08.Dec.2003

this has to be, by far, my favorite Goldfrapp song

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make his eyes see forever

"I dream of a time when waking up feels good."

... one hand on the martyr slip, teeth pulling on the Oedipal skirt, and I know you're a possession of the world, and I know you're no possession of mine.

And, tell me about it. When I wake up in the bright, sunny mornings, it's always welcomed with, "Ouch, my abs." and "Oh, God, my triceps." and "What did I do to my quads last night ..." promptly followed by "Where's my sense of self-respect?" and "And my warmth?" and "Not to mention my sanity?" and "Where the fuck are my keys?"

Everything's always alright, Soldier, regardless if it's the alright you didn't want it to be.

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Fixing my piano bench earlier tonight, I shoveled through the scads of music sheets my mother left inside of the hood. There are songs she wrote the year I was born, the indelible scribbling of her feminine handwriting, B-flats, Gs, Ds, Diana Ross songs, The Summer of '42 score, The Beatles, Neil Diamond, lyrics she etched in the seventies, the eighties, and I want to know why she let it go, when this, regardless of debatable caliber, is the one thing that drags my throbbing muscles out of bed.

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I sway my hips when I move, but I'm still the walking clich�.

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Clear. Purified. I think of nothing every time I do this. Tonight, immersed with the crimsons of broken sustenance, I heard a voice repeating "Very cute.", and it was the most realistic thing I've heard today.

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This house is huge and vacant; I've been filling every room with Felt Mountain since five this evening.

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Fascist baby.

Utopia.

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time & machine