Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Marble Of Madness


My mind,
This marble of madness
This swirling, round world of cloudy colored rock.

I hold the marble betwixt thumb and forefinger,
Aiming a slight angle at the target inside the ring.
Connect, and I’ll claim my right to all the worlds,
Miss and I’ll lose this, my only mind.


Holding still,
With this marble of madness
My mind quivers silently.

Raging on,
With the wayward ways waiting,
My decision won’t be born of meekness.

Finding this circle,
Broken and begging in a ripped asphalt square
Off the road to Westland,
Was luck of the man eating kind.

The marble is to be held,
For looseness makes your mind wander,


Marbled stone and glass,
Remembering promises,
Curling litmus sweat around the past.

Remember who I am,
For me when I do not.
Tap my shoulder
On the destined day
In this broken parking lot.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

A Bit More On Mumford


...from Donald L. Miller's autobiography: Lewis Mumford, A Life.

Technics and Civilization is a pioneering work in the history of technology, a book that would begin to establish Mumford as this century’s leading critic of the machine age. Along with Siegfried Giedion’s later work Mechanization Takes Command, published in America in 1948, and Abbott Payson Usher’s more narrowly focused study A History of Mechanical Inventions (1929), it created the new field of the history of technology. It is both the first full-scale study in the English language of the rise of the machine in the modern world and one of the first scholarly studies in any language to emphasize the interplay of technology and the surrounding culture. Mumford describes not simply the work of inventors and scientists but also the cultural sources and moral consequences of the breakthroughs in technology and science. He places technology squarely within the context of what he calls the social ecology.

Drawing on the latest German scholarship, Mumford analyzes the process of ideological preparation for full mechanization. Before his book appeared most English-speaking scholars placed the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution in the eighteenth century, when Watt introduced his steam engine and when machine power was applied to the production of textiles. In Munich, however, Mumford discovered a challenging new literature on the history of technology that caused him to locate the origins of the machine age as far back as the Middle Ages, when a number of cultural transformations occurred that prepared the ground for the larger technical revolution that altered all of Western culture. “Men became mechanical,” in Mumford’s words, “before they perfected complicated machines to express their new bent and interest.”

The passion for order, regularity, and regimentation appeared first in the routinized world of the medieval monastery, then spread to the army and the counting-house before it finally entered the factory. In this mental transformation the clock played a crucial role. It, not the steam engine, was the most important machine of the industrial age, an interpretation now widely accepted by historians of science and technology. The mechanical clock brought a new regularity to life, for it was not merely a means of keeping track of the hours but of synchronizing human behavior. The first primitive clocks were used in monasteries to regulate the ringing of the bells, which in turn regulated the daily movements of the monks; later, to become “as regular as clockwork” became “the bourgeois ideal.” Timekeeping also became essential to an efficiently run system of production and transportation.

With the new conception of time came a closely related concern with exact measurement; together these developments led to the emergence of what Mumford calls a new scientific picture of the world. In its urge to comprehend and control the physical world, the new science, he argues, defined as “real” only those aspects of experience that were external and repeatable, that could be studied and verified by careful experimentation. Existence was separated into units that could be “weighed, measured or counted”; all else was judged “unreal.” This denial of the organic, in Mumford’s view, allowed the West to surrender to the machine, to turn inventions and mechanical contrivances that other cultures, such as the Chinese, possessed in abundance, into what he calls “the machine.” By this term he meant not only mechanical devices but a mode of life geared to the pace of high-speed technology, and committed to the technological ideals of specialization, automation, and rationality.

For Mumford, then, the emergence of the machine was fundamentally a mental revolution, a movement from organic to mechanical thinking; this is in direct contradiction to Karl Marx, who saw technology shaping values and ideas, and no the reverse. Mumford’s refusal to see the machine as a force independent of human will and purpose explains the underlying optimism of Technics and Civilization. Rejecting all forms of technological or economic determinism, he insists that human desires, decisions, and dreams influenced the course of modern invention fully as much as invention influenced modern sensibility. Our modern machine world was a creation of human effort and will, and any thoroughgoing change would first involve a change in values and social priorities. Mumford had said this before, but from this point forward this theme became the theme of his life and art.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

A Bit On Mumford


-from Donald L. Miller's autobiography: Lewis Mumford, A Life.

