Tchaikovsky you make this all OK, leading me down the path, stepping gently by the will of a horn, or is it a thorn. But you cannot help but break my heart with the bellows of time. Madness seeps in through the notes, trampolines screech through the morning air ( Read more... )

Keirkegaard got me thinking, for the shame of him. Why is it exactly that They put me into this situation--the one who asked for no such thing. Why am I stuck here? I want to be free from the rationality that everyone has trapped themselves into, this form of pulsating protection that stands in the place of true life. I want to escape this womb ( Read more... )

Sometimes the morning, my morning, calls for sounds of a classical nature, an orchestral nature. Sometimes as I wonder what it is that passes through the minds of men as they run their errands, as they pass through the world around me, the world that I can barely hear or see from my small home; sometimes the only thing I want is to drown in the ( Read more... )

A vampire drank from me today, morbid and ecstatic in its approach. For a moment there, it left me cold and empty. I seem to be filling the void with as much reading as possible. I seem to be filling the space with written words. Or shall we say, the things behind the words that cannot really be captured . . . only imitated--glimpses of truth, or ( Read more... )

The rose sits, praying from the waves of solitude, blossoming out of sweetness ( Read more... )

I'm tired after the yuppie feast. The Bateman moment of sitting in a fancy East Coast eatery, with my delicately balanced seared tuna steak on my well decorated plate. The Lemon Drop Martini, the Key Lime Pie. One sister serving, the other with raccoonfacesunburn, mother paying and stressing ( Read more... )

I can tolerate a lot, even the uninvited. I can beat back the minions of dishevelled insecurities; yet, this remains, this wonder, this contemplation ( Read more... )

The plane stretches out in front of me, unsure, uneasy, like a flaccid penis trying to guide itself through the storm without the firm confidence needed ( Read more... )

The suffering, the meek, the down right beaten. We are the human race. Egos upon egos, tormented by unbearable pains--burdens passed on to us by parent and spouse alike (neither we will ever forgive (neither will we take responsibility for)). The assholes of the world, Nietzsche and Rand, countless others, get so close to showing the way out of ( Read more... )

There is so much drama, in our egos, from face to face as I slip through the ranks. I fit in. I don't. Neither really matters aside from a little self-amusement. Thom Yorke guides me by the ear from aisle to aisle. Count the books, count the cards, count your lives stuck on the shelves ( Read more... )