Welcome to the dawn of a new age,
open up the book and turn the page,
Be amazed by what you see, it's only the evolution of humanity
Who has the answers?
Lets ask the question,
it's as if no one is even paying attention.
Is it money? Which was created by man,
it does separate people, now are you starting to understand?
It's a trap, set by death, it wont stop,
till we breath our last breath,
That's right! Not even death is free, is money the mother of poverty?
overpopulation, segregation, a messed up nation, usually leads to mass anialation,
wartime, many battles rage on ,
Is it about hatred? Or is it a politicians song?
Time and space,
are they our final frontiers?
bombs explode and people run in fear,
a culture wiped out, to the future they are unknown,
will aliens from space ever invade our home?
Will we pledge allegiance to their flag?
Whatever may wave, whatever they have,
science there's the fiction and the fact,
but sometimes it is hard to believe all that,
Who will do it? Who will find the answers?
Prophets fall but not from cancers,
Who will stand up? Who will be the one?
To bring about change without firing a gun?
Every generation builds off the back of the last,
Sacrifices made but ignored,dooms us to repeat the past..
Everything is all the same.
In a crowd of red spots, there are no blue squares.
The same Sun rises in the East every damn morning,
And the same Moon sits in the same damn sky among billions of stars.
One man looks and acts the same as the next,
Just as one woman looks and acts the same as the next...
There is nothing special that happens in society.
The same stories haunt the media.
A man rapes a woman.
A woman abuses her children.
Someone tries to smuggle an alligator out of Florida,
And a moose crosses a Minnesota highway...
I myself walk the same streets
Over and over and over again...
Go to work,
Work,
Go home,
Sleep,
And repeat...
WHY are the creative juices in my brain no longer flowing?
WHEN did my river run dry?
HOW can I get the juices to race and course through my veins once more?
Dry,
Dry,
River...
No Inspiration at all...
I
Need
Change
we sell two albums on itunes if you search loud with love thank you!
im feeling more comfortable in my own skin
im mostly water and im living
and on the day to day i try my best to sleep
eat, bath, brush repeat
got a little skill, hardly any scrill got alot of opportunity
mostly holes to fill
im grateful though, fortunate, and a fool
comfortable in my skin cuz its how i wanna feel
comfortable in my own skin cuz it's what i got
you cant choose what skin you get at birth so rot
racism needs to die, it needs to bleed
hunger needs to be demolished in the streets
i feel like sometimes im just repeating what some people are saying
but original is what i spray
did the work did the math
my skins just a sack
for my soul to reach
im in discreet
my skin someday will leave me
but for now I'm comfortable in my own skin
Every day
he wakes up
from a bad
nights sleep
and he'll go
and wash
his face
in tiny gray
bathroom sink,
glaring madly
at the figure
in the mirror,
then he'll dress,
fit his
corpulent
body
into a suit,
gray and sad
and overused,
right after,
to his kitchen
he'll go,
make dull
coffee and
a dull meal,
on a
wobbling table
perspiring
terribly
he'll gobble
down his
gray food,
and lock his
apartment
and
then to his
gray car
and
off to his prison,
his gray job,
a thing he hates,
until the sun goes down,
followed by home
again
where he'll have a drink,
watch the gray news
and fall asleep,
and tomorrow
repeat
the same thing,
another
day in the life
of the fool.
I don't wanna end up like the Fool and it depresses me, the thought of the same thing every day. Getting up to work at a job I hate, every day 'till I die. Terrible. A nightmare. And it hurts to see so many trapped in that process with no way out but death. You see them out sometimes, you can tell by looking at their defeated faces and posture and the way they speak, monotonous, a bore. And they'll fake a smile, maybe they have a kid with them, but you know that in their heads they wish that the kid doesn't end up like them. A father, a mother, who doesn't want their kids to think of them as heroes. It's sad really. They've got a wife, a husband, they hate each other. Or perhaps you saw them at a bar, face down on the wooden counter, an unfinished beer right in front. And those ties, like nooses around their necks, slowly choking their life force away. Maybe, at some point, in the beginning of their working lives they thought things through like me. "This won't happen. I'll notice when it does and I'll change things. I won't be a Fool." And the moment of transformation comes and they don't notice until it's been years too late and they've dug themselves to deep and it's over.
I guess that what I'm trying to say is, don't be like The Fool.
"Oh I was so happy!
We found love!
Now
FOR NO REASON!
It's over
You're gone
And I want you back
But you won't come!
And now I am alone in misery!"
----
---
All I can say is:
BOO HOO!
BOO HOO!
But the tears are not for you
Dear friend
Cause you'll repeat
This phoney poem
All over again!
Til the whole world
Is
Totally dead
it's 4 in the morning again
and i love you so much
but i'm so numb from the distance
i'll think about you when i lay my head down to sleep at 6
and when i rise from my bed with a sleepy sigh at 12
while driving i will see some one that looks like you around 2
and then at work, someone will introduce themselves at 4 with the same name as you
your name will appear
on my facebook news feed around 10 that night,
and i will smile at how i read your word in your voice
and laugh at how i know exactly where to
accentuate certain words
around midnight you will finally message me saying
"I'm sorry. It's been a really busy day.
