desire to go into the the subterra just so you can have the pleasure of coming home again.
Sucks for her to never really be in one place. You are roaming, and feeling like you are pushing down on things all the time. I just don't see it ending up well for her.
I don't know that it has ended up, well, not ended, but come to rest in a good way for me. I am decidely under wraps and have chopped off my extremes in the service of some semblance of predictability. But with thoughts that hurtle towards me by the hour that never fail to remind that death is a slow train coming for us all, I ain't too sure if anything is worth building some days. Oh man my mind is raging.
I don't think I have it in me to love her. I have no faith in her techology.
Fuck
To show you the dead angels that they used to hide.
But why did they pick you to sympathize with their side?
Oh, how could they ever mistake you?
They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,
How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~dylan~~~~~~~~~
Bad things keep happening to her. It's a bad season that has lasted 15 years. Last night was a scene I certainly would have loved when I was younger and thought less about throwing myself under the train of a love that has no shot. Rained on in a trench coat in a strange part of the city to pick someone up from a decidely bad idea. It was rather odd in a way. She's more lost than I've seen anyone in a long time. So far lost that I really don't know what good I can be to her. Too much to excavate and she has no desire to go a-digging. Sitting in Chinatown drinking and smoking in doorways she seemed happy and together and yet, well, I know what she feels when she goes home. She gets hit, she gets hit by something that makes her look at her digs and say 'I cannot stay here anymore' and so she flies out into the night invariably ending up in a place from which she'll send a flare up at a later date.
I know her. I know the screaming chest that says 'It's all gone horribly wrong' and I know the desire to go into the the subterra just so you can have the pleasure of coming home again.
Sucks for her to never really be in one place. You are roaming, and feeling like you are pushing down on things all the time. I just don't see it ending up well for her.
I don't know that it has ended up, well, not ended, but come to rest in a good way for me. I am decidely under wraps and have chopped off my extremes in the service of some semblance of predictability. But with thoughts that hurtle towards me by the hour that never fail to remind that death is a slow train coming for us all, I ain't too sure if anything is worth building some days. Oh man my mind is raging.
I don't think I have it in me to love her. I have no faith in her techology.
Fuck
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
is your journal entry a story, or is it real life?
By the by- the writing above is fantastic.