Moreover, like Plato and Emerson, Mumford held strongly to the notion that the good life involves more than a reordering of economic and political institutions. While essential, this would have to be preceded by a transformation of the mechanistic mode of life--the psychological submission to the machine process and the power state--that had created a new personality type--bureaucratic man--in capitalist and socialist societies. Mumford called for a complete transformation of the consciousness of industrial man, the creation of a "new humanism," an organic mode of thinking and acting that recognizes "the inner and the outer, the subjective and the objective, the world known to personal intuition and that described by science [as] a single experience." While some radicals expected such a value change to occur after the revolution, for Mumford, this value change was the revolution.

The place to begin this process of cultural change, Mumford declared, was not with the nation, an artificial creation of statesmen and politicians, but with the geographic region, an area possessing a common climate, natural environment, and culture. He urged his fellow reconstructionists to begin by thinking small. Avoid sweeping national crusades for change and start immediately in your own region and locale to lay the basis for the renewal of life, he advised, just as Geddes had done in Edinburgh.

Mumford saw Patrick Geddes's civic survey method--a detailed, firsthand diagnosis of a region's natural and human resources--as the starting point and foundation for all regional reconstruction efforts. The outstanding feature of Geddes's sociological method, in his view, was its union of "concreteness and synthesis." The solid foundation of "localized" knowledge that would emerge from the survey was precisely what he found absent from most radical and utopian schemes, "paper programs for the reconstruction of a paper world." But in synthesizing the work of a number of regional investigators from a variety of fields and professions, the survey avoided as well the narrow compartmentalization of knowledge and the restricted vision that characterized specialist studies. Geddes had pioneered a sociology that combined theory and action, detailed field research and daring synthesis. In his own way, he had outdone Marx.

More than Geddes, however, Mumford emphasized the role of the creative artist in the process of social transformation. Attracted to both sociology and literature, he described a role for the insurgent intellectual that perfectly embodied his twin interests. A systematic sociology, Geddes had taught him, must be linked to a vision of the good life; and in The Story of Utopias Mumford declared it the responsibility of the artists to suggest this. They would be responsible for the first, the most important step in any general reform--the reconstruction of our inner world--by suggesting images of a more balanced, spiritually satisfying life. These could then be woven into the plans of the regional surveyors, whose job it would be to recommend social programs for each of the various regions of the country.

Unlike the Utopians he wrote about, Mumford was not driven by the dream of social perfection. The world would never be swept clean of evil and injustice, so rather than trying to imagine an impossible "no-place" where all was well the modern reformer should concentrate on the practical task of building Eutopia, the best place possible.

Mumford possessed no natural instincts or abilities for politics, nor did he consider political change important at the moment. "Our most important task at the present moment is to build castles in the air."

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Crisscrossing Floods


Xmas Flood

Tides roll across my body,
Like suns fighting over the void of space.

The lies that made me
Have ripened into truth.

A mother’s child forgets her not at all,
This child’s mother forgets him not at all.

So what metaphor should I lay on you now?

Cause we’re not here for the weather report,
Or to read aloud the phone book,
Though we all do rage with the seas below us,
And above us.

We feel what’s yet so far out to sea.

With so many names listed within our hearts,
We have nearly forgotten our own,
And in owning our names,
We cease to Be,
Named Eve or Adam or Spartan
Or Bush or Clayton or Wilber,
For we are all special.

Barnyard animals still finding our feet in the straw
As, the first grasping adventurous,
The first needy land walking fish did.

We look down and ponder
What is this gift of mobility,
In our hearts,
In our lives,
This Strange ponderous Nature upon Earth
That throws us as surely as we throw ourselves
Upon the shifting beach,
The shifting wet water filling sands of life.

And believe me,
It is all one big pun
On the name, the sound, and accident
Of God.

So the tides flood,
Give seasonal push, off season.

We feel a time and place that is not our own,
And mourn the loss of that which we never had.

This is the curse and Fury of imagination and Eyes.

Streetlight Fearless,
Low inside the life of Light.

Change the bulb,
Change you and me,
It’s in your closet.

And believe me,
I don’t know what to say.

Grab hold of the Main.
Ride this horse the same way.

I love you.

I know it’s true even if so far away,
In space and time.

I’m seeking the Superluminal stride,
Between the Tides with you.


“The sound of the faces in the crowd.”