I'll talk to you tomorrow."
i'll cry because you used to
be right here and
to be honest,
i took it for granted.
the night will become a blur
as i drown out my thoughts of you with sad music
and girly television shows and then
it's 4 in the morning again
I met her in the parking lot of a liquor store one Friday night with my naked body hidden beneath a dressing gown.
I’d put it on whilst I finished the gin from my 20th birthday within my boyfriends closet as he drank his dick down in beer and asked why I was in the closet.
Impotent, it was a quick exit as I thanked the drink for making me able to ride my bike back minus the safety of a sanitary towel, without my cunt left to think of his grunts and groans and his hands which branded my thighs as he fed me lies that it was just in the moment; his finger prints left signatures citing his latest triumph of lasting one hundred point thirteen seconds.
The magnetism between the Alchemist and me was instant.
She held out her palm and asked for mine as the lines in my hands rewrote themselves in twisted, hopeful anticipation; reaching out, what I felt from the tips of my fingers was magic as I traced her navel to the logo of DKNY on the front of her black, cotton panties.
I taught her how to blow out smoke rings like the clowns at a circus who sit within purple tents and repeat sums of the class of 1969, the date they got their cocks kicked in, indigo, violet, for being performers.
I taught tobacco. She taught me sex.
There was sexual deviation towards devilry as I delved into the darkness between her legs as her erotic enchantment captured my hand and leaned me back;
Black blindfold, sight slaughtered.
Burning desire rolled over my bare breasts and left a trail of rouge; yet her warmth was not tender nor loving, but raw, earthly.
A sensual split as she clawed my back and licked the drips of blood that seeped into the bed, which was our place.
I felt myself become an astrologer as I left my body and rose in starry bliss; I became an adventurer as I breathed out ships, which sailed us to Stonewall as I stuck two fingers up, not her sadly, but the blue meanies, the pigs which ate out of the trough of shit Tim Loughton fed us from our backyard.
I said we are making love. She said we are making a revolution.
Our energies combined, our spirits sang as it is in all and all is in us.
Time was alive as my fingers curled, my teeth bit into my open lips,
My back arched and my arms reached out in holy restoration.
Her incantation was irresistible.
Cosmic forces worked effortlessly as we evaded time and entered a transcendent state. Magical longing; primal consciousness;
Fate brought us together, past the phallic stage of our sexual evolution
As what we felt replaced what Freud saw.
A climax of witchcraft.
An orgasm of obsession.
The day I stepped out of the closet and away from my boyfriend I drank the elixir of life from your lips and knew our love would never die.
To My Father
I wish I had never met you
because then you'd be a mirage,
an illusion I created, more handsome,
still absent, but valiant.
Brilliant. The mysterious
dark figure who rode off
on a white horse, the epic hero
who gave me
my nose.
But, instead, you raised me
poorly, as if I were an extension of your
self-loathing. And it didn't work
and you left and I would rather
mourn your death than
eat dinner with you
ever again.
It hurts the soul to be conceived
in hate, veins coursing with accidental
heredity, like the daughter of
a serial killer, worried
I am half you and it's my fault
and I am doomed.
To Myself
You have been handed lies
like family heirlumes
and they are not your
weight to carry, you have to
give them back.
You are not your father, you do
not have his nose, you are not doomed
and history does not repeat itself.
Unlearn your childhood and
clear the slate. You need to be
un-nurtured, my dear.
You are beautiful and brave
and you change your circumstances.
You run like hell away
from anyone who dims
your flame.
You protect yourself.
You change.
beauty in the hand of the clock
which tick-tocks and remains at the same second
a suspended moment in time
I look at that hand, rewinding and replaying,
wondering what happened at that moment
to make even the instruments of time take a repeat
Where is my mind?
It got lost in the space
that fell between you and I.
Dates & times evaporate into the air
rise without falling.
I can't find myself again
the mirror shows nothing.
A ghost has found it's passing
and all I feel is the motion.
I am briefly moved
a sway at the speed of light.
Gone.
I look deeper, closer
staring at the emptiness in the air.
To touch me is numbness
my arm falls without weight.
I step a little closer with
my eyes staring at a reflection.
I know my eyes better than the rest
of the body that carries me so detached.
Another night passes with few hours
of the darkness that can agitate.
4.30am I lie in my bed
my cat wrapped around me.
My feet start to twitch whilst
my mind races at similar speeds.
Lana plays on repeat as a means
of pacifying my restless soul.
Where is my mind?
It's 6.04am with no sleep had
a wish could only help me dream.
My body tires to a state in which
tiredness is a perpetual state of being.
My skin has a taint
of empty care promises let down.
Life continues to move
at speeds I cannot hold on to.
I dream of being able to stop
the world from spinning as it is now.
Where is my mind?
In these endless months
of fatigue that strips me.
Bare to the bone
only dust will remain.
Where is my mind?
It's 6.18am.
