No NamingA Chapter by LeapAntsy She leaves with nothing in her pockets I make up this music when I shock her to a stop No thoughts of her shaking Now I'm shaking I can't stop And baby Now that we're shaking, the thrill won't stop, will it? Too antsy to answer me?
Sweet Orange, Blue Moon If you were to come to me You would see my face as mine has come to be Just stay away from my arm's length I won't latch to nothing without a place to stay You are not the one amused I'd say I'd give anything, but you can see my circuits and the lies built in me You give me a bad case of the soliloquies, but burned into my arms are mantras silent to me You're still not the one amused Today I'd give all I am and say anything 'cause I know today is the day you can say it all back to me. You've never been the one amused I've always been the only one amused by you
Bullets and Blossoms Anymore I think about my trips to the city taking longer and longer as my days keep growing thin A neighbor's body lay on pavement in front of the church His death pleads with mine to remember how to know where I'm going Will anyone show me? No Bring a gas mask I can lead you to a noxious invention filled with sword-play, murder and indecent exposure, my friend Through the bullets and blossoms I need you to keep your composure, and into warnings, they will depict us with the best of intentions Will anyone notice? Will anyone save us? My friends? No
Hook, Line and Sinker Too bad they found me and cut the silence from my throat They may not want to wait Good thing they found me after everything I've done, but they're way too late Pass me something to read Passing bad-timing to me So soon they found me and heard such violence from my mouth They may start a runnin' Hello You found me After everywhere you've been...now here you come
Conducting Violence ...drained a bottle of Monarch gut-rot on...broke in two...began to sob...spewed enough to fill a few buckets...burning nostrils...snide fires...mucus painted face...impressed...positive thinking...after all, he wasn't the one crying...he asked for a cigarette...echo of a pistol whip...he didn't get the smoke...started screaming in a language which had no business existing and, in fact, didn't...stomped his feet and twirled the air with a gun...lay on dirty concrete...chuckled...spit up blood...of course...misunderstood gibberish...asked politely if he was ill...kicked in the mouth...lost some teeth...more blood...saw an ending for this and waited patiently to ride it out of...back up to knees...suffered from a broken heart-ed...in his distress...decided to take it out on...f*****g the mistress back home...planned on making a killing...was a rabid man...they both think they have more control over their present situation than either of them actually does...one, however, has the upper...other has nothing...not who you would expect...this is how the circumstance is manipulated...wipes his eyes...loads the 38 Special and thinks of something clever to say..."lights out"...not clever...closes his...ready...hears the hammer...pulled back...CRACK!...scream...upon opening his eyes he sees...kicking up the dust...furious circles, clutching a ragged, partial stump...laughs...what happened dip-s**t?..screaming continues...screaming continues...felt left out so...begins to scream in synchronicity...tunes building in delay...fun to mix it up...isn't it?..now the situation is engineered so as to have the lower subject lose morale...maintain an amount of power over the higher subject...he lost his hand...cursed at an inanimate object...f*****g' gun!..laughed again...grew desperate...up goes the 2 by 4 splintered with giant nails...rust was a nice touch...finish this now...realized...couldn't...beat in a skull with only one mangled mitt...wined about it...s**t...looked around and opted for the dock...the warehouse...water shifting like blankets below...dragged...a leash clinching his neck through filth and garbage and out across the boardwalk...hurt...dick and he was choking...every pull by...one good hand...rest, then start again every ten feet or so...edge of the...came...huffed and...grabbed his chest...heaved...gripped with all his might...leash fell to...side...fell to his knees...water below....felt the splash...heart attacks work...it's good to mix things up...was surprised at how abrupt such a fatal predicament had finalized...speechless...found some words to celebrate with...sweet baby Jesus with Mother Mary in his mouth!..length of time...shuffle...back into the warehouse...find a shard of conveniently placed broken...not...waste time describing...new found luck...assumed he was in South East...on the waterfront...along a street...another busier street...he found one...bearings and stepped off the curb to cross the mocking, yellow lines...blood in his hair...eyes...blood in his ears...neither saw nor heard the encroaching crackhead -- fresh on his current spin -- in his Datsun...Hit...broken in too many places...more places than even before...broken like never before...I had a good laugh...you know, you should share more laughter with yourself, my friend...next time we'll share one...the living man was now the dead one...sometimes I love to mix things up...
Matty and I and LSD wow look at that you see that? me too yeah i'm pretty sure the sun just exploded i'm going back inside sure no finish your smoke first
An Experiment with Symmetrical Repetition There's a man in a tux standing in the doorway. His eyes have popped out of his head on to strings. He seems to have lost his face. It's gone missing and his tongue is numb and flopping itself out. Nice, white teeth. He fits in these shiny, black shoes, who give him strength and balance so he can lean on the door-frame with one shoe tilted on its toes. It's a stylistic kind of thing. His hands rest like sedated bunnies in his pockets. There's a light on in the hallway behind him, but the room being occupied is in a dead-spaced black. Both the room and its accompanying hallway share stained wood floors. The ceiling and walls show themselves and remind the man of eggnog cream. Of course these details could be assumed. The man can't quite see past the threshold of the two neighboring arenas. Involuntarily, he begins to shift across it. He tries to remain between the dimensions of the stained wood floors and eggnog cream walls, but the ceiling is giving him problems. He wants to demonstrate how hallways will look the same from a perspective unknown until now. But the question still arises: why is there a doorway in the middle of this tunnel? The textures change because of the light remaining on in there, resting behind him and casting no shadows. In a dead-spaced blackness, his curiosity appeals to the anti-matter within his vicinity. To his unique surprise, the once-sedated bunnies in his pockets bounce themselves out in the spur of the moment. They land with a thump atop of the man's unstable footing (tilted up on its toes). The first shoe to go is shiny and black just like its twin. They hold a glimmer even as they crumble along with the leaning statue they belong to. This statue's nice, white teeth go flying while his tongue smacks the floor. At least it's not numb anymore. Down there, he finds his face but isn't sure enough if he likes what he sees. Too little too late -- it looks too different anyway; all spread apart like this. This may have something to do with his sight and the broken angles of his eyes on their worthless strings attached. Yet, from this remarkable angle, he can adjust his current geometry to a vision transcendent and broad only to make out a man in a tux standing in the doorway.