Saturday, December 02, 2006

Keeping An Eye On Steorn

...from somewhere in the back of my SciFi saturated brain,
the plot-detail of the Free Energy Revolution centering in Dublin
seems to make sense...

(maybe the Irish will take over the world after all?)

...continuing the eye's cast upon...


Steorn Finalizes Contracts with Validation Jury

"Twelve qualified scientists have signed contracts to design a test procedure to properly analyze the free energy technology of Steorn, then report the results, laying to rest the controversy."

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Listen To The Man

Hawking's only like the smartest guy on Earth,

He sees space people

well, besides Ed Widden.

"Mankind will need to venture far beyond planet Earth to ensure the long-term survival of our species, according to the world's best known scientist, Professor Stephen Hawking.

Stephen Hawking says space is his next goal
Returning to a theme he has voiced many times before, the Cambridge University cosmologist said today that space-rockets propelled by the kind of matter/antimatter annihilation technology popularised in Star Trek would be needed to help Homo sapiens colonise hospitable planets orbiting alien stars."


Friday, November 17, 2006

Scream And Leap

--from the Man-Kzin Wars


The mightiest river is made of raindrops.

Not even the Patriarch commands the sun.

Time makes bones of life as stlsi [carrion grubs] make bones of a carcass.

A wise enemy is better than a foolish friend.

Wisdom comes slowly even to the wise.

No slave comes willingly to anger.

All warriors must eat.

Ask the experienced, not the learned.

The Fanged God won’t protect a fool.

The victor is not weary at the moment of victory.

Never give advice in a crowd.

Truth hurts when it should.

Speak truly, but speak with care.

The Fanged God sells knowledge for labor and honor for risk.

Hunt in the cool season for food you need in the hot.

Battle has no time for sorrow.

Wind comes to everyone, but meat only comes to the hunter.

It’s not the kill, it’s the thrill of the chase.

Good friends are worth the wealth of a world.

Ctervs hide in still water.

A fool will say what he can’t understand.

Brothers fight harder than neighbors.

The Pride is no braver than the Patriarch, no wiser than the Conserver.

Ropes trap fools, puzzles trap the wise.

When a fool quotes proverbs the wise [sentient] listen.

The cunning hunter follows the wind to the sun and doubles his tracks.

The rain rains.

Strakh flows to the noble as the rain to the river.

Strong in cunning does not mean weak in courage.

The meat lies beneath the fur.

Swimmers [fish] never thirst.

Choose your name wisely, then bring it honor.

Greet necessity with enthusiasm.

Sheath pride and bare honor.

He who drinks the wind shall thirst, he who stalks the stream shall starve.

When honor and shame balance on a needle, who holds the needle?

Lead with action, follow with words.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Plateau Context


Loganhurst, fresh and clean.

More T-shirts, what do you mean?

Stop reading now.

Look away, click away, swing away.
Close all that you have.
Night has come, and the stars
Are all we need.
All follow what is not behind.

Stop reading now.

Invite not this story,
This double negative,
This contraction that uses
My heart as an apostrophe.


When I met the Plateau,
I was alone,
Knew nothing but the ground and the sky.
I was high
In the air,
In the passive tense.

I spoke,
I heard myself speak,
I wondered
What is Context,
What is the context of life,
The Real and the Un-Real?


The difference became:

What is found after Discovery,
What Remains is Remembered.

The recurring presence of the Pyramid
Is what makes it great.

It Lasts in your eyes,
Your ears,
Solid to the Fingers.
Existence is a Monument,
An impression that can be shared
With other minds than your own.


What is Real and Un-Real.

What is agreed as unreal and unreal.


After the Savannah,
After Existentialism,
After post modern forgetfulness,
Remains a mystery of depth,
Remains Memory,
Memory made most by emotional association.

We are but the memory of what is Capitalized
And what is not.

But memory of our Actions,
In our mind,
And the mind of others

(that separation being the Bane
of the Human condition).

Feeling emotes reality.

Has religious science,
Scientific religion left us
Without context?

The context of emotion,
Of feeling making us real.

We live to feel.

I remember only what meant most to me,
As we are,
As all we become.

We will feel we.

(And I know I keep saying it)

, and so I will become you,

And the words
(except math)
Will end.

