Mar 16, 2014

I'm goin' home

You know how they're always talking about being the same person we once were but different because of the circumstances we're in. That we don't change as people because the core or crux of the person is always the same and unchanging like a rock. That's bullshit. I don't have the same pair of eyes as the one-second old me did (or however long it takes a newborn to open his or her eyes). That dumb punk wouldn't have looked at a dead honeybee and gaped at it in awe. She wouldn't have imagined a hundred different ways of manipulating the situation to give it a new perspective which she would then take photographs of, edit and put up to show her friends the way her mind works. (It's a fucked up generation that we're living in. Social awkwardness is the best norm.) That little punk didn't know a goddamn thought was and all (Yes, I'm rereading Catcher in the Rye).

We got the whole picture wrong is what we don't get. We change every second that we're alive in this world in. (Note: Kill me if I'm in a coma I can't get out of.) Change is the best thing we've got going for us as a race. And they're out to tell us otherwise. It's all a big conspiracy. It's only human nature that sticks. And it's making me call it quits. Take me home.

/not yet/

Hate the world you live in
Beat it black to death
Put it in a suitcase
Throw it off your head

Smash, Lick, Swoosh
Boom, Slam, Bang
Take a drop of heaven
Let it soak into your tongue

Cast ‘em menacing looks around
From left to right and back
Don’t listen when they start talking
Turn your back to them and walk

Watch your shoulders drooping
Can you feel the confusion’s weight?
Sin away to your heart’s content,
Don’t blow your brains out just yet

We’ve got the last leg left to go
Do you see the abyss ahead?
All the way down and deeper still
Till the puppet master’s dead


Who am I writing this for?
Me? You?
By the side of the fence
Where punctured souls meet
We met in the meadow
You entered my dreams.
Desire versus Desire
Which one shall we pick?
How do you feel when you look at me?
There’s no answer, is there?

Sharpened pencils
Fragrant words
The blank is filled
No story to tell