Because I needed a second post before November ended.
Welcome to the show,
Stand up and drink it in,
We'll film it blow by blow,
We'll coat your soul in sin.
This is the new stage,
This is the broken score,
And the symphony is fading...
One breaks forth and we all turn north,
The show is overrun,
Fiends with faces from foreign places,
Our litany is struck dumb.
Why don't we head backstage?
Your chance to meet the star,
They're simply all the rage,
They've travelled near and far,
They are the new disease,
They always aim to please,
And they've got everything you wanted...
Two break forth and we all turn north,
The show is overrun,
Fiends with faces, foreign places,
Hide from breath that makes you numb,
And I'm not sure if I made the right choice,
And I'm not sure if you speak with my voice,
But that choice and voice are mine!
Three break forth and we all turn north,
Show is overrun,
Fiends with faces from foreign places,
The star breaks free, not overcome.
The breath blows by and leaves me numb,
And I stand tall and eat the sun.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Offerings Demanded
Ollie posted twice, the asshole. I'm not going to post twice. I'm going to post some stuff about my real life situation as per usual, and then I'm going to write something in italics. But to cut the real life stuff shorter, I'm going to do them in short sharp sentences. This'll prevent my usual rambling, I hope. Or turn it into something resembling
We've moved into a new house.
Blue couch, white walls, tiny fridge.
A place to smoke, a place to joke,
A place to feel trapped and pace about the place.
Internet's back, which is nice.
Hardwired into the core again,
Information sleeting past so fast,
Doesn't allow me time to stop and think.
Everything is done. The submission is in.
There's time to wait and worry about satisfaction.
And wish that you were drunk,
Or in a car, or on a train,
Or trying to remember who you were and what you wanted,
Before you moved in.
And then I shrug my shoulders and laugh and eat some chocolate.
And everything's alright again.
Tilting back on the axis of my life and letting me feel balanced.
I still worry somewhat the things I'm neglecting.
But everything is doing okay.
Family seem to miss me, which isn't very good.
Friendships are on hold, because of exams.
But I live and I love and I have something new.
And it seems to be what I want.
That'll do, right? I've summed up what I need to say.
Oh, also. I've lived here for a year now.
In Melbourne, that is, not in this house.
So the following is very loosely about that.
And in another sense, it isn't about that at all.
It's called Offerings Demanded.
My stuff doesn't often have decent titles these days.
But I quite like this one.
Offerings Demanded
I read today, about a
strong woman who could beat
her head against the wall while others watched
and didn't lift a finger,
and didn't care for her pain,
and didn't even care enough to laugh at her -
and keep smiling. I wasn't sure how exactly
that was supposed to make her strong.
It seemed stupid.
I think I'm a lot like that woman. Only
I don't think I'd be capable of suffering
that much
unless I knew that somebody was watching
and caring for it. For me, somehow.
Three hundred and sixty-five days
have gone past. I've seen myself looking back
from within the haze
of exhaustion
the steely-grey glimmer
of excitement
the smooth-skinned delight
of vanity
and the ugly-red mist
of anger.
I've seen myself in the mirror
and I've seen it all change, shifting
ever so slowly to the better
half of what it was supposed to be
or something.
Shifting from the person who stood and watched
and didn't care enough to laugh
or lift a finger to help,
or even to pay much attention
shifting from him, from that cold, cruel gaze
from those grasping hands
from that steely-grey haze
from everything that he was while he watched.
Shifting
to the woman who could beat her head against the wall
and keep smiling
because on the other side of that wall
is something that she cares about
more than herself, and the
meat that keeps herself in her body
and the bones that keep her meat together
and the face that lets us see her soul.
There's something that she cares about
that allows her to hurt herself,
to reach deep inside herself and
drag something out
it's a fire
I'm a fire
and I'm burning
for what's on the other side of that wall
and you're watching.
Don't stop watching.
I need to know that somebody is.
Or I'll stop
shifting
Into eyes
I can meet in the meat
in the mirror.
We've moved into a new house.
Blue couch, white walls, tiny fridge.
A place to smoke, a place to joke,
A place to feel trapped and pace about the place.
Internet's back, which is nice.
Hardwired into the core again,
Information sleeting past so fast,
Doesn't allow me time to stop and think.
Everything is done. The submission is in.
There's time to wait and worry about satisfaction.
And wish that you were drunk,
Or in a car, or on a train,
Or trying to remember who you were and what you wanted,
Before you moved in.
And then I shrug my shoulders and laugh and eat some chocolate.
And everything's alright again.
Tilting back on the axis of my life and letting me feel balanced.
I still worry somewhat the things I'm neglecting.
But everything is doing okay.
Family seem to miss me, which isn't very good.
Friendships are on hold, because of exams.
But I live and I love and I have something new.
And it seems to be what I want.
That'll do, right? I've summed up what I need to say.
Oh, also. I've lived here for a year now.
In Melbourne, that is, not in this house.
So the following is very loosely about that.
And in another sense, it isn't about that at all.
It's called Offerings Demanded.
My stuff doesn't often have decent titles these days.
But I quite like this one.
Offerings Demanded
I read today, about a
strong woman who could beat
her head against the wall while others watched
and didn't lift a finger,
and didn't care for her pain,
and didn't even care enough to laugh at her -
and keep smiling. I wasn't sure how exactly
that was supposed to make her strong.
It seemed stupid.
I think I'm a lot like that woman. Only
I don't think I'd be capable of suffering
that much
unless I knew that somebody was watching
and caring for it. For me, somehow.
Three hundred and sixty-five days
have gone past. I've seen myself looking back
from within the haze
of exhaustion
the steely-grey glimmer
of excitement
the smooth-skinned delight
of vanity
and the ugly-red mist
of anger.
I've seen myself in the mirror
and I've seen it all change, shifting
ever so slowly to the better
half of what it was supposed to be
or something.
Shifting from the person who stood and watched
and didn't care enough to laugh
or lift a finger to help,
or even to pay much attention
shifting from him, from that cold, cruel gaze
from those grasping hands
from that steely-grey haze
from everything that he was while he watched.
Shifting
to the woman who could beat her head against the wall
and keep smiling
because on the other side of that wall
is something that she cares about
more than herself, and the
meat that keeps herself in her body
and the bones that keep her meat together
and the face that lets us see her soul.
There's something that she cares about
that allows her to hurt herself,
to reach deep inside herself and
drag something out
it's a fire
I'm a fire
and I'm burning
for what's on the other side of that wall
and you're watching.
Don't stop watching.
I need to know that somebody is.
Or I'll stop
shifting
Into eyes
I can meet in the meat
in the mirror.
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