| 11:58 p.m. | the sound and the meaning | 2002-04-11 |
| Reaped | i have too much crap to do for skool. and so i slack... here's a crappy poem i wrote about driving back from DC after the IMF protests a couple years back: rolling down highway I95 sleep is death, the more to suffer while alive the tempo cuts the bruised hollow darkness a quicksilver dagger slittting the neck of this potholed-pockmarked-asphalt-artery above a pregnant moon wallows in quiet solitude and i brood... jealous of the truckers resting in their immobile semis, orange reflector lights glowing like bulbous mutant fireflies between the pines
even the revolution sleeps through this witching hour lane markers become white electric eels: writhing/fucking/taunting they twist and turn and multiply deceiving cranky sleep-sore eyes and in the opiate drone of the roads rumbling lullaby i hear the seductive siren�s cry- in the grizzly ends of my slumbering affiliations, i find homicidal consolation so... I S*W*E*R*V*E feeling satisfaction in the acidic tinge of andrenline (sin?) sometimes a good fright is more effective than vivrin and for a brief heavenly moment i�m awake once again but even savannah is forever away, and the road is nothing but a black racer snake caught in the highbeams a dog munches road cake drinking down brown liquid murk expanding bladder counts the minutes divide the distance into miles per hour singing along to the woeful dead Greats �i�m livin� on water, reds and cocaine� truck stop crack makes me go insane ...like i said, crappy |
Sown |
| Fresh Cut
New digs - 2004-05-25 Bachelor hell - 2004-05-10 Grumble - 2004-05-07 Coachella pt. 2, or goddamn do my fingers hurt - 2004-05-05 Coachella part one, or, this monkey's gone to indio rawk heaven - 2004-05-05 Random Shearings Rings |
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