Yeah, if I were Brink, I wouldn't take any responsibility for the nature of this content either. I'd invite you to my church - hold your hand to heaven - but I'm afraid it would catch fire as you enter and I'd turn into a flaming queer. There's still a tad bit of hope for you, but don't get excited - I said hope, not dope.

Fucking evanid!

Comment by firefall
3/10/2008 @ 3:10 pm

Don't listen to firefall Evanid. He's just pissed because his mundane existence leaves him - like you - wondering why he bothers. There's nothing better than driving through Reno firing magnums into the air from the Buick. You're the real man I always wanted to be. Those interludes on the backseat, along those backstreets, leave me breathless . Don't worry baby, I'm with you through the endgame.

Comment by succubus
3/10/2008 @ 3:29 pm

I don't know Succubus, but I wish you and Incubus would let me sleep for awhile. Now I just watch that video of Joplin playing in Germany when I was ten. I can't say what it is that captures me - maybe passion. She wasn't pretty, but she was beautiful.

I'm not what you think I am. It's a mask I've always worn so I fit some social mold I was born into. I can't kill a deer because the last one looked at me too hard before it fell. Maybe I killed Gandhi, but it seems more likely I kiiled myself.

It doesn't matter. I drive past the feedlots in that Western corridor, then dine on the products of death. Maybe those pathetic souls are dining on me.

Now it's The Doors (of perception). Everything in this glass house is shattered into shards of sanity, like words falling over fool's falls.

Now it's The End. The fragmentation grenade explodes in your head as a child screams in Iraq. The Bush didn't hear her. The pious people in their comfortable pews didnt' hear her, but Jesus did. I missed her cry because I'm too busy in my world.

Maybe next life

"He took a face from the ancient gallery..."

Comment by evanid
3/11/2008 @ 4:24 am

You know, Evanid, you knew me before. I was the young woman you slept with on the Pacific bluff during the storm. Nearly two years later I died, but came back for you.

We're going where no one knows. Your friends will guide us to the other side. Van Gogh is there, waiting to talk to you.

You have to stop it. The screaming in your head will leave you lost and broken. Like it hasn't already.

Sanity is love

Comment by succubus
3/11/2008 @ 4:51 am

It's the self-destruction that bothers me. And now the rain is falling on the frayed fabric of a mind.

Like it meant something

Comment by evanid
3/11/2008 @ 5:07 am

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