My Life in the Bush of Ghosts
I have dreams, I have Ideals, I have a lack of motivation, I have a sublimed reputation, I have a calling uknown to me, I have a celebratory day that marks an event unknown to me.
I didn't even know it was Thursday today, I feel like the Big Lebowski, The Dude, His Dudeness...
I keep hoping for something to fall into my lap, and I'm not sure if I should spend my last few dollars on alchohol, or the cheap gambling of the lottery... hell, would I win the lottery, no!
People prod me, and I'm thankfull to them... I play the loser so well... I'm Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy. I'm John C. Reilly, in Hard Eight.
but ahh...... what stupid posturing! Bahhh..
I leave solid dreams and loose connections. I leave a promising path, that has promised me self-despise and common recognition. I leave a poor reputation and the promise of one even worse. I leave a few hundred thousand words, some written in rapture, most written in boredom and for money. I leave a lousy economy, a wavering stand towards the questions of the day, a better used doubt and a hope of liberation.
I take with me on the journey a useless knowledge of the earth's globe, a superficial knowledge of the philosophies and the third party, a longing for extinction and a hope of liberation. I take with me, moreso, a deck of cards, a typewriter and an unhappy love for the european youth. I take with me finally the vision of an epitaph, raised in the desert or on the bottom of the sea and with the following inscription :
HERE RESTS
AN AMERICAN AUTHOR
FALLEN FOR NOTHING
THE CRIME WAS INNOCENCE
FORGET HIM OFTEN
(Stig Dagerman) - 1923-1954
I have dreams, I have Ideals, I have a lack of motivation, I have a sublimed reputation, I have a calling uknown to me, I have a celebratory day that marks an event unknown to me.
I didn't even know it was Thursday today, I feel like the Big Lebowski, The Dude, His Dudeness...
I keep hoping for something to fall into my lap, and I'm not sure if I should spend my last few dollars on alchohol, or the cheap gambling of the lottery... hell, would I win the lottery, no!
People prod me, and I'm thankfull to them... I play the loser so well... I'm Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy. I'm John C. Reilly, in Hard Eight.
but ahh...... what stupid posturing! Bahhh..
I leave solid dreams and loose connections. I leave a promising path, that has promised me self-despise and common recognition. I leave a poor reputation and the promise of one even worse. I leave a few hundred thousand words, some written in rapture, most written in boredom and for money. I leave a lousy economy, a wavering stand towards the questions of the day, a better used doubt and a hope of liberation.
I take with me on the journey a useless knowledge of the earth's globe, a superficial knowledge of the philosophies and the third party, a longing for extinction and a hope of liberation. I take with me, moreso, a deck of cards, a typewriter and an unhappy love for the european youth. I take with me finally the vision of an epitaph, raised in the desert or on the bottom of the sea and with the following inscription :
HERE RESTS
AN AMERICAN AUTHOR
FALLEN FOR NOTHING
THE CRIME WAS INNOCENCE
FORGET HIM OFTEN
(Stig Dagerman) - 1923-1954
I'm climbin' this ladder, my head in the clouds;
I hope that it matters, I'm havin' my doubts.
I'm watchin' the skaters fly by on the lake;
Ice frozen six feet deep, how long does it take?
I look out on peaceful lands with no war nearby,
An ocean of shakin' hands that grab at the sky.
I'm singin' this borrowed tune I took from the Rolling Stones,
Alone in this empty room too wasted to write my own.
I'm climbin' this ladder, my heads in the clouds;
I hope that it matters. Mmm.