Your Murmuring Chasms

I had to go
To get away
There was always a broader horizon
Far from the soft stifling air
The murmuring chasms of nostalgia
Narrow minded people might ask me why
I tell them what I always say
I never look back
Not even once

So who says I even left?

I saw her dance when she first hit the scene
Creep joint romancing with amphetamines

A still more glorious dawn awaits. Not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise. A morning filled with 400 billion suns.

The rising of the Milky Way.

I'll take your soul and cleanse it with my greed, yeah!

Witches Dancing, Wiches Playing

Black magic
All around
Sky above us
To the ground
Magic circle
Mad jester
Don't get seen now
Don't be heard

Dark magic
All around
All is evil
Poison sound
Sky above us
Zodiac
Stars are burning
Into black

Hahahaha!

Black magician
Conjurer
Solomon's key
Speak the words
Pentagram
And pentacle
Haunt the planets
Every ancient signal

We'll give you freedom
From the human trap

Sagan

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.

Yeah fairies wear boots, you gotta believe me!

There's a girl, I saw today
With sunken eyes, and a face of grey
And she was walking alone
Loose ends return
A long black cloak, and flowing hair
Red ruby rings, an icy stare
It seemed so clear to me, that she was mine

Men of Mayhem

Sons

Children face inwards, wallow in their own selfish needs.
Men face out, take action on the needs of others.

Katzenjammer

Make my blood boil

Hey hey, my my

Rock and roll can never die

What shall we use to fill the empty spaces
Where waves of hunger roar?
Shall we set out across the sea of faces
In search of more and more applause?

Shall we buy a new guitar?
Shall we drive a more powerful car?
Shall we work straight through the night?
Shall we get into fights?
Leave the lights on?
Drop bombs?
Do tours of the east?
Contract diseases?
Bury bones?
Break up homes?
Send flowers by phone?
Take to drink?
Go to shrinks?
Give up meat?
Rarely sleep?
Keep people as pets?
Train dogs?
Race rats?
Fill the attic with cash?
Bury treasure?
Store up leisure?
But never relax at all
With our backs to the wall.

Bite life
Taste the devil
Let me in
Fast

Chain your wheels to me
Let's ride

Won't you writhe like snakes

And all these ruins I took for you
You keep my limit alive
Your smile rolls away for miles
And your kiss makes it worth the ride

Whatever you do

Don't tell anyone

You better have soul

The crow flies straight
A perfect line
On the devil's path
Until you die

This life is short
Baby that's a fact
Better live it right
You ain't comin' back

Gotta raise some hell
Before they take you down
Gotta live this life

Gotta look this world
In the eye
Gotta live this life
Till you die

You better have soul
Nothin' less
Cause when it's business time
It's life or death

Two Crescents Are Burning

Wet Pussycat

You got me right!
Oh lord, you got me!

Sam Crow

May your song always be sung

I am the freedom bleeder

Inside you see more of me
Cobwebs in the way
That magic cleaner will
Shine her smile over me

- It's all a little absurd, I guess. Truth is I know I'm going to hell. Prayer just makes my time here a little less miserable. A few good acts of contrition can make you feel good too, love.

- There's only one way these beads could make me feel good… "love". And it involves a whole different act.

The crow flies straight, a perfect line

Atomic

Something good to die for
To make it beautiful to live

Gardenia

Six hundred sixty six miles per hour

Not because you should,
But because you must.

I can get in
I can't get out

Skin on Skin

I stare the lids off your eyes

Wit Chu

Windy Ursula

"I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze  than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist.

I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.

I shall use my time."

Come with me, comely waif

Curse with me, profane and discreet.
Soft and sweet, seasalt silver-meat.

"My only writing ritual is to shave my head bald between writing the first and second drafts of a book. If I can throw away all my hair, then I have the freedom to trash any part of the book on the next rewrite."

- C. P.

I fink you freaky and I like you a lot.

“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.”

Hemingway

Unknown the unlit world of old
You're the sounds I've never heard before
Off the map where the wild things grow
Another world outside my door

You're the bedtime story
The one that keeps the curtains closed

There's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.

Savor every single taste
You get caught

Turn on queue as your celldoor locks
Behind you

It burns white hot, and so clouds the mind

So use me up
Use me up

Godspeed

Amplified
Passing
Trajectory
Perception
Cascade

Rythms From a Cosmic Sky

And I thought it said...

"When the Moon lights this evening
We'll run around in your bed,
The warmth of my body will heat you,
Make your blood run cherry red!
Cherry red, cherry red!"

"Slaying myself, my forged blades amass.

Hated by my child, I do this for my grandchildren's future."

"Do you remember? The iris. It thrives most in the rain. Even if it is a rain of blood."
"Arigatō gozaimasu."

“Every man should have a built-in automatic crap detector operating inside him.”

