[gibberish gibberish gibberish gibberish]
I can't sleep.
& I'm thinking about you.
My quest for sleep remains meaningless in comparison.
Is my lack of sleep making me sick?
Fogging my thoughts, sauna steam of toweled limbs.
Am I making myself sick?
Compelled to speak disparagingly,
I drew a happy face on a banana today,
and never knew such a simple act,
can give so much joy.
Even if I just wanted to sleep.
I don't sleep
because I think of you
of her,
my newfound beauty.
I found the one I think,
not The One from the matrix,
but the one in every romantic-comedy-flatulent-bomb-exploding.
Is it because I am simple minded?
Is everyone just simple simple minded?
Abstract thinking is merely a connection of jokes.
I am not unhappy,
therefore I am happy,
it's deductive.
I wonder how Bernard is liking school in the East...
And whether Charles can write any better...
And whether Mike's broken hearted words can be loved by the love for them,
and whether the writers rape hearts or are heart-raped.
The rape of a heart is with coercion,
something I don't want to be aware of.
Will Francis Bacon bake a cake the size of a lake?
Can the abstract be concrete, Tabia?
Will our hearts fall from trees, Marta?
Our raped hearts...
We should all be famous
and mesmerized;
A compiled work of the heart-raped club.
Where are you Cody?
Something like,
Where are you God?
It's me,
Vodka.
Cold Hearted Bitch, I am.
I love being an addict to The Drink,
And I love falling in love with an addict to The Drink,
it adds so much aesthetic value to the relationship, really.
--> Why die so young, Jack?
Sad.
But,
I'm serious,
really.
Let's make this it.
The seminal literary movement,
of the heartless generation,
the heart-rape club.
A club to the head maybe,
bam bam.
Like a fucking bomb to the nuclear family,
Let's fuck things up
I can't stop writing now,
I'm only getting started
page by page by page
of whimsical caprices
we are all so lost within ourselves
that it's like trying to build a sand castle out of dust,
the dust that collects behind your bedroom door and dresser,
the dust your mothers sweep before birthday parties and other family events,
you know, when people come over... hopefully.
A Castle In The Sky.
God, I'm so literary tonight.
I feel sick and loved.
An opposite I'm okay with,
sick in love,
it's contagious,
excuse the cliché,
actually don't,
for aren't clichés the hyperventilating truth?
A castle in the sky
(Imagine it) floating on the cloads.
Mike,
I had a dream we played a gig in a huge outdoor park and as we played we started building a huge concrete stairway of amplifiers...
I was so stoned before this dream that it made so much sense.
CONSIDER THE IMPLICATIONS.
I guess I have nothing else to say,
Sorry for the anti-climactic conclusion
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5 comments:
Speaking for myself, I am heart-raped and not the heart-rapist.
I loved this. The dream was beautiful.
I agree. We are a literary movement. We combine such different styles altogether and we write so well. I think we should get exposure for us.
...it's like Paris in the 1920s, or New-York and LA in the 50s, except it's 2009 and we're in Montreal...
As to the raped/rapist dilemma, I think I'm a bit of both really. Your life is never quite the same once you've been heart-raped. You try to seek that incredible experience, the deep sensation, in different ways. Eventually you heart-rape someone, just to see. And then before you know it, you're an addict. You can't help it. Heart-rape - both committing and receiving it - becomes a part of you you can never let go of. You've changed, really.
Shhh... It'll only hurt for a while.
Oh my god.
I miss your writing so much more than I think I do, I only realize it when I finally read it. This is why this blog rocks :P
So so many awesome lines, oh boy. I'm about to ruin some comments for the people below me.
"I drew a happy face on a banana today, and never knew such a simple act, can give so much joy."
"I am not unhappy,
therefore I am happy,"
"and whether the writers rape hearts or are heart-raped."
"Where are you Cody?
Something like,
Where are you God?
It's me,
Vodka."
"--> Why die so young, Jack?"
Holy shit I love this one, I don't know why. The arrow makes it epic, too.
"I feel sick and loved."
and of course "Sorry for the anti-climactic conclusion"
OMGOSH! This just made my night :D I love this beyond words (which is a hell of a lot, considering words are my life). I love how when we're all famous, this poem is going to be so. Epic.
And yes, Tabia ruined all the rest of my comment. Tanks.
And we really should, once we have a lot more posts, try and get some exposure. Seriously. We HAVE to. We're awesome.
This should go in the journal Jordano is making for his integrative project.
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