people are too controlling and manipulative for their own good,
and it is going to crash down upon them in ways they can't fathom.
I had an old friend wind up in the hospital, I know that the people
around me are completely crazy and are going to all end up in the
mental institution if they don't start flying right and being something
besides the venner of themselves that is controlling.

i, like vonnegut, have given up faith in humanity
i no longer want anything to do with it,
i am barely human, i think they made my heart too large
for the world, i think they made me too big for the rest
of people who have tried to cut me down in the past
because they percieved me as better than them,
because i am a musicain, writer, and artist.

Fuck you people. I'm done with all of you.

keyboards and computers clicked,
they have been trying to interrupt my writing
and all i get are cigarettes and coffee,
it is unfair and doesn't have to be like this,

dance pale moonlight over the fingers of the
betrayers, over the windows of computers
that would have us less than ourselves,
show them who they are.

fuck this and fuck that, fuck it all and the fucking brat

Eloquent betrayal with girls securing drugging lips
like adaptive lizards scuttling in the dry grass
through the harbor edges. But the delicate touch
is still delicate, the over-bearing touch is beyond
belief, and the instruments of debasement are not
effective when you know their nature.

All lines point to power,
all people dream of cheating,
and all people do is fuck themselves
because I got what I have
because I didn't want it.

And the reason why
is delicate and over-bearing,
it took a lot of courage and a lot
of love, and now we have neither
in these auspices of control named
after fanciful things; pearls, diamonds,
love's equation.

The cold grass dampens with darkened night
and the moon is hidden behind clouds like
a dagger in its hilt, no more will it illuminate
the vespers of trecherous women,
and no more will the sun beam intelligence
to the most controlling of men.

It is like I had a dream of you
and you turned into the opposite,
dear reader, it is like you were never
there.

dancing for a pile of change which her feet rearranged,
Jane made it through the bottles of beer and sang a dream
without delay, the dream of love against seductive oppression,
the dream of life in a time betrodden by sweet decay that
comes from lover's lips like a darkened melody.

singing this melody:

As time moves around, the stolid sky falls down with licks
of flaming water, seeming darkened ire. Pick up, where you
drank of singing things, pick up where you left off.

Find me here, among the words you placed,
find me here, among the humiliation in their disgrace.

shadows of empire

Living in a fascist dictatorship isn't easy,
your friends all wear knife smiles and your
family thinks you're crazy for singing when
the cage has wound its tight mesh about your
life. Living in a fascist dictatorship isn't easy,
the television stays the same and the movies
are all violent, they put you at odds with humanity
in order to steal your source.

Yes, living in a fascist dictatorship isn't easy,
they put truth on sale in the form of lies,
there is poison in your food and they put
poison in your milk, they make it look like
a utopia if only so that the beauty kills you,
and the police are on to someone in the declared
silence of acts, and the police are onto you and have
been onto me, in the silence of acts. They
are waiting for you to fuck up, they are waiting
for you to act out, they are waiting patiently
but they know they can't win, which is how the
story goes, they know they can't win because
they are deeply paranoid about every person
because the thing about living in a fascist
dictatorship is that it has no power, that is
the truth, that it is all internalized by the masses
in the form of media, movies, magazines, and
the internet, that is the truth and don't you
dare call me a liar.

It is easy living in a fascist dictatorship when
you get away from your family, it is easy living
when you get away from false friends, it is easy
living and breathing and singing and making
collect calls when they try to find you to tell them
how much you hate them for what they have
done to you, and it is easy to leave, just don't
forget that.

It is easy living in a fascist dictatorship when
you have forces of nature on your side, it is
easy living in a fascist dicatorship when you
knew how to escape a mental hospital, and it
is easy, way easy when you know secrets kept
veiled behind false temple doors.

It is a fascist dictatorship, this, what we call
home, this is a fascist brothel, there is a fascist
supermarket, and there is a fascist bar where
all the drunks try to cut you down, and there
is fascism even in our love, sometimes.

i want an ice cream cone

The truth is a difficult thing to say,
who's truth, what truth, what place's truth
but I can say it because I have known truth
by the very lips of your lies;

Time flies but aeroplanes crash,
lies die and sparrows find bounties of cash
unappealing unless they are sealed with love.

I am just a man who's stumbled so many times
that people started picking him up,
I am just a man who's brain made a leap
in the scales, I'm just a man, just a man
who delicately changed things, if only for
a moment.

What is so interesting about the government
and corporations is that they waste money
on nothing, they are inefficient infrastructures,
they would hunt down the last scrap of filth
just to say they owned it, they would hunt
down you just to say they owned you
well, they think everybody has a price
but they don't know the wisdom behind
the saying, what is the most priceless thing
in the world, the head of a dead cat

angel wings curled around golden hand with locks of hair intertwined in painted fingertips
our cold alcohol lived across the bar sign and told us in sweet dewdrops that love whispers
in the air, our dreams gathered and some of them shattered but we both grew stronger
seperate as two, we both grew stronger than any one knew because they were too busy
with their looks to bother asking about us, the simple trust we had could not be denied
through the years of manipulative strings unwound for us, but cherished by us, us last
of the lovers, truly caught in pencil without calculation, true fraught with angels singing
screams of torrid destiny about our ears, our destiny which we take as our own.

And we gathered flowers in the meadow where the fire of the sunset blared its trumpets
with the articles of joy.