(Except what records must remain)

…a World without Speaking,
Yet retained, the necessary Art of spelling out the context.

rover b-w

Sitting so cross-legged,
Upon the Edge of the plateau,
I laughed at myself,
At my talking to myself,
Pretending I’m someone,
Keeping Sane,
Keeping Time,
Keeping hope for some magical More

Than just me.


(next is Fate)



Thursday, November 09, 2006



And write it on the bus,
And write it at night,
And write it alone.

Write it to you,

Lovely rose, emma, sullen,
Trace the life from,
Me to here,
To belief, to fear.

To pluto’s loss of name,
And the luxury of love.

And guess what jeans I’m wearing,
And what bones are buried,
In my back yard.

And forgive me,
And speak.

Design what you seek
Regret not this moment,
Not this glance,
Not this chance,

Not his retard rhyme.

I’m a lover and a dier.
I die for love every night.

And wake again.

And I know I got bills to pay.
But that time is …away.

And begin and end
This prison sentence with conjunction,

Live glory, when you have it.
Burst your heart forth,
For what it’s worth,

When Frank Black rolls.

Black Francis,
Turn your name round in your head.

Practice the skills that make you

And rhyme, like a retard.

I admit all is solved,
Until the next breath.

I’ll see you all in the marigolds.


Artist: Frank Black
Album: Devil's Workshop
Year: 2002
Title: Fields Of Marigold

Not for sugar not spice
Not for fool’s paradise
Not for giving advice
Not for saving a soul
There’s no reason for some
Now I’m getting numb
Now that moment has come
Hey how about a drum roll
For the Fields of Marigold?

Goodbye, I’m blowing a kiss to you
So long, wonderful being you
Goodnight we’ll soon be sleeping on the Fields of Marigold

Is it time to get up?
Now you’re breaking up
Though I know we are tough
I thought we’d lose control
And end up in the freezing cold

Goodbye, I’m blowing a kiss to you
So long, wonderful being you
Goodnight, we’ll soon be sleeping on the Fields of Marigold (x2)

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

The Typeset


Typewriter written, on the phone with ltlmke

I’ve never liked that word at all.

Rectangle-state people live in boxes.

Weather is a predator,
A snake that can eat you whole.
Earth’s atmosphere, planets’ motion,
Single systemic flux.

You; (verb); other.

Concrete ice of the mind,
An aspiration story.

Forget the “ABCs”
And the spelling,

Now we see the crocodile,
I’ll hang his teeth on the wall,

“Tool” said ltlmke.

Hello I’m listening,
Sullen Girl,
I was thinking,
Changing phones.

Fish tank: an enclosure of fluidic space,
You probably can’t hear it,
But they come up and pick
The food right out of your fingers.

Feed the fish.

They’re almost like mood rings
That swim around.

…Ya know, another
Cool fish to have
[are] angel fish…

Yeah, I’m just feeding the fish listening to you type.
Yeah, I’m just typing about you feeding the fish.

He’ll hammer
Me on my math skills.

Then off we go.

Mathmatical equations all over the page.

I still like the pawns stretching diagonally.
I’m the queen; I’d like to be the rook.
This game is going to move pretty quickly I think.

This ain’t some tappy-ti-tap on the keyboard,
Hoping the electrons go,

Swing ink!
We are swinging ink!

The colors kinetic,

Little moving pieces of letter,

The typeset.

“I even got to make the paper one day.”

swinging ink

....and so upon the following morning:

I am,

Patient as a stained glass window,
waiting for the sun,

Wary as a lion,
spring loaded in the brush,
as she suddenly smells another meat eater,

Muted as sunglasses,
on a cloudy day,

Swinging ink like
a squid in peril,

Horny as a jack rabbit,
buried in a bag of viagra.

Monday, October 30, 2006




I hear a ticking grow,
In the midnight dusk between days,
From within my bedroom,
Of the lamp round living room way.

By time is it seen,
By timed light I know
Which hour has come
Then decides to go.

It’s between the walls
From me to you
That defeats the stillness
For what’s old is new.

In the morning,
Through to tonight,
This long life of afternoon,
A migrating great wide bird,
In flight.


