Slipping into darkness
Within these pauses of pleasure upon Erector Set innocence
You can chance deep gondola romance and not carry
despondence into your life
Pretty soon you got to pay
Worry is a shoddy fortune teller
You know she loves drinking whisky while laughing at the moon
Slipping into darkness
Within these pauses of pleasure upon Erector Set innocence
You can chance deep gondola romance and not carry
despondence into your life
Pretty soon you got to pay
Within these pauses of pleasure upon Erector Set innocence
Worry is a shoddy fortune teller
Pretty soon you got to pay
You know she loves drinking whisky while laughing at the moon
Worry is a shoddy fortune teller
You can chance deep gondola romance and not carry
despondence into your life
You know she loves drinking whisky while laughing at the moon
Slipping into darkness
In a country of loners sides can’t exist
Being privy to a joke no one else is on
Revising the laws of nature
Less an impulse than a code of ethics
If you don’t get grounded soon you’re gonna go into orbit
Are you born to stay and fight, or born to leave?
In a country of loners sides can’t exist
Being privy to a joke no one else is on
Revising the laws of nature
Less an impulse than a code of ethics
Being privy to a joke no one else is on
If you don’t get grounded soon you’re gonna go into orbit
Less an impulse than a code of ethics
Are you born to stay and fight, or born to leave?
If you don’t get grounded soon you’re gonna go into orbit
Revising the laws of nature
Are you born to stay and fight, or born to leave?
In a country of loners sides can’t exist
We are all, in the end, mysteries to ourselves.
You think that you know something special?
So what?
Question everything you know.
What we care for has a short shelf life.
It may be real, but is it true?
We are all, in the end, mysteries to ourselves.
You think that you know something special?
So what?
Question everything you know.
You think that you know something special?
What we care for has a short shelf life.
Question everything you know.
It may be real, but is it true?
What we care for has a short shelf life.
So what?
It may be real, but is it true?
We are all, in the end, mysteries to ourselves.
For what it’s worth
With nothing worth memorializing anniversaries are attempted funerals,
It’s all a filing cabinet of yesterdays and once-upon-a times,
This idea that what you do would immediately count is a tale told for generations,
The soft center of faith is greasing the wheels to make understanding simple,
Not all answers are available on the spot,
For what it’s worth
With nothing worth memorializing anniversaries are attempted funerals,
It’s all a filing cabinet of yesterdays and once-upon-a times,
This idea that what you do would immediately count is a tale told for generations,
With nothing worth memorializing anniversaries are attempted funerals,
The soft center of faith is greasing the wheels to make understanding simple,
This idea that what you do would immediately count is a tale told for generations,
Not all answers are available on the spot,
The soft center of faith is greasing the wheels to make understanding simple,
It’s all a filing cabinet of yesterdays and once-upon-a times,
Not all answers are available on the spot,
For what it’s worth.
Time’s Up
Feel your way through waves of particularization,
Without intent,
Without thinking,
With desire,
Appetite,
Instinct, and
Impulse,
meandering in circles,
Leaping gaps
And transgressing borders.
Times up -
Put up or shut up.
Such excitement
Wrapped in fright -
Being caught writing love letters
To a time and place
That never was.
Has this happened -
Subsumed into moments that shuffle
Into an impossible ending -
Or not?
Stories we tell ourselves
Being vulnerable is being alive
Explanation often negates the thing itself
Stale like a deflated balloon
The false confidence of skewed dispositions
Questioning the things that really count
Stories we tell ourselves
Being vulnerable is being alive
Explanation often negates the thing itself
Stale like a deflated balloon
But being vulnerable is being alive
The false confidence of skewed dispositions
Stale like a deflated balloon
Questioning the things that really count
The false confidence of skewed dispositions
Explanation often negates the thing itself
Questioning the things that really count
Stories we tell ourselves
The love-making isn’t like it used to be
Back then it was all dazzle and steamed up windows
Everybody’s going at it
Sex was a monumental headache
Revealing all the facts of life
Traffic had come to a complete stop
The love-making isn’t like it used to be
Back then it was all dazzle and steamed up windows
Everybody’s going at it
Sex was a monumental headache
Back then it was all dazzle and steamed up windows
Revealing all the facts of life
Sex was a monumental headache
Traffic had come to a complete stop
Revealing all the facts of life
Everybody’s going at it
Traffic had come to a complete stop
The love-making isn’t like it used to be
Each encounter
with a character of unknown origin,
this nighttime vision
so brief in its insistence,
then vanishing,
a vague afterimage in its wake;
a flash of illumination,
then darkness,
particles of smoke
ascending into second guessing,
leaving imagination t
o do the heavy lifting
of memory.
I am in an empty space
With a green screen behind me.
I think that everything that I do is categorized,
And that would feel like an imposition,
Except that the categories keep changing.
I ‘m swallowed in a constant state of flux,
Without reference points.
Besides,
The batteries on the $10,000 boat
I cannot afford
Need a charge,
and I don’t know how
to get that done.
It's one of my incapabilities.
I’ve not been sleeping well
Nor have I been able
To wake up well.
I keep arguing with myself
which may be the cause.
I cannot catch a break
and have too many secrets to remember.
My lost attention may be in one of my pockets,
but all of them are empty.
I continue to look for holes.
The mending is endless.
There’s no one I know
who can help me.
Though we share English,
No one seems to speak my language,
And I wonder if I could be Wittgenstein’s lion,
Disguised as a human.
Maybe we all are.
I see people walking outdoors.
One minute it is sunny
The next it is nightfall -
Their movement either slo mo
or fast mo,
going nowhere at variable speeds.
I don’t want to be disingenuous,
But I can’t help myself being adrift.
Adrift without faith,
yet spiritually unbound.
I take heart in entropy,
Maybe we all do
As a necessity for
Keeping us alive.
