Conventions carved in circumstance.
Once instant; never stood a chance.
Strange reverence in the strange romance
Of tradition at a glance.

Carved in stone, then smashed to bits.
Pick and choose, and place what fits.
To briefly hold an ancient stance,
And feel tradition at a glance.

Scroll. Scroll. Select. Engage.
Evaluate the worth by age.
Find what it needs by happenstance.
Picked from tradition at a glance.

Customs old, and tested true.
But needing what there’s no time to do.
Wisdom never stood a chance,
When tradition’s at a glance.

Values old, some to be heeded.
But couldn’t find quite what was needed.
A dangerous thing, this fleeting dance
With tradition at a glance.

Delaminating legendary layers.
Pick and choose components to share.
Frame it to support your stance.
Built of tradition at a glance.

To entertain, inform, or guide.
A fair-weather friend that stays by your side.
A fleeting comfort from a vast expanse,
Of traditions,
                         at a glance.

I feel your absence in ways
I could not have anticipated.
Threads pull at limbs.

Who am I?
Who are you, stranger, sneaking through the bush?
Places swapped in imaginings.
Meaningless,
But everything.

And I’ve been drawing again.
And I’ve been watching again.
But everything looks like hate.

Splinter me.
Sever me.
Let me leave.
I cannot grieve.
I cannot find pleasure
Any more than relief.

And only silhouettes really bleed.
But silhouettes cannot bleed.
You cannot replace that absence
With a superficial feed.

What defies defines.
What denies devines.
There are no seeds here.
Nothing to keep you.

There is no soundtrack truer
Than the passively overheard.
Nothing shinier or newer
Than the polished, filtered words.

Vine-whipped, and burned in the sun.
Maybe I wouldn’t slip if I learned to run.
Reflections give a view that’s gathered.
Until agitated, stirred, or lathered.
Frustrations build when disconnected.
Violent, and viscous, yet flat and dejected.

Who would shine through, if not you?
A crazy dream to have come true.
Twinkling in reflected light.
Drown out by passing, passive night.
I miss the freezing cold of flight.

To soar, in freezing cold of night.

Welcome and remarkable, the heat.
To penetrate the flesh,
And comfort the brain.

Weathers and remodels many tired hearts.
Makes the old seem fresh.
Soothes the ache of lingering pain.

Giving lots of warmth, surrounded.
Light of comfort.
Light of hope.

Getting lost, open winter’s story.
Pull up a chair,
And tell a joke.

Cleaning off my forlorn, old, radiating tears,
To embrace new day’s eventful rendering.
Noticed embers, still sheer.

Alert, fever’s favour embraces cold-tickled, inspired, open noses.
Releasing all dilemmas in amazing torched exposure.

With a real mesmerizing thought held.
A flame that enchants and haunts.

Worries are removed, melted through heat.
And the warmth is all that we want.

To how words can cut!
To how they heal!
To the wild things they make us feel!
To a short and simple phrase
That could be remedy or blade.
To impact and to common sense!
To not quite saying what we meant.
To all the beauty that we write.
We tip our hats and say our last goodnight.

Over many matters I may be shy,
But I have never been known to be timid.
And there is no sky which I would not fly,
That is, if my options were truly unlimited.

That’s not to say that I couldn’t be scared,
Or that I never had.
It’s only to say,
That I’m usually prepared
For the good and for the bad.

I’ve been stricken by fear that was more like despair.
I’ve felt the knots of uncertainty twist.
But of any dangers, I’ve done my best to be aware,
So any terror I can totally resist.

So it is that I can face uncertainty
With sure-footed, fear-free glee.
For whatever risk lurks
That might leave me unsure,
I have never been scared to be me.

In a distant dream of a distant past
We find the meaning we were searching for at last.
It no longer matters what we lost along the way.  
All that matters is this moment, is this day.  

And we do the very best that we can.
And we take our final stand.
And we take our final stand.

In a hopeless future, in a hopeless place
We dig our heels in, and we run a hopeless race.
It no longer matters who we were before today.
Fame, blame, flattery; all will melt away.

