February 13th, 2005
110823549872592382
Frank van `t Ende and beating through my mind and heart
Swing, careless time, do not rescue me from myself.
I am deep inside of my mind, and a cold wind blows through the window I cannot shut leading to the seat of my emotion.
Beat, ting, beat, ting, roll, 12345678
Pad, warm pad, chorus, echo, crying voice belonging to a girl standing smiling on the black canvas of my dreams. Climbing through a forest on a mountain to a door with stairs leading into a basement filled with candy-sucking starlets tripping around in a circle that shivers past my eyes.
The notes fall from a guitar flipping over my knuckles with my head dropping into a pool of ice cold water VAT! ring and reverb, shake and shake and shake and shake and shake and shake.
Beat and maps and bicycle tires rolling around and along and past a hill into a field over a river with fish and jumping live live from the water, live with life that they feel which passes in a second from an egg to a child to a nice fat fish caught by a man and sent to General MacArthur who was loved by a country of new, free people.
Jumping, jumping, jumping why can’t we all be jumping? In one place yes a very fine place so far away from the cries and the papers and the weights that come hung around your neck for the “freedom” of being a man. No, humble, humble am I living in a time and a place without so many fears and sicknesses consuming my health but oh so unfortunate for living in a time and a plce with so many fears and sicknesses consuming our health. Where is progress? When will that “convenient” future come? Twenty years ago it was today and twenty years from now it will be forty, while the man is liberated by machines which free him from the strain of repetitive, mind numbing work which bind him daily to the strain of repetitive, mind numbing work and I am not a number! Not a resource, or a cliche’, or a demographic, or “disposable income”. I am a breathing thing, like a beetle or a mold, or a crab so much gooey meat moving about inside of a stupid, fragile sack. Crack open the crab and see his flesh, so much like the mud and trash collected on a storm drain. Crack open the man and see his flesh, so much like a wet, rotted tree fallen over and eaten by insects.
No I say, no I will not sit here and say nothing. I will say everything and I will say it more than once, again and again for you not to listen and unwinding raw before you, standing naked in the ugliness that is a shunt to all the crap that a human thinks and feels. Shake your head, pass it by and forget that you’ve seen a man kneeing on a crushed cardboard box scraping dried, processed cheese [it's LOVE!] off wrappers with dirty fingers. There is your clean world and a dirty one which you avoid, but those are the ideals, and they exist only as you imagine them, for in reality they infect every living creature with the stunning beauty of overlooked grey.
