The Rockhouse has been abandoned by the family but it's their choice to vote for murder. I've never conformed to their pressure to do that in the past and I will not do it now. Previously it was Republican-driven but the Democrats do it too now since none of them have rejected bombing the fuck out of Syria or wherever else they like.
My position is clear and it will not change. There is peace or there is nothing and there's only one time in America fighting ever brought peace; that was in the Revolution. Fighting with the South didn't bring peace since they kept all the monuments and still fight at every opportunity. They fight to keep the monuments (shrug).
Of course it breaks my heart since love never changes but they'e shown no affection for years and it makes no sense to pine.
None of this is about victims but it's quite a bit about being swayed by the state.
It's all part of the reason for the Rockhouse since that pounding to conform has come from all sides, all my life, and that my family does it too now isn't even really that surprising. That pressure to conform came from school, the workplace, billboards, bumper stickers, and it's hammered everywhere ... even those insulting car dealerships on the way to VA.
Maybe the money is that good but I never noticed that when I had it. I found quite a bit of amusement but nothing much was real. How about if I try bungee jumping to discover how much compression and blood pressure my brain can take. Pfft
None of them understood "The Illusion of Gravity" but it doesn't seem such a difficult thing. When you create illusions and try to assign weight to them, you're either an atomic physicist or you're living in a fantasy land.
Note: that CD is no longer available.
That they didn't understand isn't surprising since hardly anyone else did either.
Some guy in "Purple Rain:" your music makes sense only to yourself."
Well, I tell you what, mate. It only needs to make sense to me and it's a privilege for me if anyone else sees it. My music isn't that difficult; the words make people choke.
The Magic Land likes poetry and that's all the reason I need but I can't promise lovely flowers since it's a seething world I see but when the flowers are blooming, no-one is more pleased than I.
Note: except for that damn corpse flower since there's another one in-play just now and, yes, I guess they really stink. Have a ball and try all the rides at Disneyland.
Writing of the world is the first level of reaction since it's a plain and simple story but only counts as poetry because it may rhyme. The next level above that is to use symbols but they say the same damn thing only a bit more poetically. Sometimes the next one after that is writing parables and those have been some of the best-received.
I need to be careful about writing to please since the only one I really need to please is me ... but ... that isn't true if I publish it since I know if it's too weird people won't understand. It would be patronizing to do that deliberately but that's not my aim and reflects incompetence in me rather than purpose.
Something I need to write and maybe most of all is of the limitless love one finds when life is absolutely fucked. I've tried to show that previously but I don't think so many got it or maybe it was perceived as illusion.
Writing to order is difficult since I hardly ever do. I see something and it clicks so I start writing, in some ways to discover how it comes out or at least may.
The difficulty is in setting aside the selfishness of a world gone quite insane since it may need that bite for reality ... or not.
There's no poem in the situation with my family and, actually, in some ways I hope they never have to understand since maybe the only way one can is when your life falls apart and you discover what's left.
It seems the ones who do understand are mostly completely-fucked too and it would be one hell of a thing if that's a requirement and maybe that's the parable in writing of that happening to someone. The Traveler needs to come back since we have seen him before.
This time I'll let it percolate for a while and then see what comes.
My position is clear and it will not change. There is peace or there is nothing and there's only one time in America fighting ever brought peace; that was in the Revolution. Fighting with the South didn't bring peace since they kept all the monuments and still fight at every opportunity. They fight to keep the monuments (shrug).
Of course it breaks my heart since love never changes but they'e shown no affection for years and it makes no sense to pine.
None of this is about victims but it's quite a bit about being swayed by the state.
It's all part of the reason for the Rockhouse since that pounding to conform has come from all sides, all my life, and that my family does it too now isn't even really that surprising. That pressure to conform came from school, the workplace, billboards, bumper stickers, and it's hammered everywhere ... even those insulting car dealerships on the way to VA.
Maybe the money is that good but I never noticed that when I had it. I found quite a bit of amusement but nothing much was real. How about if I try bungee jumping to discover how much compression and blood pressure my brain can take. Pfft
None of them understood "The Illusion of Gravity" but it doesn't seem such a difficult thing. When you create illusions and try to assign weight to them, you're either an atomic physicist or you're living in a fantasy land.
Note: that CD is no longer available.
That they didn't understand isn't surprising since hardly anyone else did either.
Some guy in "Purple Rain:" your music makes sense only to yourself."
Well, I tell you what, mate. It only needs to make sense to me and it's a privilege for me if anyone else sees it. My music isn't that difficult; the words make people choke.
The Magic Land likes poetry and that's all the reason I need but I can't promise lovely flowers since it's a seething world I see but when the flowers are blooming, no-one is more pleased than I.
Note: except for that damn corpse flower since there's another one in-play just now and, yes, I guess they really stink. Have a ball and try all the rides at Disneyland.
Writing of the world is the first level of reaction since it's a plain and simple story but only counts as poetry because it may rhyme. The next level above that is to use symbols but they say the same damn thing only a bit more poetically. Sometimes the next one after that is writing parables and those have been some of the best-received.
I need to be careful about writing to please since the only one I really need to please is me ... but ... that isn't true if I publish it since I know if it's too weird people won't understand. It would be patronizing to do that deliberately but that's not my aim and reflects incompetence in me rather than purpose.
Something I need to write and maybe most of all is of the limitless love one finds when life is absolutely fucked. I've tried to show that previously but I don't think so many got it or maybe it was perceived as illusion.
Writing to order is difficult since I hardly ever do. I see something and it clicks so I start writing, in some ways to discover how it comes out or at least may.
The difficulty is in setting aside the selfishness of a world gone quite insane since it may need that bite for reality ... or not.
There's no poem in the situation with my family and, actually, in some ways I hope they never have to understand since maybe the only way one can is when your life falls apart and you discover what's left.
It seems the ones who do understand are mostly completely-fucked too and it would be one hell of a thing if that's a requirement and maybe that's the parable in writing of that happening to someone. The Traveler needs to come back since we have seen him before.
This time I'll let it percolate for a while and then see what comes.
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