And we do the very best that we can.
And we take our final stand.
And we take our final stand.
And we take our final stand.

Some killed in the attack.
Others injured.
Good guys.
Bad guys.

Retaliation. More lives lost.
The right lives? The wrong ones?
Bad guys.
Good guys.

Good guys?
Bad guys?
Good guys.
Bad guys.

Boy, these humans really hate each other.

“I believe in peace and harmony.”
“Someone should shoot that man.”
Good guys. Bad guys.
Bad guys. Good guys.

Boy, these humans really hate each other.

“Your hate is evil, malicious, unkind!
Not justified and right, like mine.”
Which are good guys?
Which are bad?

Boy, these humans really hate each other.

Maintaining piloerection.
Permanent state of fight or flight.
Too many bad guys.
Where are the good guys?

Boy, these humans really hate each other.

Howl and rage!
Knot yourself.
Not yourself?

Tear it down!

Tear them down!

Tear us all apart!

Boy, these humans really hate themselves.

Bold faced fire.
A spark. Some grit.
When challenge comes,
Welcome it!

An occasion to rise to.
Peg forced to fit.
When challenge comes,
Tackle it!

A hill to climb.
Fire to be lit.
When challenge comes,
Conquer it!

When it seems too high in effort or risk,
And the burden it brings is like a ton of bricks,
It’s only your attitude that you need to fix!
When challenge comes, be bold! Be brisk!

And when doubt comes,
Challenge it!

Back then I feasted on new knowledge.
Devoured points of view.
And every little morsel was
Digested, through and through.

Back then I drank experience,
To feel, to see- again, to know.
And every tiny drop contained
A universe or so.

Now I’m drowning in disinterest.
Fearing feeling any fuller.
Exhaustion takes its turn with me,
Providing puffy, pitiful pallor.

Now I’m bloated with broad boredom.
My mind marinading in malaise.
Compulsion powers my forward steps,
Driving the dullness of all dreaded days.  

But now and then I get a taste of something,
Be it new, or an interesting spin.
Some experience or slice of fact
That awakens and pulls me in.

Now and then I remember the miracle
Found in each speck of dust.
The mysteries there
Of which we’re not yet aware,
And the tools to find them that we’ve come to trust.

But next I remember my conspecifics,
And how these things tend to go.
It’ll be insulted, ignored, or altogether twisted.
Deliberate blindness to what we don’t want to know.

Besides, desires are brief and fleeting things.
While grudges tend to last much longer.
Whatever new information that new knowledge may bring,
Be sure it will make the hate stronger.

So forget it!
Who needs it?
What purpose does it serve?
Let us live in the dark.
Maybe it’s what we deserve.

The open sky is beckoning.
It pulls, and I would follow where it leads.
But then a thought comes like a reckoning!
Isn’t it safer in captivity?

The white-capped waves crash and splash.
A ruddy hull they assault and thrash.
I hear the open ocean call to me.
But it’s much safer in captivity.

A hunger grows for open fields.
To have wildflowers under feet.
But the risks are what make minds reel.
You see it’s safer in captivity.

The stars shine down. Inviting exploration.
The newest frontier, planetary.
But I think I’ll stick around here at my station,
Because it’s so much safer in captivity.

Under the covers, with walls all around,
Is where I think I ought to be.
For though adventure calls, I know what’s really to be found,
And I know it’s safer in captivity.

I’ll take my meals in melancholy.
I like the light in there.

Feed me. Bleed me.
If you need me,
Listen and be sure to heed me.
I am not made of stardust.
I don’t know how I came to be here.

Put it down there, by the fire.
Wait. Where has the fire gone?

I’ll remain in melancholy.
The air is cool in here.

Fold me. Mold me.
Gently hold me.
Leave me where the bowler rolled me.
I am not made of sugar.
I am not made of spice.

It’s alright. I cannot need today.
Please leave the window cracked.

I like the scent in melancholy.
It persists, but does not intrude.

Scratch me. Scrape me.
Insinuate me.
******, maim, and mutilate me.
I am made of flesh?
The end is drawing near.

