ok I got the black sabbath box set yesterday. i forgot how much I loved Volume 4 (well, all the albums, but most especially volume 4) i love music. it's my security blanket. I 'm like linus. i love kaity kato. yes.... (something I wrote ->) Sleepwalker (lock her)
We open with desolation. it’s hopeless the landscape is gutted out. Sirens scream, faceless forms run past our field of vision. we see only what we want. We discard all that is unpleasing or unsatisfying to our cognition. Our arteries are clogged. They stop and start and move and groan and flip out of a daze dance days on fire with the hell-cast strike match it enflames the cloud the past the shadow person a shadow of a person a version of perversion, a curling a unfurling a yearning a sadness a glad trip a luckless child thrown into this world not ever ready the old reflection in the photograph is dead. That scared boy is dead. I have replaced him, I can never face him I can’t tell him what I know.
What does he know?
Keep that fortunate gift below. Never let anyone see what beats and breathes under that coat. remote and in dreams your writing is only for you it seems how many will ever need it? Will they understand will they care will it impact will it entrance? I see Your back into asking questions.
A kaleidoscopic eyesight. A mind that is either so vast that I cannot penetrate or so simply shallow that nothing is there to see.
Kill the safe men. Claim them as casualties. Stolen cable for all. It’s like this it starts riots it keeps quiet. It’s no reason to fall away like me stay. Stay were you play that sordid game the one mistaken for living. The one you have been giving, bullshit all along.
Sorta like this song. It rings it’s tone is lengthy but not long, releases the rhythm of the soul, captures the sound of the honoree on her knees, the clasped shut door she always breathes, the somnambulist catastrophe she always needs, the plucked poor plea she sometimes heeds.
Delectable disease. A snoring snotty droplet calligraphy. Somewhere the bold still bleed, baroque croakers lye in the pit of ease, modernist urgings keep it away from me, the all is lost in front of a foam, to new artistic vistas I’ll always roam.
Clocked in and set to lone. To loan a payment of mastery over magic a kind of lifeless existence, a incredulous insistence, a brick wall resistance.
Nomadic instinct, fallen druggy and washed in pink, gray stocked in million’s rows, the truck is towed it’s made to hold. So cry on, amazing and reckless day, your teachings are splendid I am in debt to your ways.
your eyes. my god those eyes, i stare i fall into those eyes.