la fandango.

same old spin on a whole new thing
half a dry vermouth and half a highway fling
don't stop to smell the nitrate, we're vermin on the loose
sprawling scattered shattered cars
and waning winter blues.

same old wrap on a whole new trap
venetian shoulder blades that shun the shoulder strap
with vapor trails that last till your very next breath
we're revving up for dead end drives and
blowing limpid meth.

don't stand up and face it when you can't outrace it
transgression, motherfucker, can you fucking taste it?
my finger's on the clue and the houdini flew
we're stalling for the suspense
and we'll do you in, too.

stop breathe rinse repeat
frolic street, galvanic beat
ringside seat, are you the prized elite?
are you shining shoes for the indiscreet?

when the gutters all die and char the skies
you can read us words from the choking wise
whackshow parish with the god of wounds
if we're brought to our knees
while your heavens rise.

and if you must insist upon the iron fist
of the vengeance of a god we've so dearly missed
we'll submit and stop under the drop of the knife
trashing token locker rules
from our former shocker lives.

we'll take it in stride and honor your pride
we'll speak when spoken to and we'll run and hide
we'll suffer sharp crimson shame and hurt at your hands
we'll pay penance for our ways
as your reverence demands.

and when all's said and done and you've rusted our guns
we shall live and speak and thrive as one
with our distilled souls and lustrated hearts
you will etch our ends and we'll play our parts

and maybe you'll forget in the thrall of your art
that we still possess the means
to rend this apart.

multi-million enterprise.

these new friends like trends are psychedelicious.
still leading gregarious lives vicariously.

yours truly,
forever haunted by the spirit of the stairway.

homewreckers versus homerunners.

same old spin on a whole new thing.

only complete blindness can bring around
a new world order under the sound.

today seems as good a day as any, same old sunshine and same old stratus driven by the winds of consistence.

fifteen seconds.

ersatz something else of nothing less with tequila and gin.
i sold my soul to the devil but he failed to read the finer print.

dislocate.

sick and tired of wanting to be one of those wunderkind kids with some underlined luck, with their steadfast mantras of everyday a little prayer everyday a little fuck. been drawn; with coal, or like mayflies to a sweeter summer to this ideology. preaching an anthem stilled out with the dots and dashes of silence. i'm a one wit blunder. my love still goes out to the kids with their heads in the clouds but with their hearts in the right place. it's so easy to forget we're all held fast by the frailest strings spun by relative perception alone.

i hope you never.

es muss sein.

been cozied up into nightfalls like safety blankets from a sweeter life. i feel overexposed in the sunshine; everything turned out blank and white. all i ever did was build a tower of cards out of my winning hand.

we love making mistakes we can count on to trip over. we all want to fuck the messiah and forget the message. we only want to be able to breathe in time with the swift, passing days. we crave the negative as much as we seek out the positive.

you call it balance; i call it being with you.

mouse in manhattan.

ran off down smoke-shrouded roads and empty lightspots last weekend, only to be blinded by phosphenes and star-crossed supernovas. but then again, all the sleeper hits i'd written (off) were comatose.

i'm not earning all of it back, but i'm scavenging.

there
is
nothing
out
there
that
cannot
be
mine.

good, take that thought and hold on tight. keep feeding the dying light.

vertebrae.

so it's a monday. not that anybody's keeping track. day of the moon, lunar daybreak, first day of the week but of nothing really new. last year was a stilt-and-run of slate grey afternoons fading into mimosa sunsets. sunbursts against velvet skies of city lights falling on evening eyes. making up excuses on the whim of the minute and buying myself handfuls of spared time. maybe that's all it ever was, borrowed time and borrowed pages from some other story i started on but hit a wall with. those days when i was growing a spine just to hear it snap.

sometimes i want all of it back. sometimes i want something even better.

1) get a dog, 2) name the dog chuck palahniuk, 3) have lengthy conversations with chuck palahniuk over a cup of coffee.

looking for an answer is the easy cop out. living with the question is doing it the hard way. i've always tended to get lost in shortcuts.

i can't function when i can't hear you live. i need those million dollars.

moving houses or moving bodies; i'm always doing it alone.

fundamentally. rhetorically. i miss her and i used to dream of breathing. nowadays, i don't dream of anything but videogames.

game over, insert coin?

i wish i hadn't thought of that.

sometimes you even pause to wonder;
do the rock stars with the chart-breaking, heart-topping, 'i miss you' songs on mtv ever really get their babies back?

i hope they don't care.

fractalize.

you are nothing but the first in a long line of never-get-betters. posterchildren for the utterly screwed. lemmings in therapy. lifesavers in davey jones's locker. eloping with words right, left, and center but never holding them down long enough to play wedding bands. one night verbal stands and empty fingers on empty hands. i find it impossible to face sunrises and sunsets all by myself. carpe diem, and you can grasp with all your dying fingers but you can't seize yesterday.

discovering that you've lost the map.

i made millions of wishes on millions of falling stars and then realized that i had none left to steer by.