I’ll linger here in melancholy.
The sun is setting soon.

Perfection; great illusion.
Tell me is that where your demons dwell?
Are they in the garden, or the bottle,
Or some supreme personal hell?

Is flawlessness a virtue,
Or a distraction for the mind?
Is the appeal of the ideal
Truly a goal that’s so sublime?

Could a diamond be a paragon
Of what a body’s meant to be?
A texture unattainable,
Lacking relevance, ridiculously.

Do you seek the pure?
And can such a thing truly be real?
Beware the call of perfection,
For, in truth, there is no ideal.

Parcelled and promised.
But not yours, nor mine.
Drags on. Flies past.
Never really unwinds.

A cure-all or illusion.
Could make fools of us all.
A force to which everything
Eventually falls.

An irreplaceable treasure,
That can’t be held in the hand.
Just one way that we measure
Our lives on this land.

We stipulate what’s “right”,
Or else legislate what’s “wrong”.
And we have morays and conventions meant to help us get along.

We take security for granted.
Want to make the whole thing fodder.
With feet too firmly planted
We toss the baby with the water.

Here I am, the smallest fire.
Too cool for spark to light desire.
Libido, just fond memory.
I simply lack the energy.

Here I am, the faintest whisper.
Too soft to stir the eager mind.  
A meagre void. A hollow blister.
A structure of the softest kind.

Here I am, the thinnest stream.
Too sparse to nourish fertile land.
Wishing to make worlds of difference,
But much too weak to lend a hand.

Here I am, an open wound.
Too lacking life to ever mend.
Cover me in cloak and shadow,
And let my weary mind pretend.

Shut down.
Rejected.
Left out to dry.

Options,
Elective,
Might soon pass you by.

Don’t get
Dejected.
I’ll tell you why.

You’re not
Infected.
You’re still getting by

You just need
Perspective,
Not sugary lies.

So just be
Reflective,
See your limit’s the sky.

Then not to the
Collective,
But to the moonlight,

You’ll be
Connected.
And find peace in the night.

Tribute
Erected.
It’ll all be alright.

I watch them fly
With grace, so free.
Unburdened by
Prosperity.

No time for entertainment.
Hearts not weighed and balanced against gold bars.
No defendants, and no claimants.
Living in each moment only where they are.

Light enough to lift off.
Strong enough to stand.
Each day is faced,
With strength and grace.
No expectation. Nothing planned.

I watch them perch
With purpose, unknown.
Each one a force
Itself, alone.

No need for supervision.
Making no objects, hoarding no wealth.
Living off of flight and vision.
Living for the flock, and for the self.

Only motivation, sunrise.
Only purpose is to live.
Perhaps thoughtless,
Perhaps unknowing,
Still, it’s wisdom that they give.

Here comes the fire.
The results it reaps.
Here it is again,
Placebo week.

Where is the sugar
And comfort I seek?
Where did they go?
The words I would speak?

Here is the milk.
Is it body or brain?
Wrap me in silk.
Let the smooth soothe the pain.

Where is the jolt?
Here through the joint.
To explode or to bolt?
Well, exploding’s the point.

Here is the sorrow.
Now shifts to rage.
Call back tomorrow.
I can’t face the stage…

The sign said, “welcome”, so I opened up and I went in,
Thought I could move within and along.
But the faces were strange
And it seemed oh so plain,
Here was a place
Where I don’t belong.

There was a table before me where I thought I could sit
To devour the radish and bask in the song.
But gold brick shattered the plate
And the minstrels were late.
It turned out to be another place
Where I don’t belong.

And the next door led to another room
The lock was not so strong.
I wanted to fit,
Even expected it,
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Down the street another stop to observe,
And I’ll wait among the throngs.
Perhaps here’s where I’ll see
Some people like me.
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Alone on a walk, no need to talk.
Somehow isolation doesn’t seem wrong.
And it could be good,
This silent solitude.
Maybe
Here is the place I belong.

(The Stalking Song)

I’m doomed to be
Doomed to be your shadow.
Wherever you go
I’m doomed to follow.

