we'll live and die in these towns -- the enemy

You spend your time in smokey rooms
where haggled old women

with cheap perfume say
"It never
happens for people
like us, you know"
Well nothing ever happened on its own.
And well the toilets smell of desperation,
the streets all echo of aggregation
And you wonder
why you cant get no sleep,
when you've got nothing to do,
and you've had nothing to eat
your life's slipping
and sliding right out of view
and there's absolutely nothing
that you can do well

And so I am crawling to the cross, for what time in the row I do not know. My memory permitts me to remember that I have revived this oh-sacred-place-of-contemplation for the third time. Third sounds, and feels correct at least.


To start with, I don't even know if I am talking to myself, or actually to someone reading. The difference is that this time, it is irrelevant. Vomiting ink and words over hapless papers in the fluorescent light of a reading lamp is stimulating, but will never be anything else than scribbled notes and observations of a world that will keep on rotating whether I do it or not.

I need my outlet. I need to vomit adjectives and twist sentences inside out. Just by writing this, I'm on my way to fulfill it.

Onwards into the breach, onwards once more.
Misquoting Shakespeare might make me a bore;
But it also shows individuality,
and an apparent lack of spirituality.

Yes. For now, I am indeed back.


2 kommentar(er).:

Anonymous said...

yay :-)

David said...


I'm on the internets.


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