I hope contempt for God as well
And his faux religion
We undersell
If I’ve reason to believe
To soul lies to itself
I’ll show them mercy
But will I lie to myself?
And again you’ll find
A miracle in inches I know you will
I hold contempt for her majesty
She answers only to charity
Ready my head for disbelief
But superstitions help
I show them mercy but do I lie to myself?
I’ll hold contempt for God as well
(until he delivers by hand)
And again you’ll find
A miracle in inches I know you will
Love is not something you can just make. It isn’t forged of steel or extruded from decaying dinosaur remains. It is found in ourselves. The moment it happens, we know. Yet so many people force the feeling to match up with their physical desire that it all ends up lost in translation with nothing but a dead end and a satiated sexual craving.
With this new Millennium, it has brought along a new culture; one more focused on physical sexuality rather than matters of the heart. And this is not to say that I feel as if “sex” has no room in a loving relationship when in fact “making love” is a perfect example of what the act might entail. It shouldn’t just be something we throw around like a chew toy as if our heart is secondary and our body is simply a wasteland for all of our dirty deeds.
I know I must sound like a prude with all of this nonsense, and I am not here to say that “sex” is bad and abstinence is the way to go because it’s not; It’s just an form of emotional slavery instilled by too many different religions to name at the moment. But just stop and think to yourself the next time you are hovering over a beautiful queen or a chiseled Greek God that you claim to love beyond limits: “Can my love exist through all that may come?”. If the doctor says they only have months to live, or when an un-treatable disease robs them of normality or their reproductive organs were marred in some unfortunate accident (I’m just spit-ballin’ here); would you still love them the same as before? Are there emotional qualities that would keep your heart tied to them in their time of need? If you can’t truly say that you would stick behind them at their worst, then why would you think you deserve them at their best?
“True ’till death” It’s what true love should be about.
I’m hoping to be proud
Hoping that it shows
I look in the mirror
Hoping that he knows
My heart is to be found
Giving way to getting wet
Red tide
I find it so peculiar
How you sit and stare
No one gets out alive
No one
For now and always
Hoping for the best
A pretty cigarette
Leaves the head a wreck
I beg you to believe
Assumption leaves you in
Red tides
I find it so peculiar
How you sit and stare
I smell the sound of a growing gash
With pop sensibilities.
K-Q-E-D
“It’s a tune that equals you.”
I feel
Hallelujah I fail,
Bulemia I’m frail.
Hallelujah I fell,
Salting the back of a snail.
And…
This is worship and this is tribute
Am I crumbling, ripping and failing?
Knowing you fit, you fit, you fit in…
And, and,
You fit in!
K-Q-E-E-E-E-E-E-D
“It’s a tune that equals you.”
I feel
Hallelujah, I fail,
Bulemia, I’m frail.
Hallelujah, I fell,
Salting the back of a snail.
And…
Am I worshipping or am I tributing?
Loving, crumbling, ripping, and failing.
My turkish prison is knowing I fit in.
And, and,
I fit in!
Feeding time,
An old friend of mine
At the leper zoo, yeah yeah
Que sera?
Erotic hurrah
With no rescue, girl.
Feeding time,
An old friend of mine
At the leper zoo, yeah yeah.
Que sera?
Erotic hurrah
It’s cool.
Be cool, girl.
I’m not impressed,
I guess I’m not impressed.
With which dialect, which dialect marches best,
And who reaches heaven in what order
When our kids are baptized in mortar.
It’s a shame that our messiahs move their pawns from different mountains
And we’re left to dance these bodies ’round the fountain.
If a leader preaches worship to the sheep within the valley,
Who’ll be riding in a tank that says “just married”?
I’m not impressed,
I guess I’m not impressed.
With which dialect, which dialect marches best,
We found that ultimately you can make it snow in the summer.
Contrary to what you believe
We oscillate and vary speed.
The food in jail is sulphury.
How do inuits spell relief?
Summer’s trudging closer and a flurry of white as well.
It’s the heart of nuclear winter and I’m scared as hell.
It’s a shame that our messiahs move their pawns from different mountains
And we’re left to dance these bodies ’round the fountain.