Musings on Temperance
IMAGE from Aquarian Tarot
by Craig Junjulas
U. S. Games ISBN 0880795921


This card heralds a time of complete freedom, wholeness, peace, and fulfillment.
Since the Temperance card follows Death, it is a symbol of new beginnings and new life.
In the Hanged Man we encounter the crisis of the ego no longer working for us; in Death we surrender the ego; and lastly, in Temperance we find our true self, our Highest Self.
This card reminds us to trust our higher guidance and to find balance within in order to find it without.
To me, the Temperance card is confirmation that I am open and receptive to the universe and that the lines of communication are clear.
Our goal is to embody our Higher Self, to live fully in peace and harmony in the world around us, and to instill peace within others.
Our society gets stuck in the social norms; owning beautiful things, how much we make a year, being eternally youthful, etc. when all that truly matters is not how long you live your life, nor how much you experience, but how deeply you experience it.
The Temperance card is your guardian angel, asking you to open up and express your anger, pain, resentment, as well as your love, happiness and encouragement.
Your guardian angel is asking you to let go of all the things bothering you, letting you know that it will take care of everything.
It's as simple as saying, "I surrender to my Highest Power," and feeling free.


Flare Shot Cross Darkwaters

Horizon flare

The Mother Of God
by William Butler Yeats

THE threefold terror of love; a fallen flare
Through the hollow of an ear;
Wings beating about the room;
The terror of all terrors that I bore
The Heavens in my womb.
Had I not found content among the shows
Every common woman knows,
Chimney corner, garden walk,
Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes
And gather all the talk?
What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart's blood stop
Or strikes a Sudden chill into my bones
And bids my hair stand up?

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Two Around Vi


There are times in a life
When you gloss over with rain.
The Thunder sounds from mouths around,
Eyes flash lightning in the dark.

But you smile.
You see.
There’s this breath, and me.

Only some sigh significantly.
Some hold still.
To know nothing
With a quiet will,
And so know calm.

(And) (So)
On and On,
With a hand holding mine
Or not.
Not to be forgot,
The times in a life.

Blithe Spirit.
Jack Benny.
Heads up, not tails,
Is a lucky penny.

I have a garden.
It's ready to go,
To sleep through winter
Under the snow,
To seed,
To stir,
To bloom after the brrrrrr.
To grow in my land,
By my hand,
A partnership free in bondage,
A relationship with bounds,
A degree of decree,
Between life and me.

I want an old Subaru.
A “poor man’s hybrid”
As Al did say.
I’ve ran my V8 Ford through thousands
Of miles, hearing John Lee
Hooker slight that streaming
Gravel Road.

I’ve been young,
I’ve been old.
I remember what I’ve been told,
What dreams I’ve sold,
What lead was gold,
If not all I’ve ever said.

And good morning,
And to bed.
I’m happy in this revolution’s thread.

Let it turn,
Let it turn me,
Let us each mark our passing.

I’m not slowing down.
I’m not losing steam.

Each day it begins,
My past,
My dreams,
My now-ward thrust.

To Make, To Here, To This, To ______.

You are Beautiful.

Beautiful View/ Luna/ Pup Tent/ 1997

Evergreens that lose their needles
Annually, Anyway.

“You're coming out of your shell,
You’re gonna shake it off.”

Enjoy the mix.
Mix your own drinks.

How many aspects of life
Don't actually revolve around love?

When the bass hits,
In home or on the street.

How much room of context,
Context room,
Lies between momentary
Emotional satisfaction and
The survival of the species?

Turn up the Base,
And listen to your favorite,
Listen to you.

As I feel, as you feel,
Agreement must come.

From the divine right of kings,
From the biggest club in the tribe,
To what?
What contract of sociality,
Are we to become?

How to turn instinct to the long view.

Who has the answer written well out?
Who has the messianic meme virus
To save our souls so efficiently?

We are moving beyond spell check.

If anything at all can exist outside of love.

All is defined by degrees
Of hot and cold,
Shadow and light.

We are you,
You are half.

So maybe it all just rides
Not on what we define our belief,
But how much actual work gets done.

It’s the homework afterall.

Achieve, believe, re-live.

e v e

Monday, October 23, 2006

"People Get Sick"


People get sick

People get sick
and we want them to get better,
but we also want them dead.
They live, and it's more of the same.
How we hate our wish to kill
what we cease to care for,
unwilling to bend. Cloak our weakness
in another's dazzling end.
Our mourning faces court the upset
due to us for lasting.
The single breath is ours.
We grab it, snuff the competition,
one less call to make or card to send.