Apocalyptic Drunk Talk The coffee from the jungle is left on temple grounds Provides a resource for the rest After everything is gone and there's nothing left but the pyramids and long, lost loves of all sentiment The myriad will impede upon the blatant blinding myths And fire blankets all of where the icing might have been The planets, in their places, will go end on heavy end And what's precious to our spectators will forever be eternalized What images of elevation can I begin to fantasize?
Of Eccentricity
And In the Loft And I see your hands upon the window and your head above the rain And I ask for my cigarette back Please? But you tell me, "I'm not done with its taste, Love." And you're kind to me until you notice this one, simple fact Then you're mean to me until you're kind It's about time for me to kick you out into my abyss, but I've just grown far too comfortable with your taste "You were meant to keep me in my place, Love."
Listen To Myself I will leave the note on our bedside table In the event of your return, I pray you leave behind another infamous signature Dear me, Love, You
HI-LITER Philosophy Looking forward into the coldest reaches of some summers A frown on the face of all seasons And no new school of thought can be embraced by the business men of traffic blaring their horns in the fore-ground then they blame the lack of love for music on deaf industries No carcasses in the high-tide, but hovering above I know angels can manifest themselves in so many awful ways In as many as any awkward ideas can be shot to death and mourned by their very own firing-squad while a native band plays to the triumph of a downfall Got to watch it all go down on film before the whole thing is really able to sink in And the time on our hands will read to us And the elder truths will come about And the continents shall shift And the fame beats all And reason removed- - - - Even in the horizon as priceless as you think you are As an empty friend of god as good as any friend can be Aside from whatever else is sturdy enough to halt beneath your knees, take home with you what music you came with And this time next year, you will be writhing on the walls with no one to write you into history What do you want me to say? This is enough
A Notion of Not-so-much Respect In A Classroom Filled Up With the Blandest of Peers Start debates over the least important aspect of an issue. Bring up one, solid point of little interest or moral responsibility or even relevance to the overall subject of conversation. Act passionately, and introduce validity; it's bullshit, but you're quick on the draw. Find a way to knock-off any reference you can as a gift for those who can't hide their doughy eyes from yours Let people interact. Heat them up. Start them spinning in their seats. Bloody their noses and watch the regression occur. Echo their primal speech as best you can until the voicings in the room slip back into an infantile state of communication. Now floor it! Bring down their walls and go right ahead and collapse their ceiling. Keep it safe above their heads...for a bit Protect them from their damages and rescue them from rationality. R E T R A CTLE T L O S E R E T R A CTLE T L O S E Bl_nk along their rhythm Gather every palpitation working out the room and sit back to enjoy it and let it fly off its hinges. In this you may learn to play the roll of god.
One More Post-script: You're speaking out of two sides of your mouth Do you make the clouds move too? Is that just the wind? Good night love Goodnight I'm taken Blending P.S P.S. P.S. P.S. you're speaking out of two sides of your mouth.
Skool In 3 Pgs. ! General Animosity! Several factors in points of influence! In mind! Motive for the "kill or be killed mentality!" Insisting private right! Authority of something called...god! Intent on the restraint of Evil on Earth! Apply this today! No older than the olden days! But young in the eyes of young! Clowning around with the greatest sin! Then it was assumed! Permitted or commanded! Praised! No bearing on human morality! Instead, rely on plausible insanity! ? Did it give rise? Single person or persons? Is it a delusional right to commit it to a memory? Is it a scape-goat? Does it have the ability to ease...? Can it be part of an alienated, collective consciousness or only the conscience of one? Will it be touched on later? Today? See the power? See me in control? See me under the influence? Am I part of any moral system yet, and how much would that matter? Am I a fanatical modernist or an ancient traditionalist? Can you tell me? What do I desire? What do I call divinity? What true cause do I have to ask these questions? Could it be simple reasoning? A purpose? An explanation for all that needs to be explained? Can it work for them? Passion? Do I have passion? How much can I bug you before I turn out almost viral? Which plans are the right ones to follow? . Power and opportunity can perform well enough to pose the question as a fact. The end always justifies the means. Fundamentalism can provide an open door to consequence. Desensitization has finally arrived. Through forms of media interference and propaganda and social deconstruction. All empathy slides away into the sewers to, in turn, allow the flood of apathy a multiplication of all shapes and sizes and chemistries. In the seizure of the moment, they feel it soak everything. By every channel. Every set of eyes find themselves welcomed to it. They can't help themselves. The devil feels it's crucial to cave and debut his careful campaign. Once enough sensation has developed, an acquired taste for diluted societies will pass to the rest of us. A nationalistic society at its best and brightest. People will believe what they are told. They could be the moral of the story. They love the one who tells them, 'this shall be god or god shall be dead...' ...Maybe just a pragmatic man in a striped suit and tie is quite enough explanation!?.
Short Prose In Love Your vast interpretation of life beyond your eyes conforms with little effort into what you might see as mine And as delicate as you are, you still find the way to keep it to yourself Solely as your own Bat-s**t crazy as a novice to the sublime
© 2010 LeapFeatured Review
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