2002-01-28 - 11:03 PM
Turtleneck (Spontaneous Musings By Moi)
Earlier today, I started typing out random thoughts and quotes (some turned into rhyme). These sort of things just kind of come out of the air and fall into our laps. Scary how that goes. But in any case, here they are, as obscure as they seem, and uncut, raw as they came. Enjoy - take from it, what you will.
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I want a heavy insulation, to shield me from the seasonal flu...that despite my skins, will find ways through. And yet somehow, sometimes I think...somewhere the cold needs shield from you.
You own those men who own those lips that your lips did pray and kiss. Pressed and fixed upon a bliss, that one day will own you, and alone you'll miss...You can't ask me how I'm doing. You can't own my worth. Attempt to tempt my will again...then in death, a heart finds birth.
Never question how the dust weasles into your home. Never complain about the measles in your bone. Because I'm sorry I never argued with you, when you used to say I loved you. I should've had the words to say it myself. My heart just grew too old, too fast. Tears would prove the sickness in my chest would last.
Spoken sunshine sound you'd speak, soaked in warmth and placid beach - that then turned torrid and all got scorched. Our love lived and died, from the same torch......I'd sit and wait for air, wondered if 'Forever' would be alone, 'cause if hope just springs eternal - that's all 'Forever'd own.
I yearn to yawn, can't wait to dream...because I have this thing inside, a soul that's half not mine...I need to see her. I need to dream. I need to give my reason back her rhyme.
Sweet certainty, my fair-weather friend. Fade it in and out like flicker-fire flames, or feigning phantoms in the dark. For here I start, and here I stand, uncertain of what I've become, when you're gone. And you keep leaving me.
Change is on the breeze. Just follow the leaves.
In a restless world, I'm king and monarch. Turning about in my turn-about. Citizen of the sky, that falls with the stardust - every once in awhile, to Earth. Like I heard once on the phono, I'll end up as the "soot and stars". Some say I'm pretty powerful; I know I'm pretty weak.
I remember you quoting that song. I've since gone on to burn my copies of it - turning off the FM whenever it comes on. You see, I hate those writers, who think they know it all. Perhaps, it's all due to the fact, that yeah - maybe they do. Or else they find a way to be beautifully wrong.
I like your style. I'm not a child. Susan's off in bed, with the stars in her head. Andy's on his own. Sometimes I like to think they dream of one another.
The urgency made this flower wilt. I started playing bits of guitar pieces, long before it grew. But all were made for you, well within the spirit, of what made you special. In life, the garden's not necessity, but the flower is essential.
Stop for a moment, think before you act. Once you do, take for the stage - break a leg, and maybe a heart while you're at it.
The world is slow. The spin is slow. But the sunset learned to ride, ride out on the rivers. I took a dip, and just had to shake the stars in my hair. The dust, the moon - it all fell down, all laid out, all fell out of my head. It's been a slow night.
The air smells sweet, sometimes sort of sour - living in a suburban town, outside city grounds. My paper scrawls etch into the wind, wall whispers of I love you. Is it all so sweet and sour?
