6.23.2006

"I hear the bells" Mike Doughty

I hear the bells
Down in the canyon, it's
Snow in New York
Some blue December, I'm
Gone to the moon
Without you, girl, and I'm
Calling to you
Throughout the world and well I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and
I hear the bells
They are like emeralds, and
Glints in the night
Commas and ampersands
Your moony face
So inaccessible
Your inner mind
So inexpressible
I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and
I'm seeking girls
In sales and marketing
Let's go make out
Up in the balcony
Your business dress
So businesslike and I'm
Tossing the blouse
Over a chairback and
I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and
You snooze, you lose
Well I have snost and lost
I'm pushing through
I'll disregard the cost
I hear the bells
So fascinating and
I'll slug it out
I'm sick of waiting
I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and I can
Hear the bells are
Ringing joyful and triumphant and...

6.21.2006

cold, cold heart

“Heather Duke underlined a lot of things in this copy of Moby Dick, but I believe the word ‘Eskimo’,
underlined all by itself, is the key to understanding Heather's pain. On the surface, Heather Duke was the vivacious young lady we all knew her to be, but her soul was in Antarctica!

…We'll all miss Sherwood’s little Eskimo. Let’s just hope she's rubbing noses with Jesus!”

-"Heathers"

6.19.2006

for a winter

here comes the finger-biter
and the shadowy chauffeur,
the dark driver in a black car
cyanide gas wafts from the dashboard vents
sarin, phosgene, chlorine, agent 3, agent 15
the tires leave black scars
down the road
over the hills

the beach is a waste
the weeds are dead
and bow their heads
but the news hasn't reached our sponsors yet
so the launch is still on
slender waiters prowl the red velvet banquettes
but cobwebs are already growing up in the shadows
the end is past, and now it's catching up to us

mountain lions prowl the canyons
bears lurk in the woods
there's a flasher in the supermarket parking-lot
whose every bite confers disease
we missed the hymns
of the hobos living in the trees
and you can't sing
about tubercles and ringworm
shingles and rabies

in the friends’ cemetery
the leaves are turning to powder beneath my feet
the branches poke from the earth
like fingers deducted by the finger-biter
plastic bags fly by on every gust,
the brightest things in sight
and there is nothing left of us
ten things i hate about me

wait, that's too few. make it ten thousand.

6.16.2006

Maria Taylor, "Song Beneath The Song"

Cryptic words meander
Now there is a song beneath the song
One day you'll learn
You'll soon discern its true meaning
An interesting detachment
A listless poem of love sincere
Desire, despair
Overlapping melodies
And it's not a love, it's not a love
It's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love, it's not a love song
Oh now the roots are reminiscing
Recurring dreams of minor chords
Metred time
Muted chimes find the beat
And in the pulse there lies conviction
A steady push and pull routine
The cymbals swell
High notes flail into reach
And it's not a love, it's not a love
It's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love,It's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love, it's not a love song
It's not a love, it's not a love, it's not a love song

6.13.2006

McChocolatey says:
when are we going to get together and talk budget? I promise to be good, unless you aren't...

Snost and lost says:
haaa

Snost and lost says:
i'm better than good

Snost and lost says:
i'm a freaking ANGEL.

McChocolatey says:
one could dispute that

Snost and lost says:
for realz

McChocolatey says:
you are too good

Snost and lost says:
well, you know, it's an occupational hazard

McChocolatey says:
wear a hard hat then

Snost and lost says:
i'm not sure hardhats prevent excessive awesomeness, but thanks for the interesting suggestion...

Snost and lost says:
maybe EVERYONE ELSE should wear hardhats

Snost and lost says:
or

Snost and lost says:
er

Snost and lost says:
hard

Snost and lost says:
um

Snost and lost says:
pants?

Snost and lost says:
HARDPANTS!

McChocolatey says:
wow, I just got a crazy image in my head

Snost and lost says:
that's one of my superpowers.
"During those rare moments I find myself feeling uneasy about the course of the war on terror, I take consolation by looking back at America's unconditional victories in our two previous crusades against abstractions -- the war on poverty and the war on drugs. "
-Stephen Amidon, Salon.com

6.09.2006



is it wrong to long for longing?
i am sure that wanting is what keeps me alive
the days i want to die
are the ones i spend pushing things away
it's not eating that fuels me, but hunger
as deep and insatiable as crevasses in arctic ice
floored in infinity
in black trenches that split the sea

death turns you inside out
and the wanting becomes forever
becomes the space between galaxies
the tiny eternity between skins
where molecules fizz and flicker
death is a permanent purgatory
where we can never touch
taste, inhale,

can run forever
but only reach with and reach for
and life is wanting, waiting
and regretting when the connection is made

eventually, it all comes to want, and want more.


6.07.2006

who's out there to see inside
sometimes the fun of masks wins out
and hours pass where the fake face is real
but in my dreams
i can almost hear a truer life
calling out like hunters' winding horns
a sound that stirs a feeling
that colors the rain and the day with
i hate to say 'meaning'
but with a hint of the thing
at least

it's a cheap joke to set us moving
through life like
unwrapped mannequins
ingorant robot armies
covering the planet in white lies
and filled with heartaching, drilling, searching,
golden-white hope and blue loss
and gray for every day
until sensible rises up
and puts us in our graves