1) Final Days
"Mastadons! The empiricist is cutting the folks on the sledge. In the strangling depths of reunion, paradigm crinkles and the acid wash fleets. The pounding daze upon which we've been thrown is beating in the twilight: Alone and perceiving the end of nocturnal social gallantries. Abroad and abroad the ship that goes over, perpetuates in random sense and time the stones of the future; a blink in the eyes that count eons.
Your peace is still, do deserve it. The powers that be are obnoxious, perpetuating madness, the ending:
We are doomed and have no escape.
But, the beginning was yet to come. The eyes of inspection were furrowed in the mid-tempo strait of malignance. Blind blue eyes in cedar night shining with unmistaking depth of purpose. Slipping relief as the boughs shake and drop us on ourselves. We eat words and they feed our beings. Frost in our hearts, the burning insidious burning, open throats wheeze at the stench. Perpetuating meaningless nonsense, the void in which we sleep and drown. The pools of sand coated flesh and the corresponding eyes.
The sky was torn down in such a hurry. Those merciless blanks that swoop abide in the fires of meaning and demise. There on the mornings waking did the plaster dreams hollow and whisk us away in delusionary fits. Then, there was no remembering: just wicked feats of abbreviated juncture in mounting karmic debts that seal our senses and open our mouths.
Perimeters amid the dust and vomit persuade the persuasive, challenging their thoughts while their fears grow eyes, go limply choking into darkened holes. Things that they've made, things that they've played, things that they've laid and said.
The scenery is embellished, post-human and grey. Days have grown longer and darker and colder. Tuesday might be a hundred years from now.
The dawn is on fire. Creatures awake to the burning and find that it is only sensory: Media shocks above the billboard lights drowning us all in flame and prediction. Endings are just recycled beginnings.
In the morning, the sirens will still be wailing: the shrieking metals ghosts that haunt their screams. Words of display and convenience: a sword in the side of freedom in the name of justice and commerce and systematic nosiness.
Perils of unmistaken doom, forecasting in the inevitable flashing lights of trouble that are too late a warning. Passengers exceeded the risk and broke out the depths for the mystery to incorporate the future, quiet down and rest amongst the grasses in the dusk that fills the sun with longing for a fertile earth. Immaculate suns, the stars, that distant burn as creatures that can only see darkness. Determining eyes that won't see the end as they melt across the time space continuum and explode into solar systems. Minds are not aware this has happened. Its all too big to talk about anyway. Words just wouldn't allow it.
2) The Reflecting Pool
Superstitious periscopes, the dirt in their eyes. Sunbeam in retrospective and the lies of these crimes. Perpetual debt and longing for the clouds to blind our sights, to take us back down stream through the blissful oasis and out to sea on a raft fashioned from the last standing building.
When dormant soils took back dreaming, fed to the earth like waste in these still sands and waters the vines creep softly amidst swallowing unsuspecting fools drowned in the stagnant wilds. The impertinence of unknown tides, wide blankets of mist across the sky--meaning lost in dysfunction of time. Our feats were conquered, corrected. The dust in these eyes knows that sight is just a sense and hear them crying for home.
3) In The Words Of Asteroids
The games were over and saddle was blackened with soil. Then in the east there arose such a clatter. Dawn was breaking again. Sounds of the ringing sarcastic laughter reached my ears as i went to sleep. in dreams without i had spent too long and my likeness was smeared across the wall, dripping in tyrannical whispers and it seemed to have ears and eyes,
The suspicion of dusk passed through and the context faded. There is no hope without winning. Pieces of tattered endearment strike the match and I too am wasting. Fury for the crutch that laid me here. My eyes wider open, unwilling to see. The mockery of freedom and emotion, I have exceeded in a place far beyond the stretches of this earth. But in time, even the sun fades and this indifferent chemical reaction turns us into stars. Feats of unrecognized expanse where life has different meaning. Amidst the consciousness of giant gaseous stars are the memories of our sun's supernova, which is bound to happen again sometime.
Galaxies fade and are swallowed up or exploded they'd say. But they aren't hear anymore, so they don't have much of a say. The people in charge of things knew it would happen but they didn't much care because it couldn't be helped. Cleared at the ending bell and raptures of solar wind tore me apart and blew my bits into the asteroid belt.
One of the most unpredictable rocks in all of space and the cause of mass extinctions. Hope so dreary for mortals but atmosphere clouds their ways. In the midst of all the turmoil, there's a target. Time is counted in eons and patience is enduring freedom. Empires have nothing on this vast open mind of some yet unknown super-being. Within these voids, there is fulfillment and in the absence of time, I do my best to carry these spores home. When I crash, I'll leave my mark in the form of a seed or a spark.
Through the distant realms of chaos, the beating of hearts never ceases.
