|Forever breathes the lonely word.
||[Mar. 1st, 2004|02:17 pm]
Said with a squint.
|||||The Fall - I am Damo Suzuki.||]|
Crapsticks... Events have conspired against tonight’s trip to Durham. So now I feel redundant and I want something to take my mind off time... I took Ozymandias for a walk, Went to the river and looked into the water. The water was red like a strong tea, I thought about how tea seems familiar and how it should be exotic and oriental. As much as orientalism is a construction of empiricism it also creates something desirable and unusual. I've had enough Tea, over fished it. I hope that I never try Opium.
(Mantras of the Blue Train)
"Life should be full of strangeness, like a rich painting."
"Je est un autre."
"She sould have died hereafter."
"Contemple-les, mon âme; ils sont vraiment affreux!"
"Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished."
I want to sit at the river reading Beddoes or Thomson or Hopkins until the night drains from the sky and as people walk past me they will hold their breath as not to take in any of the sickness... "there ain’t nothing nice no more"
But for all of my sound and fury this signifies nothing, I feel like a liar. Frustration.
I am writing... this is going to be good.
I know it. I know it. I know it.
My mind is in storms, a million distorted thoughts a second, schizophrenic visions of disturbing clarity... this won't last long so I have to use it before I burn out.
"Here I'm alive, everything all of the time"