Monday, August 22, 2005

notes from a weird afternoon

Once I wanted to call you from this hurricane the way a reporter will call in a story...

And you were a Tarot card pinned to a tree

And you were my mantra that I cdn't speak

And you were the silver on the Four Horses

And you taught the rivers the Four courses

I wanted to follow the cobblestones that flew

If I give up my fear, what I fear will happen, I fear

My life ma vie

If I knew how to be the silver-strapped cowboy in the gritty sun

If I could break bands of iron w/ my vibrations

If I could sneer like the advertised moustache of cigarettes

What if I fictionalized that story

I'd say that there was a planet once that was in another system. I had not the passport allowed for travel to that world. I changed my face to fit the stereotype. I changed my hands to fit the stereogram.

She lived on a planet to which I had no passport...I had no shuttle through the conservancy...the leaves folding over art deco...And so I braved winter & feared summer,
I was tired, tired of holding up these heating vents,
Or else watching

The sun rose over the field like the truth behind the falsehood that's sharper than pain

I have no umbrella, said the cane to the stick of wood

Oh well, sunflower seeds or at least their shells/ You'd have to crack 'em to see the interior

You could have cracked me/ to see what's inside/ it isn't worth the effort

And she lived in a hanging garden, you hung in a living garden
& pessimism for worlds, will I find this a world

I don't know, said the cowboy.
Aren't you tired of this?

"I always listen to girls," he said, "And I mean in the sense of hearing & obeying." I always hear this life...

So what gives color & music to language?
grey-scale music

It's good when you have no desire to say when you s what you shouldn't say

You don't need to...
You don't need to say it...

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