Monday

Not trying to impress

It's around the base of a tree and I expect you to meditate on it. That’s what the dig was for, you’re hair is too long and there is temptation a little past the normal DRIVE. Sick and conquer.

The train was a vehicle, dumbfounded by your basic understanding of physics; I ask how far the trajectory will take us- out of the bubble, that’s the idea. When you’re only calendar is from 1985, there is only so much confusion you can legally project onto my lack of grasp. You both pulled me into something you don’t even know about and to watch the product in a bizarro experience of racial outpost, you brought me to the roof and nothing will ever be so good. But in the whiskey driven quips, I see what I’m conflicted with and the old man is a challenge I might have not been ready to accept. The looks of clear profiling, scanning and appeal- we’re blind to it out of a universal benefit, but again, only human and sort of out there. Things happen. Told to tie it together, but that seems the most daunting. The sage burned so nice when he told me there was maybe a real thing, but the jolly Joe blinds a little girl with grandeur and expectations. Things only placed by her nativity. We have no idea what you know and to be on the streets with real things, buy an outcast, you better start minding the gap.

Friday

Paint

[picture credit- Kevin Crouse]


Hank’s old man tin can played on the sounds of a looping similarity. Honey in the veins of nothing close to sleeping, chaos and inquiry- some times too curious. Moments of indecent silence and a want for company in the meek morning maybe dream. Flags bearing some prior historical significance are a fashion statement for posed tolerance. You dig it because it is politically incorrect, misjudged amplitude of reason. Treason in the breaking down, showing through opacity reaching maximum capacity. Deviation from the prose, receiving only what you asked for because it’s your time now- damp dawn with some fucked up song of old remorse. It’s an awareness for repetition; join the coalition, lost in some static voice. Here by choice, the shoreline isn’t a viable option. Wanting to share a craft, daft in the way you show broad interest. He’s here only to narrow some interest and be that man gravity favored. Orbiting something fierce, we’ll see how long it lasts.


Monday

Watching it kick your ass

The way they fall and kiss the sand. Totally consumed by this amorous adventure, hidden away in something intangible. There is wilderness in the most archaic sense just outside the walls of Eden. We read the Russians, ogling at her glorious superiority, melancholy so handsome we are reached universally. Jive baby and hear the sounds in your head, from a past life, from an old place. Flitting, fleeting in such organics- a shit label to boost consumption. Sound is caught on the bricks being sold on the fourth floor, whiskey in the drains and you’re bare ass it in the wind. HEY! You are desired, you are required and I am acquitting you. The devil is far-gone from here, the temptation will be here until the morning, every morning only to return for due seduction in the elemental reduction. Your mind, it is another and it is nothing. Repeat yourself and make the real shit a joke, it’s easier and we are laughing. Always, laughing. The birds are busy in the face of such joyous repentance. Here for rebirth and receiving, instead, the eternal post-here. Pseudo-reality, post-neo classics, make love to the tree. Make love to the thing; be ever-there and never totally here. It is too impossible for us to imagine that, grasp that. I implore you to only play with the game you have got- watching the cogs do their sound. Green in nothing, totally removed and totally enthralled in what is so over my head. Blow what I’ve got, that is why you are here. Absorb something.

Wednesday

Some Icke shit

Shit is so good and the moon is so fine.

Made love to the thing

This is beyond safety. This is beyond reality. Sell yourself to something else and see how well the world puts out. My body, the body- it’s on fire. Corporeal, unreal, jiving to something completely different, removed from what there was at that time- present in what there is right now. Coursing, the seven sins. Confusion and absolution- animalistic down to the intrinsic value, I put forth nothing but what I am. Fundamental, intellectual- pseudo being and the lunar baby, scary beautiful. Silence baby, it’s a commodity. We’re all absorbing, my name is Casa Nova. Unreal because it is SO real, I am shaking and I am loving something heavy. You’ve brought music with you, it is in me and a smile so strung out. Green in places it’s been before and color where it ain’t never gone. Let me bounce off you, it’s jeering- we’re jovial it’s juvenile. It should always be right now, right now, right now. Right now. This is cohesive and no one is coherent, totally in awe of this very moment, this very right now thing. It’s in my fucking hands, it’s seeping through and running down my back. It’s a perfectly human flaw, contentment. That’s why the moon is so- you can see the flaws, they’re right there and you can touch them. They are all consuming and ever present. EVER PRESENT. Your sound is stuck in my head, it’s reverberating off all the wells, cinderblocks and brick. Deafening, total vexation in the midst of your sex. What have you got to give to her, they’re putting on a show for you and can’t you see the insecurity. That- that is ever present and it shows through their façade, leaking in the way my moment is running down my back like sweat. Decay doing something cool to my living, it’s breathing in a new sense- we’ve died and returned, rejected by the light and retreating to the night. Sound everywhere. Voice everywhere. Being everywhere, many times at once- many things at once.