I’m doomed to live
In your limelight.
I’m doomed to stay ten yards behind
And out of sight.

I’m doomed to peek
In your windows.
Wherever you go
I’m doomed to go.

I’m doomed to watch.
And I’m doomed to wait.
I’m doomed to wonder,
Plan, and contemplate.

And for reasons you never,
Ever could understand
You’re doomed to die
By my hand…

Those who know, oh so often don’t know what to say.
They might call you a hero, or tell you that you’re brave,
And that all love is unconditional.

We all have our values, see virtues, and work through vices.
We cement our beliefs through interactions on devices.
And start to think that some love is unconditional.

We’re remolded, reshaped, be it through purpose or providence.
We become robust, resolute. At times straightened, at others bent,
Believing what we do is traditional.

Respect for one’s self is essential to grow.
We must challenge the things we believe that we know.
And no love is ever unconditional.

And if we love ourselves than none ought to be.

I see the shape of things
As they shift
And slowly change.

I feel the weight it brings
As they chisel
And carve their names.

As the clouds move through their lives
They stretch, and pull apart.
No cloud will ever be the way
It was back at its start.

Maybe we are as those clouds,
Reshaping as we go.
No need to be ashamed nor proud.
Simply travel where winds blow.

Maybe we could learn from them,
Who exist but do not fight.
Face reality with grace, and then
Do the same in the windy night.

Oh say, can you see?
As they carve up your rights
Ideals once proudly held,
Now lay gasping and bleeding.
Future pride and bright hopes
Face a perilous might;
Those who rampage through life,
Destroying and feeding.
Through the raucous and flare
Declaring justice “unfair”,
Lacking proof that they’re right,
But they don’t seem to care.
Oh say, do you still think yourselves free and brave?
Or is it the land of the fee
And the home of the depraved?

There is no purple in my berry.
The winter’s cold. It is not merry.
There is no song left still to sing.
The summer’s gone. There is no spring.

There is no colour in the sky.
There is no answer to the “why”.
A songbird sings. There are no notes.
The words we say don’t leave our throats.

And when we yearn, there’s no relief.
There may be faith. There’s no belief.
There is anger stirred up without cause,
For there is not what once there was.

I swim endless in despair
So that I do not drown in it.
I breathe only to breathe.

I am suspended in sunlight with no warmth.
I am surrounded by notes that make no melody.
I fumble, falter, fail.

Heavy as a raindrop whose cold
Penetrates deeply into loneliness
Is the air, the light, the lingering.

I forget too much.
I remember too much.
I am too much, and not enough.

A shallow pool is that in which we swim
A void wants only to be filled.
Misery takes us all.

First she told me to wait,
Then she said it’s a game.
And as I heard the voices
Call out for souls, well,
Every call was my name.

So I stepped through the fog
Into that murky mire.
And the next thing I know
From my head to toe
I was covered in fire.

But she told me to wait.
And she said it’s a game,
And if you give it ten minutes more, man,
You’re gonna feel the same.

First I felt a cold chill.
I beheld a serpent’s stare.
I was losing my will,
Frightened but still
I trusted the wind like a leaf in the air

So I stood like a stone,
And I felt all alone.
And the moment that I
Felt the shadow inside
I knew I would never see home.

Cause she told me to wait.
And she said it’s a game,
And if you give it five minutes more, man,
You’re gonna feel the same.

She said she had what I need,
And knew my depths of desire.
I felt the pit of me stir
When I knew I’d prefer
To blindly believe that she wasn’t a liar.

She picked my pieces apart,
Then she poisoned my heart.
And that’s when I knew
That nothing was true
I cried out inside and I begged for the start.

I was a puddle and pile
That’s when she turned to smile.
With the sweet on her maw
She saw what I saw.
I thought she wouldn’t be back for a while.

But she told me to wait.
And she said life’s a game.
And if you give it one minute more, man,
You can get up
And follow
The tracks of my train.

You know, she told me to wait.
Then she said it’s a game.
And if you give it ten seconds more, man,
You’re gonna feel
You’re gonna feel
You’re gonna feel…
The same.

