|Some of my favorite albums.|
2007-08-19 21:42:21 ET
Here they are:
2007-08-19 20:56:19 ET
Standing still and below by this nest,
The wind sends yet another gust
Displacing an egg from its selected place
Falling silently to the ground.
Only was there not the soft crack of a shell,
But rather that of a fragile glass.
Inching over to the source of this sound,
I only find the damaged face of a clock,
Whose hands still tick rhythmically,
But whose insides are not of man and machine,
But rather of a beating flesh.
Making of it a show of unnatural time and existence.
Of that very device which strikes profoundly
Not of reasons, or of meaning for its very existence,
But only that of a sensation for where there are no words.
Only shall I stare intently into its center,
Where it is clouded around by thin markings and fluids,
And finding myself once again obsessing over this deformity.
But only now do I awake for this,
And only now do dream for this,
Only for the rising fear that is this abnormality.
Which obscures all other things around me,
Except for the unsettling offspring it produces
And the poignant question of the end of the ticking means.
2007-08-18 20:52:55 ET
Riding around on a scooter.
That image has been stuck in my head all day.
|and we worshiped at the shrine|
2007-08-17 23:51:37 ET
of the thylacine
2007-08-16 19:08:47 ET
Remember those times, back in the day?
Damn, those were the times.
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