The Places You Found LoveEveryone is biologically programmed to find babies cute. It's an evolutionary imperative, because the rational thing to do when you've got a screaming, shitting dependant taking up your food, is to kill it, and we need something to stop us doing that. It's also why people are generally attracted to big eyes and smooth skin - because they're characteristics of children.And I'm not saying this to detract from the beauty of parenthood, or to make you sad, I'm saying it to point out that this fact doesn't make a baby's laugh any less wonderful. And I don't think the source of anything can make it less so.This is why I can point out that any form of love isn't God or fate or destiny, it's that if two people have a strong emotional attachment, their children are more likely to survive.Atomic bombs are beautiful.So I will say that the me I am now, will and always has been feeling what I feel, but that sentence doesn't even make sense until we consider that time is just another spacial dim
The Reasons We DieWhat I meant to say was that sometimes I just stare at the cigarette in my hands and beg for it to stop messing around and just kill me already.But I figured you don't want to hear that.
The Shifting Nature of RealityYou asked me, "In these dreams, what does it look like?" I told you it looks different every time. Sometimes it's like a million feathers falling, sometimes it's like snow, sometimes it's like little stones, sometimes like ash, sometimes like a fine sand blowing across the hills. It's always silent. It falls around me but it never touches me. It never sticks. I told you sometimes I see dim figures walking in the distance through all the falling white. I told you I wish one would turn around and come to me. I wish one had your face. I wish the pink of your cheeks and blue of your eyes would appear to me unveiled from out of the drift. But the sad small figures don't turn around. They walk on, shoulders low, and disappear. I just watch them. You said, "I'm here now," and touched my hand. "I'm here now."
The Overuse of MetaphoresYou smile like it's an accident that comes without an apology.
The Time Gone ByTick tock. All day. Every day is tick tocking by. There is no clock in your office that ticks or tocks, but you can hear the tick tock in your head. Tick. That's another second of your life gone, you think. Tock. That's one more second waiting for the man to tell you what to do. Tick. I'm a thinker, you think. Tock. Time to be a doer. Tick. You walk into your boss' office. Tock. I quit.The clock stops.
The NuancePlay it one more time please, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure that its the only sound in my head. Play it again for me, I want to hear it once more. I want to make sure the only sound is correct. I don't want to hear that stare again. I don't want to see those words. I'll play the part again, I need to play it again. I need to make sure that every note is right. Give me a second to rehearse that part once more, I haven't been playing it right this entire time. I know it might sound right to you, but it doesn't sound right to me. I can't hear those words anymore. I never want to see that stare again. I have to keep playing. I never want to hear that again.
The Silence Goes On For YearsIn case of emergency, break glass. Throw plates. Cave to the insecurities you've harbored all along. Scream. Curse. Panic. Accuse her of never loving you, even though you know she did and still does. Tell her you never loved her. Tell yourself. Feel the world crumbling around you. Rip the rest of it down. Ignore her pleas. Her tears. Your regrets. Watch yourself leave, unable to stop your own feet. Slam the door. Keep walking. Realize, too late, that you didn't mean it.
The Art of Finding FlawsMaybe that's all it means, to grow up; to watch your heroes become human, right before your eyes.
the Millennia LaterDesolation has its own stark beauty. It's in the limbs of dead trees twisting up, pleading at the grey sky. It's in the air, cold with a faint hint of smoke and the barest breeze that stirs up the dust at your feet. The white-grey ash falls like snowflakes, dusting your hair, your coat, your mask. You catch one of the flakes and it crumbles between your gloved fingers. The ground is packed as hard as concrete under your boots as you turn your back on this cold, still world. You look up; the moon is barely visible. You will carry that memory with you as you go back underground. Mankind no longer has use for the stars.
Never too lateYou can't always be who you've dreamed you've been.It's never too late to be who you could've been.It's never too late to be who you would've been.It's never too late to get better.It's never too late to be you again.
Chant of Loyalty (Pledge of Allegiance parody)I chant my loyaltyTo the flagOf a bigoted Christian nationAnd to the religionFor which it standsAnd you mustBow to GodOr we'll kill youWith bigotryAnd justice for none
UntitledCe n'est pas la tour de pise qui penche, crétin !C'est tout le reste...Cette foutue planète est bancale !Cette tour est sûrement le seul truc qui tient la route, ici...
OneEvery person you meet has so much more depth than you perceive.You see it as it is, to you.You could be so much with every person you come across.Yet, you choose who is who, what is what, and where is where.You make your life, according to your decisions.We have to unite, not compete.Their beauty does not detract from your own.You are them. We are one.The media spotlights differences in a sea of similarities.We’re focused on the violence.Too crazy to see the peace calming its way through the storm of repression.Too distracted to understand what we’re fighting for –– are already rights. We’re just trying to align them into law.We are free individuals treated like sheep.Do we elect our shepherd? And if so, is it because we trust him to lead us, or because it is easier to follow?If we don’t take action, are we not on the side of the oppressor?Isn’t silence the talk of cowards?It is important to
You May Not Wish to Follow These ThoughtsOn Damage (or On the Agreement to Feast) Beyond the occasional song, drawing, painting, story, or art performance, what are you doing to make Art a part of your existence? Beyond your "made for an audience" output, have you considered all the times you are alone with only the universe as your audience? Do you make Art then? Imagine, if you will, your life as a performance - who is the audience/receiver of your signal? Posit the existence of a god, or gods, or perhaps imagine you were injected with recording devices - at birth - or part way through your days, or even that the multitude of insects that flourish in your surroundings are the bio-mechanical recording devices of some vast incomprehensible network that is always watching and recording for posterity the details of your life - the exciting, the mundane, the pathetic, the inspiring, the humiliating - all moments, in company or alone. How are you making these moments artful or entertaining for your
If everything you drew came to lifeIf everything you drew came to life, what would you draw?Would you draw at all?What if you were not happy with your creation, could you erase it?No. You could not get rid of it or sell it. It's yours, it is a product of your imagination, created by your hands. No one would accept your creation as they could make their own.Would the world be perfect? An act of pure magic not explainable by science which could stop poverty and end sadness?What about those unable to use their hands? They would be powerless, unable to use their new ability. And those less artistically gifted? Weak.Would the tattoos also come to life? Would they crawl out of peoples' skin? Would it be painful? Bloody? Or would it happen silently, unseen, in the middle of the night?And what would upset the people more- the scars on their skin, or the loss of the art they found so beautiful that no amount of pain could stop their desire to have it permanently marked on their body?Would the disturbing nightmares of the
And Tonight My Prayer Was XIIIAnd tonight my prayer was:You once asked me: "Why do you look to the ground when you walk?""So I can see where I am treading." I said. "Why do you look to the sky?" I, equally bemused.With a smile you reply "So I can see where I'm going."Amen.