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Friday, 26 December 2008
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There's a monster inside the bus system
The country side farm boy = PRIOR PAST
grows into a small town kid, = PAST|grows into a part time country side farm boy| = PRESENT of SORTS
and a part time big city kid = PRESENTIn the prior past, it was all about getting a car ride from others, away from the farm inside the forest.
In the past, the bicycle wheels spun round and round in sunshine and rain.
In the present of sorts, it's a lot like the prior past, but now there's the bus too.
In the present, there's the possibility of riding the bicycle or the bus.
As people laugh and cry and look out the window at the dark clouds, I wonder about the condition of the human body here - think that the city must do something terrible, think that the bus must stress and stress the mind, that 50 miles a day is inhuman, is a ghastly defeat to normality.
Ah... The times.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
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I am wondering who is who here. Conflicts of time and memory. The cigarette smoke clinging to my nostrils. It burned into my clothes. Eyes. Lungs. Noises. Feelings. The strange sense that the past was the past.
Saturday, 06 October 2007
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My shoulder hurts.
There's this small hole burrowing itself into my head. Making a home for the microscopic people that fight our wars and look at the mass produced nano robots taking over their turf.
It happens on occasion when you overflow.
The buttons mashed together to make a loud beep. I don't know you, but I know you. We're behind walls and windows that open in two directions. Yells, clashes, drums, guitars, a trumpet, a whistle, a hum.
There was a mass of them. A happy mob of dumb fucks and wannabe cowboys. Of jocks and testosterone. Of nerds and sluts.
My homework march from the sixth floor. My fist. It's therapy.
Two hours of sleep. Cooking corn in the microwave. Breaking down into moods.
We're getting out of this place.
I hate this college.
Wednesday, 11 July 2007
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Currently Listening
Give Up
By The Postal Service
see relatedFaux-Dream Love
We were sitting at a table. Tables are good, square tables with rounded corners. A blank blue table listening to words. Talking till dawn. It's okay. Just an inverted reflection. Dim light coming through the windows.
"Let me draw something, so you'll remember." Red bacteria. Japanese symbol on her right temple. Black. Real happiness created through a function of chemicals and subconscious undertakings. Unknown face. Unknown features. Faux-real-love. Believable.
Genetically engineered horsebullshit.
Dream's mess. Smile and say "Bye."
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I like dreams. They lie to you in the most amusing ways. You lie to yourself in the most amusing way. Reality is not that funny of a lie. It's more a horrific lie than anything.
Wednesday, 20 June 2007
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Different... School's out.
High school is done with, but all I can think is "You fucked up badly, you know?"
Her, someone I don't know.
Old man... Him, someone I don't know.
Past, the things you remember perfectly and can't remember at all. Like an assembly line with hands which clank and twist in spurts of oil and rust, piecing together what this persona turned out to be.
Eyebrows. Or a smile slightly covered with misplaced hairs. Contour, lines, shading, colors. Blush and perfume. Solitaire and wrinkles.
I love you.
acrylic
Poltergeist_Seed
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- Name: Sage
- Member Since: 9/4/2006
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About Me
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I'm a graphic artist, environmentalist, vegetarian, martial artist, writer, photographer, cook, and some other tidbits. I don't really believe in anything, but I like talking with strangers and making them laugh or think. Dreams are good. Fashion, clouds, music, sand, rice, panda bears, Kurt Vonnegut, crazy hair, weird people, and nighttime are too.
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