Oh how I wish I was a Jedi Pirate.
Can you imagine how bad *** that would be?
Dressed in awesome sea faring garb
and carrying a lightsaber and blaster on my side.

I know that jedis stand for justice and peace and siths stand for emotion and power.
I can't pick a side.
So I guess I'll stay in the middle.
I'll sail the cosmic seas
and feel the force within the breeze.
With a bottle of *** in my hand
and force lightning at my command.

God that would be ******* awesome.

We listened to that song like it was our only solitude,

Though my only solitude was your voice

The way you belted out the lyrics like a protest

And made sense to those that didn't understand.

Would you know how many times I've tried

But failed always to listen to that song.

My solitude has become a mirage

Or a dream not quite forgotten.

Were you here and not in a pit

Would those words be sung again.

For now I'll let it be as it is:

The sketchy record to a broken memory,

And a time in which our lives were living.

You are a dream in which I'm still dreaming,

So carry on and carry on.

The sun is shining
but it's raining

on your face,
down your neck,
through your socks,
through your skin.

It chills your heart
and makes you glad.

You look up.
The sun,
the clouds,
the snowflake rain.

Pink gumboots,
striped jackets,
dull canopies.

People stare
as you stop and wonder
how people could hide

from this pleasure
which makes them cold,
makes them see
the amazement
of sun and rain
together

creating beauty
in a sunshower.

I'm starting to dream in color
swimming in Silvia red night gowns
and dancing into silhouettes of purple and crimson.
psychedelic actually,
if you take the time to think within that perspective.
it's like a toned-down rave set in slow motion by overdose.
and where are you?
are you passed out on the lawn in front of some closed down swapmeet?
did the flicker of insomnia turn you off like a light switch you hadn't paid the bill for?
who now, will answer your phone or pay homage to your quips
or late night phone calls to God?
I wish I could say that I relayed the message
but my nerves never were enough.
I wonder if the angels ever picked up on the twisted games you played on their names.
Many people never bothered to decipher it all.
But on occasion I did.
When the time was convenient,
when the moments were dull.
I delved into it.
I tried anyhow.
Forgive me for never letting you pass.
For standing arms and legs wide apart to halt the inevitable.
I wish for so many seconds
that I was there to do something,
to show something,
some inkling of understanding through sarcastic grimaces.
To you, who will read this and play dead for flair,
may you call upon me from the imaginary casket when you get this.
Fore I do see that you could never leave like that.

We're standing outside in a cold, blistered wind,
for a quick pull of smoke and the chemicals within?
A quick rush of joy, euphoric train wreck,
a cure made illegal for a chemist's blank cheque.
Plant matter burning, charring my lungs,
an irritated throat and a cough soon to come.
Pass it to a friend and beg them to be quick
so I can burn my lungs again - let my blood run thick.
Serotonin chained and forced to make me feel good,
yet a non-addictive substance, apt misunderstood.
Less harmful than tobacco, alcohol still worse,
a sadly brainwashed nation where impression's pre-rehearsed.

Generations plagued with loud misguided cries.
They say it makes you stupid, another heartless lie.
We'll strap a gas mask to a monkey, and force it THC.
Forget about the oxygen... I wonder what we'll see?
It seems their brain cells died - it has to be the drug!
Government made a discovery? They ought to be less smug.

But back to my friend, and I in the cold,
forced to be hidden from long outdated scold.
Celebrating beauties in the world that were forgotten,
we're told it's overrated, like fine Egyptian cotton?
I know from experience that this has to be divine:
it could not exist if the sun could not shine.
The wind has stopped blowing, the rain takes it's place,
to feel divine beauty of liquid touching face.
It is something natural, and comes from within,
wow, I'm still standing in a cold blistered wind.

18/02/2012*

He said his name was Franc.
I asked him if his parents named him after the currency and he nodded
a little when I told him that was silly. He shrugged and said that they were
poor at the time when they were living in Bourges and when he was born,
it gave them more happiness than the money that they needed to buy a house
with would have. I still told him it sounded silly so he shrugged again and
said he thought it was kind of sweet.

this message in a new age bottle

doesn't serve you justice

wish you could still read

wish I could still write

but what use are words when our tongues are cut out?

speaking is not communication.