i'll take a look-see
yeah a look-see
just a look-see
a quay by the sea
is what i see
a smutty marquis
gone to sight-see
magnificent silk trees
if we ship him to hawaii
he'll give us the master key
then we'll cut of head before his dying plea--
to take off his goatee,
at least to a tolerable degree,
which one might say will still be shitty
to cry in a ditch and forget about everything
the linear ride does not stop, it goes faster
and at the breaking point speed,
everything shatters into a thousand, million pieces.
this is the heart at its very epicenter,
like fire to a liquid, set aflame, the water is boiling.
to a cooling point, we shudder in the breathtaking speed
everything eases into a quiet, easy stop.
but the ride hasn't ended, nothing is over
everything repeats and you are more tired than before,
your memory is foggy and the present is intimidating
more intimidating than the past or the future
because what happens now decides everything
the present becomes everything.
it becomes your future, and in this way
it becomes your past.
the present is everything,
and the intimidating rises in the hot, fiery pit of your gut.
there are no more warm, fuzzy feelings,
or easy-to-see felons,
or people lying down at your feet.
there is just what is, and nothing changes that.
perhaps the ease of the slope has changed you, though.
perhaps you have become harder on the outside,
but your inside will remain the same.
you become an egg, with its brittle shell,
sitting in a carton of others like you,
waiting to be broken and eaten.
to be devoured like the food you are,
to be devoured by a ferocious demon,
a demon inside of you? outside of you?
can you not tell, anymore?
has everything gone awry,
your plans not made go into chaos.
islands in your mind feed on the deep blue oceans,
the very liquid of your subconscious drips
into crisp, white, snow.
powdery and fickle, never staying-ever changing.
it is the solid, the liquid, and the air.
it surrounds you, this breath of another.
you are the mirror, of another.
was there ever an original to start with?
your star changed and danced so many times
with benign signals who have fled into nonexistence,
their own private solitude a solace as well as a jail.
corporate magic flees the scene of a death,
doing its best to not make sense in the face
of the almighty master of miracle dropping.
yet nothing can overcome this Master,
it is the Truth itself, which can not be tricked.
everything dissolves and once again you are alone,
perhaps in a ditch. cold and hopeless,
and without memories of what just took place.
there is nothing left for you,
so you apathetically walk back home.
Cage was opened. Door was lifted. Legs burst into powerful strides.
Sound was nothing. Vision was nothing.
The feeling was freedom.
He ran down the empty road in a city already evacuated.
He came to the edge, a cliff overlooking an ocean.
Planes came toward the shore. Cage stared up at them, the feeling of freedom fleeing.
But with the life left inside of him, he did not shake. He did not fear.
Cage accepted death.
For he was brought up to die.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,--
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
sitting on a star so far away
looking back at where I came from
rolling on land and on the waves crash
they make love and blood boils
love overflows into a white mist
chills the soul and blurs the eyes
stumbling down the hallway
into a ditch where you curl up and cry
until another comes and picks you up
carries you to the car and off you go
back into space, hurtling toward multitudes of stars
a stellar space ride going on and on
faithfully cheering you up again
the bright lights twinkle and dazzle
through the dark blue gaze
there is a warmth that knows you
it seeks you out and takes you by the hand
guides you back home and kisses you
there is no better place to be than in the back seat
being taken to a place you know too well