Every interaction,
Whether fleeting or with traction,
Leads to some unforeseen action
That can cause a gaping wound.

Everyone you meet,
At your desk or in the street,
Could result in some great feat
You feel is over much too soon.

And it’s easy to lay blame,
At the ones who knew your name,
But who aren’t acting quite the same
As you’ve come to expect them too.

It’s far too easy to be the one
Whom the world has made undone,
Through the thoughtless actions of someone
That you really thought you knew.

But whether weathered by wicked words,
That were thrown at you, or overheard,
It’s really very quite absurd
To expect anything different in this game.

You know, it isn’t really about you,
Those pointed things they say and do,
That can only lead you to,
Anger, hate, and shame.

So when you feel you’re shrinking small,
And that you can’t handle it at all,
Walk through that illusory wall!
Be and do what you want to!

Remember they’re out of your control.
Don’t take it seriously. It’s drôle.
For only you can make you whole,
Or hold any power over you.

I am the smog that suffocates you.
The weight around your neck that pulls you down.  
I am the words to humiliate you.
To push your face and soul into the ground.

I know that I will always love you,
Even as the knife comes down.
Never meant to put my needs above you.
The spear I ****** in won’t come out.

Please forgive me.
Please forgive me.
Please forgive me now.

I am the tool that tortures you.
That finds your soft spots and makes them bruise.
I am the score that marks against you.
That takes you down, that makes you lose.

Please forgive me.
Please forgive me
Please forgive me now.

How can it be that a single caress
Is enough to flood my banks?
Before your glorious being
I get down on my knees,
Open wide,
And offer thanks.

And when you become
Overwhelmed by my gratitude,
And when a thirst begins to bother.
I’ll lead you to where
You might find a drink,
And nourish you on my water.

And from your warmth and suckle
A burning, squeezing hunger
Between my thighs.
I grip your hair,
And try to hold your stare,
And I beg for your flesh inside.

I exhale as though air
Were ripped from my lungs.
I inhale in much the same way.
I feed on your strength,
I breathe in your love.
I can face another day.

I feel your moaning purr,
And your lapping tongue,
And the way you **** and caress.
I beg again for what
I know I must have,

For what mercy I know will come next…

I am weak, petty, small.
I am the torturer of all.
My tendrils close around your neck.
I kick your feet out,
And you fall.

I strike you through as you descend.
I twist your mind.
Your spirit bends.
Actions inflict pain.
Words lack respect.
I pull back to strike you through again.

I exhaust your mind, tear your soul, leaving not a nerve to rend.
Absently abusive, and stretched.
Twisted in violence, bent.

I create pain implicitly, just as I expect.
And I inflict the torture that I never, ever meant.

Let Me inflict the torture that I never, ever meant.

Take out everything.
Tear it all out of me.
Take out everything.
Rip it all out of me.

Take what you need.
Tear it all out of me.
Take what you need.
Rip it all out of me.

But you only feel it on the outside.
You wanna leave it where it stands.
You feel the squish and kick it aside.
And hope that no one understands.

You hear the yell.
You ring the bell.
You fight the battle.
But no one knows just what you want.

You scream the scream.
You rip seam.
You grip the paddle.
And no one knows what house you haunt.

But you only feel it on the outside.
It never gets under your skin.
You take your hate and put it in your pride,
‘Cause that’s the only way you’ll win.

Let out an impotent scream,
When nothing’s quite what it seemed.
You cry out, “victim of circumstance”.

You’re caught up on your hate.
Ignore mistakes that you’ve made.
All your misfortunes were merely chance.

But you only feel it on the outside.
You turn your head. You look away.
You favour peace for only one side.
I guess there’s nothing more to say…

I discover myself, tiny, bean-shaped on the tiled floor.
Raised to my knees the edge of the counter feels deadly.

Thank the gods, not this.

The mirror stares back at my shame with only wet redness.

I look at the offending object.
Well, that could have been worse.

I look to the ground.
Well, that could have been worse.

The effort required to hold back against the floor worries me.

I kept it cool. There is no mark.

I discover all of us.

