The screamers, bible preachers give the ear the will to kill
The moaners, not addictive but still a sleeping pill
The hyperactive mirror a hippie’s nightmare
Who gives a damn? I can be happy anywhere.
Subways are the throats that swallow the minimum wage
Parks are the acid jokes Pavement tells its friends
I ate an apple that was modified with Tupperware
Who gives a damn? I can be happy anywhere.
Spoil me
And in the meantime claim
I’m happy
While I intoxicate myself dying
Slowly
I graffiti the city and shout
“Courageous!”
I need to hush the splash to enjoy a meal
But this is happy in the city and that’s fine with me
If there’s a green I’m not going, it will turn grey soon
That’s why I like it here: the rush is heavy but I get home soon
Some places borrow my scent and I borrow theirs
Some people borrow my love and I borrow theirs
Misterio! Life can feed on things that aren’t even there...
Fire the animal and be happy everywhere.
Spoil me
And in the meantime claim
I’m happy
While I intoxicate myself dying
Slowly
I graffiti the city and shout
“Courageous!”
I need to hush the splash to enjoy a meal
But this is happy in the city and that’s fine with me.
Writing is not cathartic, even though its feeling of release is present; it is not enlightening, however, it provokes critical thinking; it is not, above all, entertaining, nonetheless it transports you. I write in order to rationalize interiority, to catch emic experiences with a net. Everything, however, revolves and remains inside.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
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