scratching her back
Saturday, 21. June 2008, 09:21:21
nurotic nothings no diffent then every thing ive posted on this page before
a year before
has it tuely been ayear the though is unfathomable that it was less then a years time when i opened my eyes for a scond time as stepped into a world to wich i had no expectations and appsolutely no accurate repesentations or expectations as to what would come with the days to follow.
nathoalgic thougts fill my mind. a general what if that had never before crosed my mind. what if i had never walked out of my fathers house. what if i had not held my ground with a bitter and youthfull ignorance that fills all young minds with rage and forces theres claims for independence. whatif i had waited. stayed in that place. in that room. inschool that iwas failing. in a place that icould stand but barely. im sure it have all been the same. even if drasticly diffent.
i regret none of this. i could think of no greater path for me to have fallen down. for failure and loss tought me a lesson that moving out that going to school that working that dreaming and learning and writing and scretching never could. it tought me to lvoe and let go. to accept decete and betrayl with words of loyalty and to look at your bother as your own person al serpent in the garden and christ on a croos next yours. for this is not anything as ive ment to write. tis is not the setting of the place and some times it heels asif my fingers are moving with out any connection to this consous mness.
an unexpected smile comes from a clance on the bed i had a realization that im not sure if descoun would suit. its not one of pleasent nature and i could be farther as off base then shadow when he sat wake on wensday. for the record i dont care what he proclaims in retrospect, he had no fucking clue it was his father and if he suspected that it was all a deception in the house that night, he didnt know for sure. but i am sure that im glad the fat ass got stabed, he was jsut a fucking moron. in context.
i look at things ive painted and sketched over the years things that ive drawn and i wonder why i would ever think that there was a passion or power that i could even start to drrawn upon , with any level of controll at least, i have to close my eyes to write things like this ovther wise the words wont come out. i forget how used to a heyboard i become that i can close my eyes and trust my fingers to know the way to know when theyve made a mistake and with out flaw find the back space an move back over the things they have created. there are 49 keys of creation on my lap top and only one of discrution . there also those of modifcation but i think that the proprtions are corect. 49 ways to spill life into the world and onlyy one way necisary to distroy all of it.
runing the world pure, pure white, liquide running over rocks and running through the ties of memories and in to the seas of all the lands that are your mind. this is how i was when all was perfect and my simple touch could casue all that was neccisary to hold this world togeather to fall appart. your simply a lyric to a song that i have yet to write a muse with out an artist.
memoris of times that i never lived when my fingers brushed stingsto insterments that i never played to simple shows with people who payed no money but pulled all there strings of influnce to see two brothers make music as no words could discribe. not one would walk back into the ally way for which they enetered and one one would be missed. and not one woudl notice. not one would mind. for what they had heard and seen was enough for any one life in any one world. for any orb would love and dream to aspire to hagve that moment as there purpose of creation a thousand years of hindu rebirt and final perfection hails in comparison.
for in a place a romm where two become one and one turns to two some many times that stings in insterments shatter there own music to disturbances of the room all things entering and exiting the ears of those who bare witness will dance as anges for the time that they can hold it in their minds. then fall. mindless over in thier chars. just anout feast for those who know that they can change. no bloody ears are necisary to pull the soul from these when the sound is so pure.
my minds energy is fading for the evening and at least for now my dcreativety and ability to creave old knowlege is waning. nothing too much written not accomplisehed ill move on for a little while at lease for there anouther place that should and will be soon.
a year before
has it tuely been ayear the though is unfathomable that it was less then a years time when i opened my eyes for a scond time as stepped into a world to wich i had no expectations and appsolutely no accurate repesentations or expectations as to what would come with the days to follow.
nathoalgic thougts fill my mind. a general what if that had never before crosed my mind. what if i had never walked out of my fathers house. what if i had not held my ground with a bitter and youthfull ignorance that fills all young minds with rage and forces theres claims for independence. whatif i had waited. stayed in that place. in that room. inschool that iwas failing. in a place that icould stand but barely. im sure it have all been the same. even if drasticly diffent.
i regret none of this. i could think of no greater path for me to have fallen down. for failure and loss tought me a lesson that moving out that going to school that working that dreaming and learning and writing and scretching never could. it tought me to lvoe and let go. to accept decete and betrayl with words of loyalty and to look at your bother as your own person al serpent in the garden and christ on a croos next yours. for this is not anything as ive ment to write. tis is not the setting of the place and some times it heels asif my fingers are moving with out any connection to this consous mness.
an unexpected smile comes from a clance on the bed i had a realization that im not sure if descoun would suit. its not one of pleasent nature and i could be farther as off base then shadow when he sat wake on wensday. for the record i dont care what he proclaims in retrospect, he had no fucking clue it was his father and if he suspected that it was all a deception in the house that night, he didnt know for sure. but i am sure that im glad the fat ass got stabed, he was jsut a fucking moron. in context.
i look at things ive painted and sketched over the years things that ive drawn and i wonder why i would ever think that there was a passion or power that i could even start to drrawn upon , with any level of controll at least, i have to close my eyes to write things like this ovther wise the words wont come out. i forget how used to a heyboard i become that i can close my eyes and trust my fingers to know the way to know when theyve made a mistake and with out flaw find the back space an move back over the things they have created. there are 49 keys of creation on my lap top and only one of discrution . there also those of modifcation but i think that the proprtions are corect. 49 ways to spill life into the world and onlyy one way necisary to distroy all of it.
runing the world pure, pure white, liquide running over rocks and running through the ties of memories and in to the seas of all the lands that are your mind. this is how i was when all was perfect and my simple touch could casue all that was neccisary to hold this world togeather to fall appart. your simply a lyric to a song that i have yet to write a muse with out an artist.
memoris of times that i never lived when my fingers brushed stingsto insterments that i never played to simple shows with people who payed no money but pulled all there strings of influnce to see two brothers make music as no words could discribe. not one would walk back into the ally way for which they enetered and one one would be missed. and not one woudl notice. not one would mind. for what they had heard and seen was enough for any one life in any one world. for any orb would love and dream to aspire to hagve that moment as there purpose of creation a thousand years of hindu rebirt and final perfection hails in comparison.
for in a place a romm where two become one and one turns to two some many times that stings in insterments shatter there own music to disturbances of the room all things entering and exiting the ears of those who bare witness will dance as anges for the time that they can hold it in their minds. then fall. mindless over in thier chars. just anout feast for those who know that they can change. no bloody ears are necisary to pull the soul from these when the sound is so pure.
my minds energy is fading for the evening and at least for now my dcreativety and ability to creave old knowlege is waning. nothing too much written not accomplisehed ill move on for a little while at lease for there anouther place that should and will be soon.
