is there anything greater?

en mi coche

i fly down the fucking freeway until i see electronic signs suggesting i:
"save fuel. save lives. slow down."
i contemplate my pace... is it really that fast?
yes.
i flirt with the idea of slowing down... should i step on the brakes?
no.
although i continue on with my "dangerous" speed, i realize the only thing that got me to consider lowering my mph was not all the lives i might save...but the price of gas.
pretty fucked up.
those signs should read: "save fuel. save INNOCENT IRAQI lives. slow down."
i think its time to buy a hybrid.

further and further

he was an abstraction. a disappointing distraction.
i've gotten further from him than he can ever get from me.

"you simply occupied an obscure corner of my heart.
and whenever i recall my love for you,
it is tainted with deep sorrow and pitch-black memories."
-from a book whose name escapes me. but i think i liked it.

how it ends...

four years flew through my hair as it whipped out my window. i was a passenger here. but i was steering you there. nothing i have seen was less than deserved. nothing i have felt is more than what you're worth. and in two days time i will awake under a new sun. a sun never seen before and never to be seen again. we are in this together, and i have never felt less alone. the emptiness was home but i am prepared to make you an offer on it. take it for free, if that's all you're willing to give me. i have missed out on so much. you haven't forgotten enough. i am not a discovery. i am a c r e a t i o n.

Pallid Piano

Her mind kept time like a metronome.
Regulating the timid tempo of life, cautiously
She perched on sleek and silent keys
Fingers, fixated and frail,
Primed to set her lily white world ablaze.

Her chestnut hair whispered
At the nape of her neck.
Exposed by the deep simplistic V of a snowy silk dress,
Her spine, properly postured and pained,
Protruded from her portrait.

I was enslaved by the painting.
Compelled to follow its frame
Flecked in gold when struck by light,
I could not see her face, still cannot see her face.
I assumed hers is that of my mother’s.

My mischievous mind could not keep time.
Disarranging the timid tempo of life, ungracefully
I perched on sleek and silent keys
Fingers, scattered and strong,
Primed to set my lily white world ablaze,
And under my mother’s gaze I was told to begin.

e l e c t r i c f e e l

socialised health care
a ban on guns
meditation in the morning
masturbation at night.
coffee with a ciggarette
new records once a week.
communication
eternal salvation
chocolate to cure my fucking menstruation
food for the hungry
shelter for the poor
crushing cancer
a goddam answer.
grass to hide in
peace in the east
higher education
falling leaves.
time travel
a little confidence please
shows and bros
driving courtesy.
patience
therapy
maps and shoes.
an ocassional joint
nights filled with booze.
conventional morality to disappear
living anywhere but 'there' or 'here'
light noise dark slience lights silence dark noise.
its what i need to survive.

scapegoat

It's the caffeine, the nicotine, the miligrams of tar.
It's my habitat, it needs to be cleaned, it's my car.
It's the fast talk they use to abuse and feed my brain.
It's the cat box it needs to be changed, it's the pain.

It's women, it's the plight for power, it's government.
The way your giving knowledge slow and throwing in subtle hints.
It's rubbing it, It's itching it, It's applying cream.
It's the foreigners sight seeing with high beams,
It's in mydreams.
It's the monsters that I conjure,
It's the marijuana, it's embarassment, displacement,
It's where I wander, it's my genre.

It's Madonna's videos,
It's game shows, cheap liquor, blunts, and bumper stickers with rainbows.
It's angels, demons, gods, it's the white devils.
It's the monitors, the soundman, it's the fucking mic levels.
It's gas fumes, fast food, Tommy Hil, the date rape pill,
Columbia House music club, designer drugs and rhyming thugs

It's bloods and cryps, five and six,
It's stick up kids,
It's christian conservative terrorists, it's porno flicks
It's the east coast, no it's the west coast,
It's public schools, it's asbestos,
It's mentholated, It's techno, It's sleep, life, and death
It's speed, coke, and meth.
It's hay fever, pain relievers, oral sex, and smokers breath,
It stretches for as far as the eye can see.
It's reality, fuck it , it's everything but me

It's in the air, in the water, it's in the meat
It's indirect, indiscrete, inconsistent, and incomplete.
It's on the street, every city and everywhere you go
In every man it's the insanity, the fantasy, the casualties
It's the health care system, it's welfare victims
It's assault weapons, it's television religion, and it's false lessons.
It's cops, pigs with badges guns and sticks.
It's harassment and a complex you carry when you're running shit.

It's wondering if you get to eat
It's the winter , the weather
It's herpes, and it's forever.
It's the virus that takes the lives of the weak and the strong.
It's the drama that keeps on between me and my seed's mom.
It's that need to speek long,
It's my hunger for attention.
It's the wack , who attack songs of redemption,
It's prevention.
It's the first solution,
It's loosing the retribution, it's mental pollution, and public execution.

It's the nails that keep my hands and feet to these boards,
It's the part time job that governs what you can afford,
It's the fear, It's the fake.
It's clear it can make time stop and leave you stranded in theyear of the snake.
It's the dollar, yen, pound, it's all denominations.
It's hourly wages for your professional observations.
It's on your face and it's in your eyes,
It's everything you be,
But it ain't me mother fucker, it ain't me...

-atmosphere