In meinem Auge…
…kommen die aufregenden Kinder
mit neue gekauften Emotionen,
…kommen die gut bezahlenden Paare
mit gekuehlten Fingeren,
…kommen die versuchende Kunstlers
mit fliegenden Fuesse,
…kommen die artbeitenden Arbeiter
mit noch warmes gebackenes Brot,
…kommt die frueh aufgestande Sonne
mit frisch gemachten Sekunde, Minuten, Stunden, und Tage.
~~~~~~~~~~
t
eeeep – kafka, flusser, and photos in my head.
excited futures
serving food to those who can afford it tonight. need the bucks to buck the f@#$s
(funny how we all make the same assumption, no? after all, we are one)
i am free at 11:30 to wander into the mess that forms at Brandenburg Gate
to drink cheap champagne,
dodge fireworks,
figure out what it all means in that moment!!
let me know how it goes.
happpppppy new year!!
we talk next in 2009.
t=
And those with rooted feet and forked arms shall raise up before our eyes.
Movements imperceptable to our to timeframe.
“That can’t be possible.”
It is…it is.
Have fear, for our species has it coming, slaying millions for our gain.
Those cries may have been heard.
Who knows?
…
The video of the plant hunting is pretty damn awesome.
t
wiping away the sweat,
drinking the stress until there is none left,
tearing through the tears,
waging war on the whines.
easy is no fun,
the struggle is WHY,
stumbles are style,
another step forward.
…
t
Things go buzz.
Like bugs pretending it is their wings, and not their lips making the sound.
An annoying assumption; misplaced fact.
This buzz is a joke.
Hostile Norms knocking at the door.
A wisk through water and oil.
Futile attempt? Stubborn delusion? Does it matter?
…
Lots of change is in my immediate future.
Hope you are well,
t
—————-
Now playing: Modest Mouse – Parting of the Sensory
via FoxyTunes
When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
“It is done.â€
People did not like it here.
~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (1922 – 2007)
Thank you for the words, even if we don’t listen that well.
t
Here I was sitting,
On the computer piddly pitting,
With intentions to make something divine,
I rallied myself to do some web design,
Click and clack the mouse went back,
Watch the databases and scripts stack,
Things were going well, as far as I could tell,
Little did I know I was headed for a self-imposed hell,
An moment of delusional haze,
A second of wandering gaze,
What happened in that instant I do not know,
But the next question was: Where the hell did everything go?
Fucking hell, shit the bed, what in god’s name did I do?!!
Lyrics of a verbal tirade were hurtled like poo,
In a moment of mental itch,
I accidentally deleted the son of a bitch,
“Rantsâ€, my beloved blog,
Was kicked to the floor like a dog,
An explosion ripped through the internal scripture,
Leaving only skeleton and skin to the picture,
Luckily the angels of FTP sang on high for me,
For my 500+ individual files were still here, though a bit messy,
So now I sit intent to correct, breathing in a slim hope,
And crossing my fingers so as not to again be such a dope,
Though time will be consumed in amounts that are far from small,
And though the work-to-come is quite tall,
With a little luck and some devoted drive,
This blog will reincarnate, new and improved, and alive.…soon.
…
What is the lesson here?
Practice safe sex.
…
I fucked up. BIG time. Now I pay with labor.
t
Walking a foreign city street,
iPod keeping the flowing beat,
a perfect world, it is definitely not,
but this moment is a Elysian spot,
camera bag swinging on the left side,
nothing disrupting my gliding stride,
the hours past have been of shared smiles,
but behind are many solitary miles,
invitations, placations, social modifications,
none of these considerations,
DJ Shadow the rhythmic light,
a perfect world at midnight,
it is an ethereal place I long to be,
no one calling my name…this moment and me.
t
*Head is going to explode,
But at least he has Van Morrison,
Up, down, around and around,
The sense of foundation shivers,
Like a life-sized Jello molded Tower of Babel.
A seat belt would be wise,
But nah, the ride is for him – by him
You might want to click,
Or cliché,
Leaving him to the exterior.
A bumbling idiot delirious with pleasure,
Dancing naked in the snow,
Can’t feel his toes,
Skull warmed by the internal inferno,
Madness makes an enthusiastic blanket.
Memories of liberation twinkling,
Perhaps a hyperbolic thought whose time has passed,
Sensuality in it fullest gratification,
Someone Else lacing the ambience,
Vocalized clicks and beeps through a life-induced haze.
Reach for logic,
End up lost the Woods of Non-Woods,
The map is wrong because there is here…what the hell?,
Pursuing Bacchus, but always finding the question “why?â€
(See * above)
…
t
