The number 2

This entry is bought to you by the number 2
It's got everyone feeling quite blue
Much confusion
and much to do
is made over this number 2

2 are the things said. 2 things cannot be true. That causes us all to be quite blue.

Who are we, and what do we do? How can we have 2? Isn't your being just 1? Feel one way. Express one way. Be one way. Be true.

To change yourself is to be unhappy. Nothing brings happiness. Not love not money not success not fame. You bring happiness. In your small daily triumphs. In doing something great. In rainbows.

At least, everyone understands how you feel. It's best to leave the bottle open so it doesn't shatter.

Microphone Revolution

It's time these microphones speak up.
Give feedback across the airways
Screeching the spread of Murdoch's poison
To a halt.

It's time these video cameras turn their gaze.
Towards the real story, the real scoop
To the ones suffereing silently
While money falls from Iraqi skies
Reaching their target and poofing into
A twisted mess of needless death and destruction.

It's time these papers write themselves true.
Time they report on the markets that are devastated
By an artificial rise in the price because we must
sew devastation
we must
have blood
we must
consume
we must make everyone pay more for everything
while the money, the ever so much more money
has to flow somewhere.

Into the pockets of Murdoch and Trump and Cheney
Into the extraction of more heat
Out of the mouths of the poor kids who can't afford rice anymore
Out of the goodness of the poor[in how so many different ways they are] people's hearts.

But they do as they're designed and programed.

Uncertain, Tired, Sure

It rests in poorly encrypted, easily intercepted communications. (We knew they were coming to wake island) In supercomputers executing algorithms until it causes the world to collapse upon itself. Blue screen of death flickering on the moniter.

It's certainly wrong. I'm certainly Andross. It's certainly decided in the smoke filled back rooms.

But I sleep.

Weird Fishes

Clueless. What am I (?/doing/thinking)? How could all this be true. I'm bigger than the world. I'm the smallest creature alive. A weird fish. Swimming in the ocean. Swimming far upstream, ritually. All I find there is the old, dead, and unborn. Bury myself. Someone will come along and pull me out. Someone must come along and pull me out. I must be the answer to something. I must be a piece of the puzzle.

But I am not, am I? I'm no larger than a speck of dust. Wondering the world and praying to be something more than I am right now. Something more than a shell, wringing my hands together and praying for warmth. But I'm not. I'm dust, to dust I'll return. The palms of peace will be burnt to make ash. I'm just far too consumed. Subliming into thin air. Not worth a thing anymore, that way.

[In the deepest ocean
The bottom of the sea
Your eyes
They turn me
Why should I stay here?
Why should I stay?

I'd be crazy not to follow
Follow where you lead
Your eyes
They turn me

Turn me on to phantoms
I follow to the edge of the earth
And fall off
Everybody leaves
If they get the chance
And this is my chance

I get eaten by the worms
Weird fishes
Get picked over by the worms
Weird fishes
Weird fishes
Weird fishes]

Like spinning plates (oh cruel dispair)[love is a lightswitch you can turn off and on]

While you make pretty letters,
I'm being cut to shreds.
You feed me to the lion,
a delicate balance.

(How could this be? 'ave uttered it all.
One week in purgatory will cleanse you of it all)

[Love is a lightswitch I can turn off and on.
I can say all I want when I want.
I can bat my eyelids and pretend all is for naught.
And then, when alls said and done,
love is a lightswitch I can turn off.

Love is a lightswitch I can turn on when I want.
Pen sweet poems about endearing emotion
But, is it not fun to turn it off?
And write what I feel and claim it was nothing
Someone else had conspired to flick the switch off.

So gather round friends, and I will reveal
the secret revolving the switch.
Loud screams and great joy will follow
If only you turn the switch off. So,
friends, gather around, scream on the top of your lungs.
"Love is a lightswitch I can turn off and on!"]
If you'd prefer, you can scream any one of other things.

Viorar Vel Til Loftarsa

[A good day for Airstrikes]

Strike an unknown chord. Flick the switch. This is the end of the beginning and you've got the end mapped already. No one gets intermissions. Buildups without a place to stand.

So, few of these have resolutions. We're all still dogs chasing our tails. So let's please, please stop chasing our tails. Look around and realize this is a shit idea, and we should really spend our time doing something other than chasing our tails. Let's draw and A over the student government advert. Let's speak our feelings. Let's never be held back.

But it's a dream. I'm a fool for the thought. I'm never going to follow through. Just sit here. And wait. And hope. And then lose that hope. And sit here more. And lose more hope. And... Derail this thought.

"But the best thing that God has ever created is a new day."

Story (never written)

I was walking back from the library today. And feeling cliche. And thought this-

How would my story read, if I were to be dead? Should my moral be myself, clutching the last few dollars in my bank account that I haven't handed over to the multinationals plummeting from a tall place in protest of my existence? What is my existence? Just wake up, go to class, try to comprehend. Go to my dorm. Try to unwind. Hear about how I don't comprehend enough. Feel like a disappointment. Go the the library. Try to comprehend and realize I don't. Sink to this. I don't like it. It's not how I want to exist. But, do I really have a choice? My story seems like it's already written. I think the tale of my failed ambitions, disappointments, and collapse has already been laid out. It's just waiting on me to realize it.

And I can't change it. To break continuity creates a paradox. And those always come crashing down (so long as you're not talking about them in relation the the government or the banks. They've got plenty. But I suppose those will come crashing down too, with luck).

This is my story. It's never been written. It's already been told.