March 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
i’ve read somewhere: promote change, but don’t do it so often. or something.
there came a time when i found reasons to cry each night. anything. but somehow, those find a way to boil down to a particular reason. a reason too obvious, too common, and not too unnatural. say perhaps, hunger. no parents at home, no dinner. perhaps something deeper, deep that dried up tears can’t fall down to.
the clack, the crisp clack of unconnected rhymes, or nothing rhyming. or words. the flow that one just has to listen to, forget what it means. it’s the sound you must hear, and listen. no meaning. no meaning. the resounding music of something you didn’t bother to decipher. until too late, of course.
it’s the saliva. when you focus, it’s the saliva you can hear.
=never let me go + keane’s hopes and fears + gap=
i want to be suffocated by people who forgot how to make choices. who appreciated art, and appreciates it still. like the congenital. because, information overload does that to our brains.
but by saving grace, your ma comes home bringing what was left for what was supposedly her share of supper, and you get to it. then you didn’t realize you’ve eaten all of the biscuit sticks. mine did, and i did.
when sunshine sounds like can anybody find their way home, that drop of sunshine stopped at 4 minutes, i don’t know where i live anymore. but it is lovely to dwell on the keyboard. with the calm ticking, it’s the perfect clack, the crisp clack of connecting rhymes. but of course, each punch sounds awfully the same. awesome.
keeping a straight face, i bumped on the question, where have i been all my years? i belong to the vague age, it doesn’t matter. white lights sounds like white lies.
now, i long (to be) être naturelle.