Saturday

Blooma

Bill will set you free. He will, dear Bill- the boy with all the marbles and nothing in his head but lysergic bliss. Acid, opium and beer.

Opium Den

It’s some serious shit around here. Idyllic absolution in total disorientation. Unfamiliar territory but old grown essentials. Supremely beautiful, dwarfed in comparison and beyond any explanation. A glowing, an embodiment of everything erotic, sensual; drawn away to fawn over something misconstrued- we all know curiosity killed the cat. Wrapping, setting something free with your rapping. Opinions mean nothing and intrinsic value is lost in serious vexation- awe in the place with the thing. What are you doing? Confusing in the break down, jiving to conclusions far past the original intentions. Pure are heart and organic as fuck, we suck the very last bit, ducking into the womb of something exotic. Totally into and totally lost with more direction that we’ve ever seen together. A collection of producers, masons and holy-grail mavericks.

Wednesday

Shine on

We’re in this thing, a new age of prosthetics. Ride the pig towards a bending of their rule. Plato is probably rolling in his grave, saying fuck you. Some things are just making so much sense. I am overwhelmed the possibility of the totally certain. Every part, on fire- this is serious business and I can’t stand straight. Minutes blink in the eyes of a connoisseur- French spit on the lettered trays. Not even conscious, it’s killing every moment of the days, with a concept of time there is so much well in the womb. A congested corrugation in the cliffs of the diluted- caught in the transitions of worlds. Walkways and beaten muses, there are leaps to something concrete. Poetic in nature, the novels write their way to a repeat- sheltered joys. Something cute in the reverb.

Sunday

Clothing Optional Hall

It’s embarrassing how dumbstruck I am, we are the sons of man. Beyond the basic interpretation, things are reaching so past anything conceivable. There is something so serious in the practice of inexperience and serious dumbification. Multiplication in the anxieties, beautiful among all the rest. The euphoric test, a fairy and the base. Send me a line and drop in another. Into the trees it’s turning and through field of organized crop. Something remotely primal, disrupt everything and make the balance.

Friday

X on the left hand

We're running on fumes, locks mean nothing and the company glows. It's jiving to a whole new beat and there is so much at the meeting place. I guess we're running and it's going to have to happen. Aches and pain in the post-summer rain. Glancing at the gingers in a domesticated dream, it's friendly and charming- I dig the brain. All encompassing nonsense and mutual dissociative relations. Nowhere grounded, but nothing in shame. Bearing it all, preparing for something of good fortune. Jumping at it's finest.
Palm for beer, a full circle act with continues ramifications. Open to all, we're testing the waters. Dosing the police and running from ramifications, all just jolly and in control. Of nothing. Junky, baby- we're in the falling apart. It's old and relaxed, a comfort-level too much in imagination. Procreation blocked by the skateboard. All night, it's a dream place.

Thursday

Ya dig, aye gid.

The drones of something in celebration, windows of airless progression deliver a note behind hilarity. Locked doors in the short run. What can’t, we’re going and it’s polishing something into some translatable beef. Walking to places, it’s beyond the sporadic ways of dialing James. Anticipation and it beams us past congenial byproduct A wasteland and near departing into the convoluted and prophetic. Doors and boots, hand me the way to the fire. It’s lost in something folk, surrounded by something included in too many books. Reality in natural recreation. Optimize the real reasons and numb into something that was always that thing. The way of a juvenile, giddy and blown out to the resource, the sweet knot in the maintenance.. Say hat, too far back we’re too young of known action. Weird patterns and total Grandma’s best. It’s babe, it’s unfamiliar and sensual. Sex to the beat, thin walls and too much mentality. It’s all in the head and the voice is there.