Connections make us
want to fall in love,
even as our arms blast up to block its hasty approach.
We see our needy doubles in their mirrored eyes,
cast them out to blind in thistle-patch,
then lick away the scratches on their faces,
mad about ourselves. We flaunt the bait,
performing lonely, finding out too late
the act has worked. The merge occurred,
and we must do the time
or, breaking out,
shoot the wives and husbands,
drive the children into lakes.

War is hell, so we lament it,
grab for peace
like nature wants it for us.
We, the blessed, arrange
our words in suitable ritual order,
spinning tales inscribed on plaques
at bases of status we hunger to topple.
Who dare speak revolution?
aware we are among those who would lose
their lives (or are we?),
loyalties concealed behind our upheld hands,
warming at the crater's smoking orange edge.

—Barry Perlman

thanks, astrobarry

Thursday, October 19, 2006

'Please Let Me Drive You Home'

J. Hammond



Well that will make for some
interesting shit there.

(it's called my attic)

Get down with the hassel.
Listen to some John Hammond.

Shelter shell been gone so long,
in your arms again -track10
Been gone so long.

What quality of fires burns for me?
What strange smell,
What Destiny?
, like a period beginning a sentence,
the hour clicks silently.

Come wrath,
Come the world's destiny
(yeah I said it again)

I say I love you for sin.

let us, let's, lettuce

now how's that for twist gen X
stoner e.e. cummings?

Can you here the clicking?
(yeah I said it again)
That rail pronounced
By machine,
By man,
By wind and steel,
As we only are after all.

We breathing dreamers,
We shadows in the sun,
We spinning earths in our eyeball,
Our Sigh Bees a deadly thing.

Pray for Rhyme,
Pray for history,
That we may know the future,
Before it's due.

Before the flu,
Before the clue,
Before Xanu,
Before we forget,


before the comma

Friday, September 29, 2006

Little Blue Pearl

Hey all you spacey crazy cats
(and everyone else, you can come too),

I found a nifty NASA story on the some recent data from good ol' Voyager 1!
(let me cut a paste a little here...)


Our entire solar system—planets and all—sits inside a gargantuan bubble of gas about four times wider than the orbit of Neptune. The sun is responsible. It blows the bubble by means of the solar wind. Astronomers call the bubble itself "the heliosphere" and its outer membrane "the heliosheath."


Voyager 1 is about 10 billion miles from Earth, inside the heliosheath.

"You can simulate the heliosheath in your kitchen sink," says Stone. "Turn on the faucet so that a thin stream of water pours into the sink. Look down into the basin. Where the stream hits bottom, that's the sun. From there, water flows outward in a thin, perfectly radial sheet. That's the solar wind. As the water (or solar wind) expands, it gets thinner and thinner, and it can't push as hard. Abruptly, a sluggish, turbulent ring forms. That ring is the heliosheath."


neato bandito eh!??

And lastly, for this 'F-yeah It's Friday' post,

a lovely view of us... seen from Saturn by


Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Vein Full of Morphine


Give me a kiss hello goodbye

What's the difference you just end everything you say with a smile

Wave goodbye hello there's that look in your eye

Forwards backwards back it down the drive

Curtains in the window wave goodbye (x2)

Hello there's that look in your eye

And your crazy smile ah

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going to do

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going through

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going through

I know you and you know me and I know you you know me and I know you

Give me an invitation I'll be there

Unless of course I got to be somewhere

Give me your wish list let's shake hands

If you don't like it you can have your money back

Ahh (x4)

Give me a kiss hello goodbye

What's the difference you just end everything you say with a smile

Wave goodbye hello there's that look in your eye

And your crazy smile

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going through

I know you and you know me too

I know everything that your going to do

I know you and you know me too

You know everything that I'm going through

I know you and you know me and I know you you know me and I know you

I know you


Thursday, September 21, 2006

Mystery In The Main


Some mornings are not the same.
The sun rises from due South
The toothpaste tastes funny in the mouth.
The newspapers know who to blame.

Some roads are just slicker when wet.
The gutters flow full,
Gravity threatening your skull,
You make a correction, then "STET."

The bus driver smiles, his wipers work.
A beautiful girl, and her retarded brother.
Sitting in front of you like toast and butter.
One to lead and one to lurk.

Mystery in the main,
Foggy breath in sunrise flame,
Wet dying dew, your heat and ice.