Tonight's question:
Why must I write? Does this somehow legitimize what I think? Is the depth of my mind somehow revealed (or limited) through writing? I don't think writing comes close to the actual madness of thought. I can think things that I, yet, dare not write.
It's a dimension undefined.
It can make mere words seem pathetic useless...thought, speech, writing. Why do I write? I am a writer (I think). I certainly cannot spell.
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Die young die old
it's all same to me
When it's done well
It's done right
and no one is ashamed to be
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Today I reached out and touched suburbia
I want, though, to reach out and touch you
Sleep tight for me
You know you're loved
Sleep tight for me
You know you're loved
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Hear the music. It's so damn appropriate.
Blessed with perfect single light ot the fire.
You become part of a family
Insider or outsider - that is issue one (an example of information lost)
You know it's the right thing to do
Why are you so afraid to join the circus
Watch the machine die
You under the power of the candle
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On Writing
I don't care if it's crap
At least I had the balls to write it
I don't know the day
I don't know the date
I can't see
I am a writer
But I cannot yet see
It doesn't matter since
I am an insect in the forest
I don't do this for a living
this is why I live
I am a writer
and I have something to say
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On Music - Late May 1996
Like satisfaction to the gods
Music comes to me
Envelops me, swallows me whole
Like a love I don't deserve
Music washes over me
Inside me
all around my soul
I worship you
I understand you now
I taste the flavor you offer, and
I smell you notes and rests
In my brain where all matters
I dance for you
So the sun will rise tomorrow
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We are all equal in space and time
My cosmic weight is the same as all individual others'
We balance all on the very same point in space and time
What we see is a snapshop, the tip of the iceberg, a convergence of improbable coincidence
You see, I have a shistory, I have thoughts, I share that with no one
I am the sum of parts that stay hidden from all buy myself (like the inside of the turtle's shell)
But, so are you
I suppose
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Santa Maria Domingo
Please save me from myself
and all I rebell against
Let the world continue without me and my way of being
To wallow like the pigs in the glen
To achieve average - and expect no more, no less
I will always have me and all I stand for
Thinking for the sake of thinking
Being because
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28 May 96
It is indeed a shame
more people never ponder their existence
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I cannot write it
as fast as it is
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God it's good to walk again
I've been so afraid of the outdoors lately
Even though the roses are perfect
I must keep my head
I must write my friends
Sunshine needed
Sunshine for everyone
Even the ruthless girls in Wilmington, Delaware
sunshine in sesperation for mankind
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I'm beginning to think walter's right
About Ray Charles and Boy George
His fox sly look reveals to me that he REALLY knows what's going on
and he's willing to play along if you will
But get him started and
you'll see the joy
he gets when
he can play
with the
big boys
again
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Ronald on the other hand doesn't know you're there
He'd rather be in that other place with the keen view
Sometimes they laugh in conspiracy when they think we're not looking
But they never catch on that we're always looking
And we still cannot keep up
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Well, I've written in my mandatory 4.5 poems tonight. It's time to find some good music to drown ot this horrible ringing.
It's time to trip off into some other plane, where the sun sets low and I am bathed in the orange/raspberry flavor of its rays.
I do believe that I will stop writing and let the panther carry me into her waiting arms. I missed her so...
Good night.
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Don't you just
love that feeling
of finding something you've lost
and have given up finding
It's very much like
receiving a nice gift
...something you've always wanted
But couldn't find
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Sitting in the Fire, 5/31/96
Grooving like the
summer creek
without care or purpose
just doing what is
rather
natural
perfect
Listen to the infectious
sounds
of the intersections
of boys with
the broken necks
close your eyes
let it take you
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A) There are so many thoughts running through my head - like some bizarre auto race where there are no rules or reason - drivers racing every which way...doing what tehy must
I'd love to focus on one-at-a-time, but that is impossible, nonsense.
Should I brush my teeth?
Do I go outside?
Who do I call?
Sometimes there racing thoughts crash, leaving behind many more pieces of "thought shrapnel" to be disposed of - in some manner.
B) When I close my eyes I see nothing - except shapes.
C) My senses are numb yet I am aroused
Perhaps this is what the cicadae feels moments before it arises from its long, dark sleep
So this is my life
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