do you smell the machinery?
the gears grinding into a new century of gilded prospects and revelry
aspects of the whole ordeal are seasoned with lunacy
no more noise,I plead
only hundred dollar bills and stripper poles
plush pleather couches with mozart turned to unmatched deciables
loud.pulsating symphonic orgasims for the enlightened youth of symbolic modern living
...if you were concerned...
we are those classy fellows with scotch and cigar calogne
speaking amongst ourselves in the back of the ballroom
blitzed by the benzodiazepane self written perscriptions and crime wave binges of our yesteryears, only to prove at one time we lived life without restrictions.
we had mentioned no more words would be ommited in here.Hush.Hush,the dogs will be here soon with military and new laws on the books,making art as illegal as murder.
I see this brave new world emerging
barely paying mind to the time period we find our selves lost in at the present moment...surrounded by the ladies and their gentlemen.grenadine and assorted hand guns...rarely making time to regret the things no one even tried to remeber..
we black out and seizure,speak in tounges and worship
preaching that every being is a God of sorts and should be treated as such..
we lay naked in a pile in the middle of the floor
bellowing laughter as we find others staminas have failed in comparison to ours
we kiss threw the solar flares and eclipses of satelittes and space stations
in shadows of celestial worlds
we find ourselves at the edge of the universe hopped up on nicotene and amphedamines
reciting the poetry we had wrote silently as the metor shower evolved in secracy,
above the nebulas and rings of saturn,we danced in the stars for hours in silence
far from the creature comforts of my california king size comferters
and my mistress the lake by the name of whitney,texas.
Or my lovers...the capital city...austin...denver..
anaheim just kinda happened.
we bathe in the river together as the night wears on,showers for the weary travelers with asphalt in their blood,road signs in their eyes on perpetual green lights and the only word:
GO.never a request always a statement.
no white borders around the stop sign. no fear of losing money or respect,swallowing pride we eat off of good wills and friend ships of the brothel.
sleep in empty beds of best friends as our wishes our scribbled in a drunken desire to express the love we have for everyone in the bsement of lights,glistening to the sound of the saw that groans in the other dimensions of an empty house to a living organisim.
the doomed tone of the evening is soft,and our shirt tails have been caught on the fences of every midwestern town from here to maryland
we wore on threw black holes and super novas,realising their is no home
only hope and roads formed by the dirt and sand,shaped by the wind and mud.
we brush our shoulders and thighs as we devise exit plans to throw wild ragers of our own.
we cry as wolves would as we exit stage right,out the main lobby of the building and into our restless night of lives given new strucure and form as we still wait for the sun,burning each cigarette to its filter,stripping each tire of rubber.
the flowers choke the sky scrapers till their lifeless and vibrant
we escape to an opium den in southern thailand for a six month binge of filling our heads with knowledge you cant obtain from in a class room setting.
I run the chess board,just as the saint has his siberian summer
or the father has his common obscure, we found we had become enamored by our thick white porcealin scultrues,and as sick of em as we were,as vultures we swooped in to bask in the auroma of disease...this defeat,as it would be,is an act of war as we see it. words tossed about as simples as whores...the more we discussed it the less logic it held,regardless,we had no concept of failing
even in our darkest moments,mortals barely comapred to the nights where we lost everything to the river card.
we stand strong,silently, on the pillaged sun we obtained from the ronin shogun in deep space battles of spoken word poetry
their gun swords clapped as the snow turned to rain and uneconomical commotities
basking in the awkard ness of the feeling of meeting the only woman you couldent put a ring on...the only one youd ever need too do it to...she becomes this muse of sorts,haunting every stoke of the keyboard and every strike of the pen until theres an abscene of words...and abscense of colors...an area of space devoid of worlds...moons...only written music and meditation,the only language and team sport...it hurts to know it will never be over until the airplane crashes into the nursery that is full of your future.our future...we walk on only to say and do nothing but smoke spliffs on the platte river,the feeling of the city is electric and were crippled with laughter from the mushrooms we had devoured...love as we lay on the laps of our family...the friends youve always wished...no...prayed for...waited days for you to come back to erect a home and share community for.
and still the sun resmains the center of all things related to our quadrent of the universe
much in the same way a sparked peice of paper burns and ignites the kindled fire wood in the cold morning...
I look to her in the most peculiar of ways on,on this most beautiful of days,eating a sack lunch of grapes on a picnic blanket as our skin is covered in delicate UV rays.
I think its the setting,or the sun dress shes wearing,the glare from behind her head shows all smile as the rest of her features blur
I think shes a story,a fable of glourius intentions and beautiful genetics all mixed up into a typhoon of sex,weed,liquor and talking with smoke in and out of these speech riddled cheeks.. until the moonlight is devistated by our own star and we lay motionless and quiet,counting the planes wed seen.the places wed like to have been.
it wasnt till I was back amongst the astronauts I call brothers,in this grand hall of reliving,that I realized the full extent of the day,the words shed said inbetween the questions she had set up for her own reasons and the wordplay we had shared in combat of wits and prejuadeces...
...the party goes on,life if you would,as the gentleman mingle I sit alone and stare at the world,its cold gaze deafened by the blushes from the females with the california gold rush mentality on wealth and happiness pushing their tits out for my attention,
this large bearded man lost in contemplation,dreaning of new ways to acheive greatness,to redefine it at the very least.
id speak but im felling the gravitational weights holding and pulling me in and out of the trophosphere and mountain peaks,pointing my compaus north west towards a ceartin pacific ocean...and still I roam nomadically.
reeling in pain from realizations I know
still she thinks about me as much as I do her.
still matter is formed bent and created by forces we cant describe or control.
still all things live and die no matter how spritely or ancient
yes!,I pledge to talk till your teeth are numb and were wide awake in the morning
pouring coffee over a loaded cannibas pipe and mimosas
let me brush the hair from you eyes darling
we sit quietly and gaze into each others souls,each others worlds,each others hopes and desires for normalcy or constant storms,
this ship I have comenderead turned into a massive civilization on the back of a sea turtle...Im afraid theres not much time left,love.
the revolution is upon us and tonight we dine with lucifer,tomorrow,
amongst the gods.