Tuesday, March 29, 2005
the truth... well... kind of...
"Less than 3% make it back from the edge of broken glass and rock coke, the badlands where Indian squaws fill tequila bottles with piss and peyote, the war jungle from which even veterans tell no tales.
I will tell mine.
To think you cannot change the world is the thought of a broken man, who believes he lives in a broken world. As children, we fancy ourselves as shooting stars that light up the sky, when in fact we're meteors destined to impact the earth below. Our days are wasted, presuming we have more later in which to address these matters, and with time you resign. Resigned to the genocide and flawed political machine, the way money moves, the fact you may not have an orgasm every time. You become accustomed to that which you hate. The weather. The husband. The position. Nothing is new, the color fades, and you find yourself standing in a black-and-white landscape, staring at your empty hands.
This demise need not be yours. That is not what your hands are for.
The way of the distraction is the simple one, friends, a path strewn with television and liquor, debt and shitrag magazines. Internet porn feeds. Doomed relationships. Your entire life is a conditioned response, and until you bite the hand that feeds you, you'll never amount to more than another one of Pavlov's dogs, eating and humping and breeding and dying when you're told. I say chew through the chain and run rampant, eat everything, and shit on the White House lawn. Because to say you're autonomous while you're living that hollow life, is to lie in a coffin of sitcoms and late nights, and tell me you're still alive.
My time is up, that world beckons me, and I must don my suit of wool to fool the sheep. But when this day is done, I will not drop my guise and run with the wolves. "
Spoken by Thomas at www.consumtpionjunction.com
Not a bad bir of artistic writting turned inward. I don't honestly know what it is like to be a crack head and come off of it, but i bet you might feel something like this. It's like heroin junkies and thier return to normalicy.
Tho i kind of feel where he is going... sept im happy to join the wolves. Give me a suit, a diploma and a BMW and im all in the mix.
And i still find time to dwiddle in distraction. So i guess my life is a blessed one. Well, maybe not blessed, but damn lucky.
But then, my lucks got to go soon.
Just let me die in a pierre cardin suit, a good memory or two and a bottle of jack daniels.
I will tell mine.
To think you cannot change the world is the thought of a broken man, who believes he lives in a broken world. As children, we fancy ourselves as shooting stars that light up the sky, when in fact we're meteors destined to impact the earth below. Our days are wasted, presuming we have more later in which to address these matters, and with time you resign. Resigned to the genocide and flawed political machine, the way money moves, the fact you may not have an orgasm every time. You become accustomed to that which you hate. The weather. The husband. The position. Nothing is new, the color fades, and you find yourself standing in a black-and-white landscape, staring at your empty hands.
This demise need not be yours. That is not what your hands are for.
The way of the distraction is the simple one, friends, a path strewn with television and liquor, debt and shitrag magazines. Internet porn feeds. Doomed relationships. Your entire life is a conditioned response, and until you bite the hand that feeds you, you'll never amount to more than another one of Pavlov's dogs, eating and humping and breeding and dying when you're told. I say chew through the chain and run rampant, eat everything, and shit on the White House lawn. Because to say you're autonomous while you're living that hollow life, is to lie in a coffin of sitcoms and late nights, and tell me you're still alive.
My time is up, that world beckons me, and I must don my suit of wool to fool the sheep. But when this day is done, I will not drop my guise and run with the wolves. "
Spoken by Thomas at www.consumtpionjunction.com
Not a bad bir of artistic writting turned inward. I don't honestly know what it is like to be a crack head and come off of it, but i bet you might feel something like this. It's like heroin junkies and thier return to normalicy.
Tho i kind of feel where he is going... sept im happy to join the wolves. Give me a suit, a diploma and a BMW and im all in the mix.
And i still find time to dwiddle in distraction. So i guess my life is a blessed one. Well, maybe not blessed, but damn lucky.
But then, my lucks got to go soon.
Just let me die in a pierre cardin suit, a good memory or two and a bottle of jack daniels.
# posted by Willy T YA U KNOW ME : 7:24 PM
Best quote of the Week:
Do you think anyone wants a round house kick to the face in these bad boys? I didn't think so.
