the music permeates the thick, stale air. recycling the haze and attempting ever so desperately to refresh that which has been dead for years.
we often associate portions of our existence with pieces of music. it is all too common. we hear a song, and we instantly get pummeled by memories of the times we had while that music serenaded us. love, hate, regret, confusion, bliss, sorrow. it all comes back so mercilessly.
homage needs to be paid for those moments we leave behind. but not for the moments. for the music. if we are damaged, we often couple that damage with the songs that rang truest in our heads during that moment of discomfort. and thus, the music stops. we find something else to replace it with. and then we repeat this pattern.
no longer. not for me. this next one is a tribute to the heartbreaks, the proverbial knife wounds, the smiles that now live hung by their toes. long live nostalgia. long live the dead air.
long live the left.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
charm
Call it hate, call it love, i call it art.
time is so absent, so scarce, so elusive. yet why is it so easy to spend so much of it doing nothing?
ask the great thinkers of olde. they'd like it. they have nothing but time now. nothing but time to think about time, and where it has gone.
time is so absent, so scarce, so elusive. yet why is it so easy to spend so much of it doing nothing?
ask the great thinkers of olde. they'd like it. they have nothing but time now. nothing but time to think about time, and where it has gone.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
the sun is mute
new opportunities always present new threats.
the world is made of change.
and change isnt fair.
the world is made of change.
and change isnt fair.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Promise of the Enten Mann
An iron back arbalest overtaken and overgrown with spores and saprolings glows with the aftershock of rotting neon dreams.
...the horn blows.
lidless and vacant. she stares into hearts that have no timing or sense of timing.
...the fish teem.
sunken into absent abstracts, the pit of blowflies eats away at her dress. she sings for recollection and recount.
...the sheep count.
under the obsidian sphere that zeniths over a land of waste and eager venom, we sit around our smolders, slinging soft seances to sultry winged villains.
...the clock breaks.
.
...the horn blows.
lidless and vacant. she stares into hearts that have no timing or sense of timing.
...the fish teem.
sunken into absent abstracts, the pit of blowflies eats away at her dress. she sings for recollection and recount.
...the sheep count.
under the obsidian sphere that zeniths over a land of waste and eager venom, we sit around our smolders, slinging soft seances to sultry winged villains.
...the clock breaks.
.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Process/Absolute
gravity dont mean too much to me.
11 months since i've spoken to the bitter watches of the infinite nothing. who watches? who cares?
"you need just the right amount of f*ck-the-world with just the right amount of belief in something." - quite possibly the most inspirational quote i have read in months.
this kid's got some change ahead, and the world might have some catching up to do. the rebellion hasn't started, but the riot is just about over.
cardboard dreams and pixelated prophecies are things of a life long bereft of vision. it's time to steal our sight back.
it's time to get up and go.
11 months since i've spoken to the bitter watches of the infinite nothing. who watches? who cares?
"you need just the right amount of f*ck-the-world with just the right amount of belief in something." - quite possibly the most inspirational quote i have read in months.
this kid's got some change ahead, and the world might have some catching up to do. the rebellion hasn't started, but the riot is just about over.
cardboard dreams and pixelated prophecies are things of a life long bereft of vision. it's time to steal our sight back.
it's time to get up and go.
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