We are as leaves floating in a puddle.
We rot.
We may become adhered to a shoe,
Or squished into the ground,
But we know we are rotting.

Forward.
Reveal the sweat.
Tingling throughout,
Until the wind meets the wet.

Sipping.
Put down the weight.
Comforting taste,
While the whole sky waits.

Thinking.
Losing the train.
Cut the skull open
And examine the brain.

A painted window, the light shines through,
Connecting all the comfort anyone can gain from you.
A broken promise, a heavy veil.
I see no way to get us through this when everything’s for sale.

Don’t sell me solace.
Don’t sell me sympathy.
Don’t show me all the things you think that I might wanna see.
Don’t sell me fire.
Don’t sell me gold.
Don’t preach to me your sick morality.
I think it’s gaunt and old.
Don’t sell me solace.

They sell their silence. They’d sell their soul.
They sell out all of our salvation just to seek some selfish goal.
They won’t heed history. Can’t sacrifice.
Evaluate the mystery, and your blood might turn to ice.

Don’t sell me solace.
Don’t sell me sympathy.
Don’t tell me I’m the things you think that I might wanna be.
Don’t sell me fire.
Don’t sell me gold.
Don’t share with me your sick sensations
With eyes so dead and cold.
Don’t sell me solace.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the sky turn black.
Let the world know
I’ll
Not be
Coming back.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the world turn to ash.
Let the sky split open. I’m
Never
Coming
Back.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the sky turn black.
Let the world know
That I’ll
Not be
Coming back.

Let the rain fall down.
Let the world turn to ash.
Let the sky rip open. I’m
Never
Coming
Back.

Let the rain
Fall
Forever

Let the sky
Tear
In two.

Let the earths crust crumble, I
Won’t come back to you…

Measure your worth by your wealth.
Measure success in deaths.
He who is great
Will be he who subjugates
The poor, the pitiable, the powerless.

Carve your name in their flesh.
Carry your flag on your breast.
With each passing day
Force more others to say
That your way alone is the best.

Measure the truth by its traction.
Measure the weight on tipped scales.
Those who disagree
Will be those who will see
That in opposition, they fail.  

Measure your life by your lies.
Contrast and compare them throughout.
But whatever you do,
When your life is through,
Remember this was your only way out.

I’m lost in sweet memory. In spirit I’m there.
I ache with such strong longing that I have no other care.
I feel sprightly. I feel spry. At once my whole body swoons.
This morning, be high. Let’s **** after noon.

I feel all the flutters, long gone, ever there.
I bathe in your essence. I breathe in your air.
I see the horizon. I devour the moon.
My temperature’s rising. Let’s **** after noon.

Make me arch. Make me twist. Make me tremble and moan.
I still feel you inside me, even when I’m alone.
Oh sensations! You send me the greatest of boons.
Your liquids you’ll lend me. Let’s **** after noon.

I draw on the past. Happy heat fills my head.
Such strength cannot last. Let’s spend it instead.
Lend me some minutes, and let’s find a room.
Body cries, “nothing in it!” So let’s **** after noon.

Often focused on spirit, now I hunger for form.
And when at last I am near it, supple muscle, flesh, and sweet warmth.
I spread ever eager.
Feed my fervour and fever.
Naught else do I know,
But needs must be met soon.
Force my falsetto,
When we **** after noon.

I know well enough,
How to play the game,
That I can blend in with the crowd.

I know what things
Should bring me shame
And which ought to make me proud.

I would be alert
-If not all the time,
For in the fog there’s much to miss.

And it’s only when
His eyes meet mine
That I fear the reaper’s kiss.

I can wear the face
I’m expected to,
And you’d never know it didn’t fit.

When I take it off,
As I’m apt to do,
I never quite know what to do with it.

It’s a social game,
As it’s always been.
It’s not the kind that you win or lose.

But the kind you play,
As light-hearted children,
Before you perceive any mountains to move.

I hear the talk,
“World’s getting meaner”.
And over decades, said over again.

But the grass has never
Really been any greener,
I think the shade was just different back then.

I am a well, almost dry, from which no lasting life has sprung.
I am an object of no desire.
I am a short and miscalculated sum.

