|one hundred and thirty per cent.
||[Dec. 23rd, 2006|04:50 pm]
the superior murray
scenes and snippets from recent life, in a particularly incorrect order:
wind: the aftermath of the end of the world! trying to fly by umbrella and achieving liberation from the grav machine! officers chided me as I climbed on trees as the trees crushed cars and the wind blew and blew (the siding from homes like papier mache!) and (this part I take liberties with, I romanticize) we were all born again (because I was, and am time and time repeating) in a crushing revelation of the most psychedelic sort - a grand illusion where we burn the wool and it smells like the cold, ah, but good.
the pony: a light and listing shade of grey, hopefully sheltered from men like me.
I will eat you.
to every place that shakes from day to day and solid, heavy, sober trees.
I will crawl in and scream.
from the lust and lust and the lust that I hide, you will spy! on me and
deny the night and when you're ready I will let you in.
friends, please read these words and listen with your chest, and your fingertips,
and nurture in me what I think is good.
my unrequited passion for everything, but some things such as symbiotic dreams more than others:
it's a different spin, a colorful lisp, some ants jumping big, brother bigger than
you would know what to do
with a cacophonous grin, some meaningless tips on how and where and
who and of what velocity are you?
climb inside my eyes and feast on wonderful knowledge
I will dry my eyes on your dress,-the comfort in velour!,
we don't know how to rhyme but the sparks we bounce shine within lines of
our making; we're in perfect time due to our own soma's dues yes it's paying
us back for the lies we've been through and soon oh yes soon we will be
all let out and our souls will climb out of chimneys in roofs and collide as
only two liquids of different density can, we will curl and squeeze and
you'll pull on my knees and ask please hey huh why? can't we be free like
tumbling into a warm and gentle, we
flip it out, we bust it
down, I look you in the eyes
crisp cabbage?! percolating piercing primitive
lovely stares - bright light really really burning
intense hope for human race
sing in with cheers, and I will show you the top to the
top to the top of the mountain.
and this, hey, queen, is where you sat,
but I flailed and broke your lustrous marquee
later (when I'm not Kerouac and man you ain't Platt)
I'll figure out how to dive in and then - we!
as an entity, we!
what we, we, embrace is irrelevant
just that fact, lost and charming and so painfully bright
and paisley and plaid and deliciously mad.