She said

(and so I stopped to listen)

She said

"they say
the best things in the world can sometimes come from the
bottom of the barrel of a gun,

they tell me one year of pain is worth a moment of gain
and try not to think about it - it's just your brain."

"tough love, the way the world works, the earth randomly sprinkled with a fistful of jerks;
don't feel guilty for not being poor? shame on you, now donate some more
feeling a tad overqualified to march off to war? close your eyes, now forget you're a sacrificial whore"

"who made these rules? It must have been they
but they aren't here, not today, yet they
always get their way
(always the way, the way they get away),
always in the way"

she said "I think the devil of they, calls himself 'the people'"

"the people aren't they, the people are me and you, Betty and Lou, and another teeming six billion point two.

"they is the excuse, to put a noose on yourself, to serve something else
to grin,
lay in bed, offer blood
while the bullet from some firing line tears through your head
(judgment takes a holiday, your insides go grey, so don't think today)"

she said "don't lie on the shelf
don't live for someone else
don't stop churning, questioning, yearning
as long as you're burning, much as you're earning
don't fade away."

she said "when I'm finally me, how happy we shall be! when the subject is the object, then my life sentence is complete."

they don't like what she says.

Rugged and hatless

(rambles on individualism?)

Draidle my indecision, wheedle and cause elision, I collect fragments in a jar for shards, the larder pantry and the collection of brain lint: Sweet causality, I turned myself into a special effect, a notable glimmer on a much larger and deeper surface; no more dull totalitarianism for the mind, more like one small star among billions, my little solar system with its own laws of gravitation, exceptions to the general theory. The confidence of an absolute, the fog of special relativity (I fell in love with my third cousin? ;-) ); I am a prime candidate for hemorrhoids – shit or get off the pot. (the opposite of a watertight argument, someone more interested in asking questions than proving self-righteousness.)

I was listening to Lucio all day - he was on a desperate erotic stomp. He sang a song for a song that could find a girl. Who knows where she is; send the music after her. On the radio, passed along by satellite beacons, she catches your intentions an ocean away. (I’m not romantic; I can’t trust birds, roses or rainbows to relay messages; I won't let smoke signals do my dirty work.)

Don’t ask me to sacrifice myself to you, she says, I won’t live for you. You can’t make me happy – it’s not within your power. I can help you live for your own sake though - there is no greater favour. I will let you die, if you don’t let me live… Let me live, and I will help make it possible for you to live…

So stop taxing me! And turn off your vicious medieval philosophy of death.