Ernest Hemingway

"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more."

How could possibly anyone help nature without science?

"Watashi wa... Zero!"

Shroomy Nights

Let me in your mind
Stitch me, I'm unafraid
It's only a matter of time
Before I lose my ways

I'm confined in solitude
In these walls
I'm drowning in my shame
In my shame

Confined in my solitude
In these walls I'm disguising shame

No, I don't care how they take me!

Os teus olhos a Oeste, Vénus, e ver-te-ás a iluminar o negro da noite.

Becoming Night

And everything under the Sun is in tune

But the Sun is eclipsed by the Moon

"With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean
She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene"

Oh, I hate you, alright.

Moonlight and a glass of Wine

"She looked back, in her eyes, profound desire for desire.
But she never came, and never looked back again."

"Like the waterfowl that play there on the lake, I too am floating along the surface of a transient world.

I could not help comparing them to myself. For they too appeared to be enjoying themselves in the most carefree fashion; yet they lives must be full of sorrow."

He was in Gentry’s loft. He was watching Cherry do nurse-things to Gentry. Cherry looked over at him from where she sat on the edge of Gentry’s bed. “How y’doin’, Slick?”

“Okay … I’m okay.”

“Remember me asking you before?”

He was looking down at the face of the man Kid Afrika called the Count. Cherry was fiddling with something on the stretcher’s superstructure, a bag of fluid the color of oatmeal.

“How y’feel, Slick?”

“Feel okay.”

“You’re not okay. You keep for—”

He was sitting on the floor of Gentry’s loft. His face was wet. Cherry was kneeling beside him, close, her hands on his shoulders.

“You did time?”

He nodded.

“Chemo-penal unit?”

“Yeah …”

“Induced Korsakov’s?”

He—

“Episodes?” Cherry asked him. He was sitting on the floor in Gentry’s loft. Where was Gentry? “You get episodes like this? Short-term memory goes?”

How did she know? Where was Gentry?

“What’s the trigger?”

“What triggers the syndrome, Slick? What kicks you into jail-time?” He was sitting on the floor in Gentry’s loft and Cherry was practically on top of him.

“Stress,” he said, wondering how she knew about that. “Where’s Gentry?”

“I put him to bed.”

“Why?”

“He collapsed. When he saw that thing …”

“What thing?”

Cherry was pressing a pink derm against his wrist. “Heavy trank,” she said. “Maybe get you out of it …”

“Out of what?”

She sighed. “Never mind.”

He woke up in bed with Cherry Chesterfield. He had all his clothes on, everything but his jacket and his boots. The tip of his erect cock was trapped behind his belt buckle, pressing up against the warm denim over Cherry’s ass.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

"Sometimes he'd read out loud, a kind of hesitation in his voice, like a man trying to play an instrument he hasn't picked up in a long time. They weren't stories he read, not like they had endings or told a joke. They were like windows into something so strange; he never tried to explain any of it, probably did't understand it himself, maybe nobody did...

Then the street snapped back hard and bright.

She rubbed her eyes and coughed."

Sunflowers

A samurai who smells of sunflowers? Sunflowers have no smell. So wouldn't that mean that there's no samurai who smells of sunflowers?

There's peace in death

- There's a samurai who smells of sunflowers. I want you to find him for me.

The devil's in the back seat giving me advice again, living a life of Sin!

Oh, beauty is a beguiling call to death and I'm addicted to the sweet pitch of its siren. That that starts sweet ends bitter, and that which starts bitter ends sweet. That is why you and I love the drugs and that is also why I cannot give that painting back. Now please, pass me a light.

Dreams can really fuck you up.

(MedicineNet seems lovely.)

"Men, like bullets, go farthest when they are smoothest."

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.

The Motorcycle Boy

- I want you to take the cycle and leave. I want you to go clear to the ocean. I want you to follow the river to the ocean.
- Are you coming with me?
- No, man.

- California’s like a beautiful, wild girl on heroin... Who's high as a kite, thinkin' she's on top of the world, not knowing she's dying even if you show her the marks.

Rumble Fish, by Francis Coppola


A lembrança dos tempos idos, uma irmandade dubiosa de um par ou outro com segundas intenções.

"Um dia, mortos, gastos, voltaremos
A viver livres como animais"

Leave a light on, good lady,
for though we may return with a twinkle in our eyes,
we will, in truth,
be blind
drunk.

Não sabes tu que as musas são sempre culpadas de tudo?

Parabéns, se estiveres aí. Soubesse eu juntar duas palavras que te fizessem sorrir, e repetia-as até não fazerem mais sentido. Continua Lua, branca de mares negros.

"Beautiful, beautiful. Magnificent desolation."

When I said we
You know I meant me
And when I said sweet
I meant dirty

I never believed the devil was real
But god couldn't make someone filthy as you