"Mastadons! The empiricist is cutting the folks on the sledge. In the strangling depths of reunion, paradigm crinkles and the acid wash fleets. The pounding daze upon which we've been thrown is beating in the twilight: Alone and perceiving the end of nocturnal social gallantries. Abroad and abroad the ship that goes over, perpetuates in random sense and time the stones of the future; a blink in the eyes that count eons.
Your peace is still, do deserve it. The powers that be are obnoxious, perpetuating madness, the ending:
We are doomed and have no escape.
But, the beginning was yet to come. The eyes of inspection were furrowed in the mid-tempo strait of malignance. Blind blue eyes in cedar night shining with unmistaking depth of purpose. Slipping relief as the boughs shake and drop us on ourselves. We eat words and they feed our beings. Frost in our hearts, the burning insidious burning, open throats wheeze at the stench. Perpetuating meaningless nonsense, the void in which we sleep and drown. The pools of sand coated flesh and the corresponding eyes.
The sky was torn down in such a hurry. Those merciless blanks that swoop abide in the fires of meaning and demise. There on the mornings waking did the plaster dreams hollow and whisk us away in delusionary fits. Then, there was no remembering: just wicked feats of abbreviated juncture in mounting karmic debts that seal our senses and open our mouths.
Perimeters amid the dust and vomit persuade the persuasive, challenging their thoughts while their fears grow eyes, go limply choking into darkened holes. Things that they've made, things that they've played, things that they've laid and said.
The scenery is embellished, post-human and grey. Days have grown longer and darker and colder. Tuesday might be a hundred years from now.
The dawn is on fire. Creatures awake to the burning and find that it is only sensory: Media shocks above the billboard lights drowning us all in flame and prediction. Endings are just recycled beginnings.
In the morning, the sirens will still be wailing: the shrieking metals ghosts that haunt their screams. Words of display and convenience: a sword in the side of freedom in the name of justice and commerce and systematic nosiness.
Perils of unmistaken doom, forecasting in the inevitable flashing lights of trouble that are too late a warning. Passengers exceeded the risk and broke out the depths for the mystery to incorporate the future, quiet down and rest amongst the grasses in the dusk that fills the sun with longing for a fertile earth. Immaculate suns, the stars, that distant burn as creatures that can only see darkness. Determining eyes that won't see the end as they melt across the time space continuum and explode into solar systems. Minds are not aware this has happened. Its all too big to talk about anyway. Words just wouldn't allow it.
2) The Reflecting Pool
Superstitious periscopes, the dirt in their eyes. Sunbeam in retrospective and the lies of these crimes. Perpetual debt and longing for the clouds to blind our sights, to take us back down stream through the blissful oasis and out to sea on a raft fashioned from the last standing building.
When dormant soils took back dreaming, fed to the earth like waste in these still sands and waters the vines creep softly amidst swallowing unsuspecting fools drowned in the stagnant wilds. The impertinence of unknown tides, wide blankets of mist across the sky--meaning lost in dysfunction of time. Our feats were conquered, corrected. The dust in these eyes knows that sight is just a sense and hear them crying for home.
3) In The Words Of Asteroids
The games were over and saddle was blackened with soil. Then in the east there arose such a clatter. Dawn was breaking again. Sounds of the ringing sarcastic laughter reached my ears as i went to sleep. in dreams without i had spent too long and my likeness was smeared across the wall, dripping in tyrannical whispers and it seemed to have ears and eyes,
The suspicion of dusk passed through and the context faded. There is no hope without winning. Pieces of tattered endearment strike the match and I too am wasting. Fury for the crutch that laid me here. My eyes wider open, unwilling to see. The mockery of freedom and emotion, I have exceeded in a place far beyond the stretches of this earth. But in time, even the sun fades and this indifferent chemical reaction turns us into stars. Feats of unrecognized expanse where life has different meaning. Amidst the consciousness of giant gaseous stars are the memories of our sun's supernova, which is bound to happen again sometime.
Galaxies fade and are swallowed up or exploded they'd say. But they aren't hear anymore, so they don't have much of a say. The people in charge of things knew it would happen but they didn't much care because it couldn't be helped. Cleared at the ending bell and raptures of solar wind tore me apart and blew my bits into the asteroid belt.
One of the most unpredictable rocks in all of space and the cause of mass extinctions. Hope so dreary for mortals but atmosphere clouds their ways. In the midst of all the turmoil, there's a target. Time is counted in eons and patience is enduring freedom. Empires have nothing on this vast open mind of some yet unknown super-being. Within these voids, there is fulfillment and in the absence of time, I do my best to carry these spores home. When I crash, I'll leave my mark in the form of a seed or a spark.
Through the distant realms of chaos, the beating of hearts never ceases.
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