Title: FUUUCK
Date: 10/28/2011
I don’t understand where I am. Lyrics I be writing but the rest I am fighting.
Rhyming seems school girl, deconstruct the shit out of that til the divine pooping is nothing more than wasted words, slurred sexual innuendos, attractions animalistic and sometimes I wish I could beat down somebody,
anybody.
I want to make music that lets everyone become overwhelmed with my perceptive pain, my deep wells gone aplundered by fucker after fucker.
How I wish I lip the sweat from your neck and still call you friend in the morning.
Why does sex rule everything? Why does the human species revolve its every motion round procreation. Why do all these people terrify me, less their faces and more there feces, there shit, their feelings. Save me. Myself. I talk to you as if a wiser yogi. I detach myself and straddle the chair and pep talk you like a blue eyed babe, coddled, swaddled. My identity swallowed. I cant contain myself, my scrawny upper body is reeling in envy of muscular lower. I feel my talent untapped, stunted. I feel wasted time but not so, prep period. The calm before the storm except its thunderous right now and my running isn’t the rumble.
My stillness is so loud. And yet ive never felt my heart beat like this its as if my body can speak of whats coming, if only I knew morse code, do figures of the figure my heart is a beaten, a bleating, god a bleeding, violence. Why so much focus, cos I know its wrong, I feel it every where I go. I suffocate in violent thought slewn from others dead beat eyes.
Laughter comes hollow when I know so much violence. And into the art world I retreat.
A mareality I am instating, to flee the disease. But I know already, I am so sure that I will never forget the violence and the hate, I can never forget the hollowed iris, the brutality I have never occipitally perceived but have transcendentally embodied. I am lover and a hater. I am so extreme sometimes and I wonder always if some kind soul will love me, cos I havent met the spirit who guides and gaurds my wells.
Date: 10/28/2011
I don’t understand where I am. Lyrics I be writing but the rest I am fighting.
Rhyming seems school girl, deconstruct the shit out of that til the divine pooping is nothing more than wasted words, slurred sexual innuendos, attractions animalistic and sometimes I wish I could beat down somebody,
anybody.
I want to make music that lets everyone become overwhelmed with my perceptive pain, my deep wells gone aplundered by fucker after fucker.
How I wish I lip the sweat from your neck and still call you friend in the morning.
Why does sex rule everything? Why does the human species revolve its every motion round procreation. Why do all these people terrify me, less their faces and more there feces, there shit, their feelings. Save me. Myself. I talk to you as if a wiser yogi. I detach myself and straddle the chair and pep talk you like a blue eyed babe, coddled, swaddled. My identity swallowed. I cant contain myself, my scrawny upper body is reeling in envy of muscular lower. I feel my talent untapped, stunted. I feel wasted time but not so, prep period. The calm before the storm except its thunderous right now and my running isn’t the rumble.
My stillness is so loud. And yet ive never felt my heart beat like this its as if my body can speak of whats coming, if only I knew morse code, do figures of the figure my heart is a beaten, a bleating, god a bleeding, violence. Why so much focus, cos I know its wrong, I feel it every where I go. I suffocate in violent thought slewn from others dead beat eyes.
Laughter comes hollow when I know so much violence. And into the art world I retreat.
A mareality I am instating, to flee the disease. But I know already, I am so sure that I will never forget the violence and the hate, I can never forget the hollowed iris, the brutality I have never occipitally perceived but have transcendentally embodied. I am lover and a hater. I am so extreme sometimes and I wonder always if some kind soul will love me, cos I havent met the spirit who guides and gaurds my wells.
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