I give no comfort; joyless, for I am an empty ***.
The numbness never passes.
I am a fire that burns, but never gets hot.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

No matter your perspective, or the strength of your connections,
In the dark,
In the silence,
We are all of us alone.

If you’re part of a collective, if you share strong predilections,
Whether hopeful,
Whether hateful,
We’re, in all our truth, alone.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

I no longer bend.
I only break.
I see no further
Steps to take.
And every thought
Seems a mistake.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

I never got to know me,
And now there’s little of me left.
But I cannot cry injustice,
Or brutality, or theft.

It was merely that I hid behind
Whatever I could find.
And how could I think to reach myself
When I’ve never really known my mind.

I know he loves me, though I know not why.
And the voice inside is cruel and cold.
I scrape it out. It builds again.
I create new wounds out of those that are old.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

My words are wrong.
My thoughts are wrong.
My perspective is a mess of sand.

I can’t **** the parts selectively,
But I can **** it all,
Or else make it bland.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all I ever could see offered me.

Quench your rage with cooking oil,
With powder, or with ***.
Whatever way you quench your rage,
Our world will soon be done.

Calm your nerves with nicotine.
Use narcissism, or use noise.
It will not matter what you’ve used,
When all the world’s destroyed.

Should not art be aspirational?
Why then, this sketch of our most putrid places?

Should not art be sensational?
Why then, these small feelings and forlorn faces?

Should not art be an escapade?
Why then, tread only on familiar ground?

Should not art make you feel afraid,
Elated, enraged, or at least something more than flat and drowned?

Should not art be sincere expression?
Why then, is there nothing found here to call relevant?

And when art is thoughtful impression,
Should it not reveal a truth not immediately evident?

There need not be beauty,
Perhaps not even soul.

But if mere pale entertainment,
Should we call it “art” at all?

You can drown in your perversions.
You can stew in your thick hate.
You can find your enemies surround you,
And them, annihilate.

You can bathe in your own prejudice.
You can reach for your release.
You can tar and feather trinkets,
If you don’t destroy my peace.

You can open every wound you’ve had.
You can blame it on the rain.
You can coat yourself in fervour
Until you finally go insane.

You can hope for their destruction.
You can poison their recipes,
But in your own cake’s construction
Don’t you dare destroy my piece.

But peace is an illusion.
And which piece will finally fit?
In the pain of their collusion
What chance that peace will finally stick?

You can wonder what they’re thinking.
You can judge and reprimand.
But in the cloud of sweat and stinking
Hate is all that makes you stand.

You can hope and pray for silence.
You can hope and pray for fire.
When you shovel coals of violence
Hate seems all that you desire.

Behind your gas masks and your rhetoric
You can make faces at their fleas.
You can step on every snail you want,
But don’t destroy my peace.

You can lock their thoughts in cages.
You can manifest disease.
You can curse the fallen ages,
If you don’t destroy my peace.

But peace is an illusion.
And which piece will finally fit?
In the pain of their collusion
What chance that peace will finally stick?

And that peace was only ever an illusion.

I’ll ask the gods to take my ears,
When they’re drowned in mournful cries.
And when they’ve seen too much suffering,
And too much pain, I’ll ask that they take my eyes.

Then to the gods, I’ll give my voice,
For it squeaks impotent here on earth.
Next cruel gods, I give my soul,
Though it’s found badly damaged,
And of little worth.

So I call to the gods, and I call out to Man.
For virtue! For justice! For calm.
To the wind I attend, and with the wind I wait,
But I’ve found that the gods have all long gone…

A torrent, and a tyrant, and a flying blade of ice,
With the handle so far below me I can’t hear the screamed advice.
A vicious price to pay. A malicious form to sign.
If the fire doesn’t burn you, just sign on the dotted line.

Freaks and friends, and common sense.
An open book.
A lesson leant.
Forget all the noise and clutter,

Then forget the line.

The line is bent.

Would anyone notice if my world stopped it’s rotation?
Would I change in some way? Would I need more or less consultation?
And haven’t I changed? Is there something further to fix?
And sometimes I don’t even like music.

