Fancy Life Machine
Whoops, I died again, but
I was not out of quarters, and was
reborn, impossibly, and saw
myself as I wanted me to
to be, and it really
SHOCKED
me as sane as I’m capable of feeling,
and it’s beautiful to see that you’re not as ugly on the outside as you
look
from the inside, and that sometimes
you should leave your mind be,
do the things you love and
then
perhaps your twisted thoughts will set themselves
free.
But I won’t die for nothing next time,
when it’s for real
you’d better have paid me back
in
one-way tickets to unknown stations,
in
two-way thoughts exchanged in elation
at coffee tables under radiant skies,
in
stolen glances and raspberry breath,
damp sheets and the smell of the ocean,
in
shared weirdness and maddening honesty,
the mutual recognition of things beyond words,
in
cryptic dreams of the universe,
in
surprises that I hate, because they shake me loose,
in
teddybears and smiling ice queens, vanilla coffee with smells of the future,
wisps of spices around the corner, thoughts of eternity without the
paradoxes, and life.
Pay me with life.
And make mine chaotic,
so that I never grow dull.
Or should I be careful what I ask for instead?
Dance a little dance,
Dream a little dream.
Throw another coin in our
Fancy Life Machine...
When all else fails we can whip the horses eyes and make them sleep and cry.
Violence isn't always evil.
What's evil is the infatuation with violence.
We fear violence less than our own feelings.
Personal, private, solitary pain is more terrifying than what anyone else can inflict.
People fear death even more than pain.
It's strange that they fear death. Life hurts a lot more than death.
At the point of death, the pain is over. Yeah, I guess it is a friend.
I wouldn't mind dying in a plane crash.
It'd be a good way to go.
I don't want to die in my sleep, or of old age, or OD... I want to feel what it's like.
I want to taste it, hear it, smell it.
Death is only going to happen to you once; I don't want to miss it.
Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes.
You are free.
Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities.
There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors.
Open all doors. You can walk through anyone that suits you.
If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.
It's like gambling somehow.
You go out for a night of drinking and you don't know where you're going to end up the next day.
It could work out good or it could be disastrous. It's like the throw of the dice.
I believe in a long, prolonged, derangement of the senses in order to obtain the unknown.
Drugs are a bet with your mind.
I am interested in anything about revolt, disorder, chaos - especially activity that seems to have no meaning - like this.
It seems to me to be the road toward freedom...
Rather than starting inside, I start outside and reach the mental through the physical.
The cake is a lie
These last lines have been a lie
to entertain my morbid side
and rekindle my fascination
with the foolishness some call life.
My soul rejoices with every dawn
and weeps again for every dusk
because I know that every day
is Death ignoring me again.
Something fell from my mind today
and splatted on the ground
I don't know what it was
But I don't miss it
So how's life?
it's ok for a fiber-filled oat square covered in cinnamon, but personally, I prefer Frosted Flakes...
If two stick people had sex, would it start a fire?