The Cribs – Be Safe

01/12/2011

One of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger,
And outlet for emotions stockpiled,
an arsenal,
an armour.
These are the days when I hate the world.
Hate the rich,
hate the happy,
hate the complacent,
the TV watchers, beer drinkers, the satisifed ones.
Because I know I can be all those little hateful things, and then I hate myself for realising that.
There is no preventative, directive or safe approach to living,
we each know our own fate.
We know from our youth how to be treated, how we’ll be received and we shall end.
These things don’t change.
You can change your clothes,
change your hairstyle,
your friends,
cities,
continents.
But sooner or later your old self will always catch up,
always it waits in the wings.

Ideas swirl but don’t stick.
They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield.

One of those rainy day car rides, my head implodes.
The atmosphere in this a car a mirror of my skull.
Wet,
damp,
windows dripping and misted with cold.
Walls of grey.
Not a good song on the radio, not a thought in my head.

Let’s take life and slow it down incredibly slow.
Frame by frame.
With two minutes that take 10 years to live out.
Yeah, let’s do that.

Telephone poles like praying mantis against the sky, metal arms outstreched.
So much land travelled, so little sense made of it.
It doesn’t mean a thing all these land laid out behind of us, I’d like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while.
I’m disguisted with petty concerns;
parking tickets,
breakfast specials.
Does someone just have carry this weight?

Abstract typography,
methane covenant,
linear gospel,
Nashville sales lady,
stygian emissary,
torturous lice,
mad Elizabeth.

Chemotherapy bullshit.

The light within you shines like a diamond mine,
like an unarmed walrus,
like a dead man face down on the highway.
Like a snake eating it’s own tail,
steam turbine,
frog pond.
Two full closets burst open in disarray,
soap bubbles in the sun,
hospital bed death bed,
red convertible,
shopping list,
blowjob,
death’s head,
devil’s dancing,
bleached white buildings,
memories,
movements.
The movie unappealing,
unreeling,
about to begin.

I’ve seen your hallway, you’re a darn call away.
I hear your stairs creak.
I can fix my mind on your yes, on your no.
I’ll film your face today in the sparkling canals,all red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver Dutch reflection.
Racing thoughts, racing thoughts, all too real, and you’re moving too fast now I can’t hold your image.
This image I have of your face by the window, me standing beside you, arm on your shoulder.
A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses, then gone again.
I’m tethered to this post you’ve sunk in me and every clear afternoon now I’ll think of you up in the air, twisting your heel, your knees up around me, my face in your hair.
You scream so well, your smile so loud it still rings in my ears.

Inhabition, distant, tired of longing.
Clean my teeth.
Stay the course.
Hold the wheel.
Steer off to freedom.
Open all the boxes.
Open all the boxes.
Open all the boxes.
Open all the boxes.
Times Square, midday, newspaper buildings, news headlines going around, you watch as they go and hope for some good ones.
Those tree shadows in the park, they’re all whispering, chasing leaves.
Around 6pm, shadows across cobblestones.
Girl in front of a bathroom mirror as she slowly paints her face green – mask like – like Matisse.
Portrait with green stripe.
Long shot through an apartment window,
a monolgue on top but no girl in shot.
The light within me shines like a diamond mine,
like an unarmed walrus,
like a dead man face down on the highway.
Like a snake eating it’s own tail,
steam turbine,
frog pond.
Two full closets burst open in disarray,
soap bubbles in the sun,
hospital bed death bed,
red convertible,
shopping list,
blowjob,
death’s head.

Devil’s dancing,
bleached white buildings,
memories,
movements.
The movie unreeling, about to begin.

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