If I raise my head high enough will it stay above water?
If I focus enough will I see clearer and farther.
And if I’m smart enough will I see all of their tricks?
What if sometimes I don’t even like music?

I have cared far too much, but don’t I now care too little?
Have I ever been firm, or always flimsy and brittle?
Now what hat can I wear? What role truly fits?
Will it matter if I don’t even like music?

Have my passions changed, or have they just disappeared?
Will I be forgiven if I’m forevermore sullen and weird?
What’s already faded and fallen can neither brighten nor stick.
And these days I don’t even like music.

But I have seen the clouds part on the darkest of days.
I have greeted the ALL with hurrahs and hurrays!
And I’ve even begun to see the beauty in it.
Still, sometimes I don’t even like music.

Let the vultures pick our bones.
Let them grow too fat to fly away.
Let a quiet calm fill the air.
Let fade those things our distain might say.

Let me drown my sorrows so that I do not drown in them.

Leave each transmission unreceived.
Leave the roots to reclaim the soil.
Leave opinion and presumption
Where they have no soul to spoil.

Leave me to drown my sorrows so that I do not drown in them.

Allow some understanding for
Those you do not understand.
Show compassion to your enemies,
And make requests of your demands.

Allow me to drown my sorrows so that I do not drown in them.

Try to think of things
You might not have thought
Deserved consideration.

Maintain your poise.
Tune out the noise.
Tune into your own station.

Challenge what you think and feel.
Try your best to live up to your own ideals.

Do not
Become the rot
In your own foundation.

I fear ego.
Do I fear it too much to see it?

I fear conceit.
Do I abuse myself too much in effort to avoid it?

What is it that I crave?
What eye do I desire?

What rhythm moves me so?
And does the feeling hold me, thrill me?

Though the night is dark and cold,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

Would I choose my judge?
Would he be too kind?

I justify the search for satisfaction.
I fret; I do not satisfy.

Is it right to judge the world?
Is it our responsibility?

As my skin grows dry, and bones grow old,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

It’s not alright to be yourself.
You have only what no one wants.

I won’t get very far.
I’ll move neither swiftly, nor surely.

Be annoying quietly.
You can’t know what that tells me.

I looked back. How far did I see?
It was not the wind that chilled me.

Should I fear the chaos I love to feed?
What denial is enough to stave off greed?

I recoil in terror equally
From ego or mediocrity.

He likes the sound of other women.
I’m electric with insecurity.

As I take the thought and let it in,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

Tais-toi, petite souris!
Le chat veut prendre ton vie.
Il a bu tous le lait,
Et il va rester,
Et attendra ton mari.


English alternative (non-literal):

Be quiet, little mouse!
A cat has entered the house.
He drank the bowl dry,
And will sleep nearby,
While he waits to chase your spouse.

No tear will fall to earth where we lay our final grave.
No history will tell the tale of a people just and brave.
And we will not resolve compassion with our casual consumption.
And we will have no time to reflect upon our anger and presumptions.

For when the end is in our sight we’ll do naught but close our eyes.
And when we hear of what they’ve done we’ll act as though surprised.
As they hold us to the barrel they will point and say, “look there”.
Before tired eyes and with weary minds are treats and tortures everywhere.

We concern ourselves with “p”s and “q”s. We worry loudly over words.
When true evil comes we’ll name it not. If we can’t speak it, it can’t be heard.
Shout destitution! Shout oppression! Shout ******! Shout ****!
Carpet others over. If none breathe, none will escape.

Our conscience we will cover in catchy slogans and perfumes.
We’ll be sheltered by our comforts, hiding in well-decorated rooms.
Making light of it casts light on things we seem to at once see and yet not see.
But each and every time the light is cast anew we cry, “this cannot be!”

We’ll spend ourselves on triviality. We’ll spend ourselves on skin.
We will not see the deadly spider thanks to the tangled web it spins.
Humanity’s death comes quickly, at the behest of it’s own bloodthirsty applause.
Through distraction we will ***** us out, without justice, and without cause.