Saturday, June 02, 2007
Losing my way (in spite of the disco light...)
"Man In Black"
Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.
I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.
I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.
Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.
I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.
And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.
Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.
Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter, I'm the Man In Black.
Last of the very true American Hero's
Back home in hot as fuck sin city late, late sunday night.
Back to bills, work, and crap, crap, crap....
Devil and I
We sat there...
that motherfucker and I...
staring each other down.
Neither giving in.
I smiled and he just looked back, stone faced.
This went on for a good twenty minuets.
Reaching out I grab his right nipple and twist hard.
He lets out a girlish yelp and we both break down laughing.
The devil and I,
Laughing until the back of our heads hurt and tears roll down the face.
Breaking the silence a telephone rings and all is dead quiet.
All is serious.
And the night ends with the answering machine picking up to a hang up caller.
The crazy ones.
Love to hear themselves talk.
Not excluding myself of course.
The mission in life: Tell a fucked up "My life" story.
Pretend there is a humor to it and laugh like an idiot as the listening party sits shocked.
Hopefully when it's all over...
We all need the therapy.
going at it alone.
This body of mine.
Very clumsy and kind of fat.
Keeps me at bay.
I am the king and feigning intelligence.
Just ask me.
I sit on top of a gigantic metaphorical mountain,
waving to my friends...
my support system.
I wave and...
those bastards walk away.
I will brave the harsh lonely nights.
The words sharp as daggers dipped in a poison by every creature that spits them my way.
The contempt and hate given to me by so called family, friends, lovers, etc.
I will flex my fat and shield up with my pseudo intelligence.
Fight the good fight for the bad guy.
And somehow even when I am losing I will someday win.
At least once before you fuckers do me in.
Fire is burning
The last time I saw those eyes.
My heart flat lined and not a single soul saved me.
But, the hard part was...
Still walking around.
Pretending to live.
The food had no taste.
Music had no poetry and the poetry had a lack of music.
Color dropped off into a black, white and gray world.
Truth be known, I should have known better.
All love has ruined me.
I am no longer a man.
The poetry is gone from my heart.
The music is gone from my soul.
The color is washed away leaving me trapped in a perpetual silent film.
The taste of life is bland and I only swallow so I can keep walking.
Taking up space.
They will never love any of you as I loved you.
And they will never ruin for you.
They keep on living,
While I creep on...
A caricature of the living dead.
If you enjoyed tonights ramblings...
"Right on... Thanks, How woefully kind of you"
"I know someone you can go fuck....... yourself."
How can you save me when you can't save yourself?
"nothing can save
it keeps the walls
— Charles Bukowski
it keeps the walls
— Charles Bukowski