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| xanga is fucking dead. I don't know why I put forth the effort to type this, anyone with 1/3 of a brain would not bother reading this, kbye.
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Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to mention
and surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to perfection'
but the more I turn my face from the crowd
the more I feel my backs' increasingly compelled
for the sake of escape, to turn a knife on itself,
a knife of relief, from all the petty insight
and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the night.
Bored as fuck with this street corner-cover.
study of a face in a figure. surveying this language as a game
surveilence of this language as the plague.
the dimension of persistence condemns.
This portrait of karma, crafted in accident
text book seduction, minus the text in the language of ghosts
and so we ran, like the wolves were biting,
the inhibitions of their prey kept them from screaming
"scratch my back and I will stab you in yours"
so I chose to live this life alone, without the teeth marks
but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone else's heart to heal my own.
just a victim's split, one part for the wolves, one part for you.
but I'll grow weary soon, weary of this fractal code,
weary of this hallway lined with ghosts.
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to let them in
their words will cause the sweetest fracture from a stone's throw
just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to welcome them
parasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like spirits mingling in the mist
that we crafted, a starving jury, let them eat shit from our trembling hands.
The heat for heat's sake, on this Barnard block of Congress
deductively speaking, the polar of progress
well maybe I put too much faith in the accident
entranced, we danced toward the ripest display of escape
let the starving ghosts feats, from this flesh, from these bones,
let them all feast. In this chess game of language, forced to sit so I
play all alone, watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from a
wild crafted rose. | | |
| Locked up in the distance
in the falter above us
as the contrails pass you spoke your mind
old photos distort you
and you're frowning a smile
as the misery makes us blind
stand down, fall apart and the trouble starts
yeah the trouble starts over again
in the scenes of this casting
where a tragedy follows
as the contrails pass this vacant sky
Disappear, Orlean
away from tarnished golden arsenals
you're laying down again
disappear, Orlean
because your swansong fell on fallen heads
you're laying down again
time goes nowhere
Au Revoir.
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| Fuck you guys, seriously.
I think I'm only going to use xanga to comment people now, myspace is 10x better anyway (I never thought I'd be saying this =/)
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| So I'm listening to the new Thrice cd.(pirated ofcourse ;) )..I'm
halfway through it and I can already say it's very good (so far it isnt
quite the masterpiece I'd been told it was) and also very different
from there previous work, it's slightly better than Illusion Of Safety
and leagues above Identity Crisis and Artist In The Ambulance (just
plain shitty) in most parts it seems slower and a tad more
melodic but then they throw a loop at you and return to their heavier
roots. I'm very impressed, if I were to categorize them I don't think I
could. They've developed quite a unique sound over the years melding
together many different sounds, although you can definitely hear the
punk and hardcore roots. Download this album or buy it from their
online store when it comes out the 18th of this month , just
don't give the RIAA any of your money.
For more information on that, checkout
http:///www.downhillbattle.org & http://www.riaaradar.net and
fight the power! (yes, that sounds very cliche)
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