Pallid sense

And what stares back?

Years left at the bottom of the ocean. the eloqunce aged. left. to bloom in quiet corners where the sunshine creeps past the malcontent. the memories of who we were when the shape took.

The names.

Faded.

Yearning for the abyss, but the darkness isn't ready.

Never was.

Never is in this time of orchid men.

And so we carry on forgiving. trying to, at least. breaking waves one after the next until one day we can rest and be swallowed.

Whole, again.
A Delicate Sense of Balance.mp3

Rust cowboy

Show me the fucking magic, man. slight handed faggots fanning malfeasance for the sense of fitting in the rank. the filed the fuck away to postmodern melee. outcast and incestuous. prim and preening for the pleasure of alienating ends.

After the riot.

After the rise.

After the wall came down on paris embers and culture cowed to the second, third and future sex fiends if only in the dying cathode age.

Advertising lisp memes. syndicate and shit storms swallowed up by the midwest from all fucking east pointing sick and inchoate to the sunny, shoring aesthetes wondering just how quiet they have to be to finally welcome a noble death in the eyes of a loveless country.

Like the old washed radicals said.

But we're still onto other things.

Still scared to death of the imminent threat of sandy, windburned offerings. black blood. burkas. bitter almond and the wide array of bombs to mark the next great war at home.

Until then, fuck 'em.

And the once fiery revolution that left the love in liars fucking ash.
Rednecks And Ragheads.mp3