It doesn't matter how many times you've said it. today. this week. this month. a year and a lifetime.
There and now.
In the shadows of a corner wishing everything could just end and leave that sound the last human moment.
By the tearing light of a lost photograph.
With every ounce and mean you can muster.
To every sweet and imperfect end.
Say it again.
On the Mouth.mp3
2.14.2008
2.13.2008
The hard step takes
One day they'll stop listening to the jesus and mary chain. one day they'll just sing it. get the joke and fuck it for glee just like their folks did back when there was still a bit of hippie left in them.
The kind you always heard about.
The acid tests. the love ins. the burnt bra screaming long and lofty against the system. stolen books and afrocentric detroit madmen tearing american flags down from their place on the hill and into the hearts of every last, long haired revolutionary who thought the black experience was a shared one.
Who wanted to kiss openly. who wanted to fuck and fight for a reason just be alive in a place where there were still dreams to be made in simple men. uncoded women. children bare as the day god invented his image and let the mold break and fall for the thousands upon thousands upon thousands. screaming monkeys who would one day inherit the earth from the patterns, puritan and played.
A land of makeshift abbeys and suffering the likes of which an old dead queen once cornered.
HERESY!
Cornfed and blood soaked. they made molehills of the plains. shaped the forms of a new history from the skins of wide-eyed savagery. pissed in the holy water and let loose the terrified ethos that to have was the greatest sin sniveling man could achieve.
So why not hold them all?
Why not rape the sage and leave the soothsaying to less prosperous divinations from the cold wind over the sea?
After all they saw it coming. all the flowers and coupling. all the white noise conventions.
The saw the blue screen calling the end of the road and they tore a hole right through it sendind generation after generation into a tailspin of anger and apathy that'd assure us all dark homes in the future.
But they tried, didn't they?
With flowers and marches and arm in arm against the impossible force just fucking singing.
That was enough then.
Sometimes, it still might be.
Life on the Line.mp3
The kind you always heard about.
The acid tests. the love ins. the burnt bra screaming long and lofty against the system. stolen books and afrocentric detroit madmen tearing american flags down from their place on the hill and into the hearts of every last, long haired revolutionary who thought the black experience was a shared one.
Who wanted to kiss openly. who wanted to fuck and fight for a reason just be alive in a place where there were still dreams to be made in simple men. uncoded women. children bare as the day god invented his image and let the mold break and fall for the thousands upon thousands upon thousands. screaming monkeys who would one day inherit the earth from the patterns, puritan and played.
A land of makeshift abbeys and suffering the likes of which an old dead queen once cornered.
HERESY!
Cornfed and blood soaked. they made molehills of the plains. shaped the forms of a new history from the skins of wide-eyed savagery. pissed in the holy water and let loose the terrified ethos that to have was the greatest sin sniveling man could achieve.
So why not hold them all?
Why not rape the sage and leave the soothsaying to less prosperous divinations from the cold wind over the sea?
After all they saw it coming. all the flowers and coupling. all the white noise conventions.
The saw the blue screen calling the end of the road and they tore a hole right through it sendind generation after generation into a tailspin of anger and apathy that'd assure us all dark homes in the future.
But they tried, didn't they?
With flowers and marches and arm in arm against the impossible force just fucking singing.
That was enough then.
Sometimes, it still might be.
Life on the Line.mp3
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