If a leader preaches worship to the sheep within the valley,
Who’ll be riding in a tank that says “just married”?
many ways, many days, many phases down the line…
when people whisper it makes her nervous.
it’s you from the airport addressing most littlest.
in several days i just might prove worth it.
after all should they let you decide?
anyway, in a way…
walk the wire, walk the line.
when people whisper it makes her nervous.
it’s you from the airport addressing most littlest.
several days too late to unearth it.
we are the most impassioned, ugly people;
Ugly people say
A little YouTube browsing brought along this little gem and although it’s a little rough because it is a live track, I enjoy the raw perfection 🙂
All Good Junkies go to Heaven By GlassJaw
From the pills for the whispering
Even children know you are
sickened by your own protest
and you make sure it will pass
And you made it your business
to fish the tumor out
so you take and shake it, shake it
out of the ones you are
When the medicine you fancy has all run out
all good junkies go to heaven
When the medicine you fancy has all run out
all good junkies go to heaven
You bottled divinity
for the thimble to drown in
It brightens the children’s faces
when you water your old man
a sinner at gun point
you keep your monkey fed
and he takes and shake it, shake it
out of the ones he hurt
When the medicine you fancy has all run out
all good junkies go to heaven
When the medicine you fancy has all run out
all good junkies go to heaven
You bottled divinity
for the thimble to drown in
It brightens the children’s faces
when you water the old man
a sinner at gun point
you keep your monkey fed
and he’ll take and shake it, shake it
out of the ones you are
When the medicine you fancy has all run out
all good junkies go to heaven
When the medicine you fancy has all run out
all good junkies go to heaven
Mr. Shiver, I’m glad you sent a line
euphoria’s endearing
but it’s cold; we might as well retire to the
drawer where all used things (where all used things)
reside.
Mr. Shiver in the river
you were sold
you were told
I feel (I feel), if we make it over the mountain.
I feel (I feel), if we make it… if we make it…
Dressed in leather, red ball and vault attire
the most ironic place to be is easy (yeah):
between my finger and the blade, right before I let the used
(I let the used) resign.
Mr. Shiver in the river
you were sold
you were told
I do (I do) if we make it over the mountain
I do (I do) if we make it… if we make it…
You might lose the one you choose,
you might lose who won you, times ten,
(times ten, times ten, times ten)
You might lose the heat you choose
you might lose who won you, times ten
(times ten, times ten, times ten)
time time…
I do (I do) if we make it over the mountain
I feel (I feel) if we make it… if we make it…
Lately I have been thinking a lot about my favorite book series “Youth in Revolt”. And no, I am not referring to the movie adaptation that left out about half of the three books it was based off (also not to say the movie sucked. Michael Cera was a perfect fit for Nick Twisp and Portia Doubleday played the role of Sheeni Saunders, as if she were meant for it. I still despise Sheeni’s character to this day. If you read the series, you may agree or disagree.) I am talking about the 7-book series that had me enthralled the whole way through. This was a series that didn’t allow me to rest unless I was flipping through its content with wide eyes and a tender heart.
Now you might be thinking “Who fucking cares? Why are we listening to Frank Sinatra while you blab about some book?”. Well that would be because Nick Twisp is also a Frank Sinatra fanatic; and in the book, he and Sheeni enjoy small coffee shops together for its simplicity and intimate setting. And considering Nick, was head-over-heels for Sheeni, this song came rushing into my conscience as I replayed the scenes over and over in my head.
So I thought I’d share the song with you all and maybe even garner some interest in those who have yet to dive into the fantastical mind of C.D. Payne and his quirky novels 🙂
Mam’selle Performed by Frank Sinatra:
A small Cafe, Mam’selle, our rendezvous, Mam’selle.
The violins were warm and sweet, and so were you Mam’selle.
And as the night danced by, a kiss became a sigh,
Your lovely eyes seemed to sparkle just like wine does
No heart ever yearned the way that mine does for you.
And yet I know too well someday you’ll say goodbye,
Then violins will cry, and so will I, Mam’selle.
The Way it Goes 