Long night no sleep, long time no countin’ black sheeps in order to get some of it (sleep), long vane pray (is) unworthy to it (sleep), long time no see any lights, towards the end of stage it appears wide, just warmin’up, just warmin’up what she said when time was enough not to talk nor to (guess what?) sleep. Bad idea to stop drinking, I really need to rot, damn that was (to stop drinking) a bad idea pal, it was almost three days, just the three of them, count the hours on hurtin’n’sweatin’n’cursin’n’drinkin’n’smokin’n’burning… and pain… and then again, why did I stop? Why should I stop? Not just drinking but all of that… why to stop? ‘Cos I needed (to continue nor stop) no matter what in order to start a new (bad) day and a new (really bad) week and then maybe to start (AGAIN!) another (maybe maybe not) three days and those darn similar (almost the same) hours on turmoil… they say there’s something, not bad nor good but indeed all of them seemed to have the same name for it… life, nope, I’m sure… they call that life, so it happens I have one too, maybe I had, nope, who cares, I had I have it doesn't fuckin’ matter to me I know my need is to be, hell if I know, on pain, on pain pills, on higher cloud, falling through darker and deeper deeps, so welcome Home, the End of the World, yep I know everybody would know that except me, would they trust (me)? Who cares… so be it… I cannot trust you, nor I can get some esteem ‘bout you as well, things get rough these days on my skin, on my tendons, on my lungs and last but not least with my head.
If I die while un-completing one of my sketches, it just will be the umpteenth of my bads, will be proof I’m not good on drawin’n’fillin’ my sheets while losing time wasting ideas. Salt’n’peanuts, salt’n’peanuts, salt’n’peanuts, I feel I shouldn’t’ve done that yet… done what? The hell and back again to Hell… that’s what! Done that. So it happened I read that letter of hers, it just came out of the blue, I really had no clue but there it was and I, therefore, did it. Everytime I sneeze a little piece of my brains fall through my nose, it’s not common to see but anyway I got this disease. it’s just a question about time till all of my insane brain will be spurting inside-out so finally my head will be empty enough to care no more to feel no more to write no more to do no more to be no more. She brought rain, the healthy caring burning rain, it fell all night long and its song brought me more. Don’t you know bro this is the End of the World for all I know, this is where the World Ends, don’t be so surprised, you had it comin’ since a long (The Blue Comet) so fuckin’ long shot bro, this is it. Wouldn’t be so bad? Would it be? Could be. In a way or two, on some different point of view, she kept on bringin’ that bottle, tables were empty being so late hence, I’m late too and lame and fading but still drinking enough to entirely mix up my blood on sugars. Will I feel something? I doubt that...
If I die on my turn on bloody playin’ my bloody (Salt’n’peanuts, salt’n’peanuts) drum-set, no matter what time made, where time went, no matter even, Even Steven, if I burnt my other arm, broke my other leg. Since I’m so gone I’ll have you all cheering more and for a good reason… and you know what they’d say, a smoker’s smoker when all your chips are down! If I die on my turn on playin’ my drum-set… would I care for music and notes and whys and wheres but most especially where did C (or D#) or A Major go? Would I care the song I started to write and then who cares (if) it went down the drain, hopes all go down there, rightly down to the drain. Can’t be so bad, could be a bit dry after all those years. Using brushes it’s so difficult, hell I’m no drummer just got my drum-set to accomplish my (un-)due sense of time and yet, brushes get out of me the very bad. Hammering with brushes on my snare drum it’s just a waste of time, of me, of any intention of mine, like those words I cared to say once and now being dead as well as forgotten as they need to be.
If I die while sayin’ you (Ginger) So Long! Certainly it couldn’t be so wrong… will I be happy cos I’d remember my path till I met dear Sister D. Just a little bit more than forty steps to my grave, forty and somethin’ stones, forty and somethin’ scratches and one zillion bloody holes and cuts and burns and rips and broken bones more to fade and stay (maybe) dead awake. Wouldn’t be so bad? Would it be? Certainly not my dear ‘cos this is the coming of new things to be, it’s a crimson wish on darker grays, those colors can’t be described with the touch of a pen, those colors get you from the inside, it’s like you rip open your chest the Y way and (won’t) care about the spilling and the dripping of your liver and spleen and guts being on steel, lie a little, die a little day by day, mourn maybe at some point and sure laugh for all that is meant to be. Nobody said forty and something would be enough on/to me to understand, we’re not the same, I’m no smarter nor ready by any chance and yet it sounds strange like a song you know but can’t recall why it seems (to you) so familiar and yet makes you alienate from everything else.
If I die when I’m in my sleep how many horses on the yellow and empty prairie, how many trees and walks on the long short terms talks… do you really talk the talk but can you… walk the walk? Show me then I’ll show you why and suddenly we’re on Mars (we’re at war!) when lights and gravity can’t matter like on Earth, where outside temperatures rise and melt flesh like lead, it’s just another door on the thin walls, the way to pass through and get over and over again, you are walking but full circle and never get the sense. It’s like driving closing the margin of error fearing in losing finally control.
If I die when I take a deep breath or if I die just waitin’ for Her, life expectations will get short on practical terms. I will be the one and only to blame, told you so you’d say, you’re lame while keeping your walk straight and tryin’ to reach, by the other side, the other way. can’t keep control on all events she always (to me) said, can’t keep all together again, can’t stop the wheel form spinning anyway its will will. Face a mirror look at those mistakes I made, there is no learning in keeping doing that, there is no end on falling deeper eventually even reaching the point through which time and space and light bend and torn. Attractions of the opposites, magnetic fields with the finest of airing, if I could bring with me a song till the beginning of universe’s Entrophy I’d make it play all along until those short terms of existence, through all its persistence, like watching the fire standing on a burning fence (and) you know you’ll be down, it’s just a matter of measures in terms of quantum and momentum there… when you could take from time a slice and see all your life behind shaping into a squared bi-dimensional form like a snapshot on a wider grid.
If I die on a meteor crush and I talk about the E.L.E., such a global scale event and, def-con one will be just poor matter if related to cosmic and powerful storms, while this crashes and ends all, I could even find a slight glimpse of light, no pun intended, where all those charms are gone there’ll be only to face the emptiness of my soul.
If I die for a hole in my head, would I remember my actions, lies, hurts I led (and/to) the easy squeezin’ finger on the little sweaty worn trigger, and the back of my skull and little bits, more brains all along the colorful tiles while sitting at my beautiful desk, while sitting and rambling and thinking should I do it or do not, should I do this should I do it to me, carin’ for someone else to be so discreet while half my face rips open and I lose all my teeth. While my tongue get cut and my throat seems to explode but I have nothing to worry more about, it just went with a SPLAT blurrin’ my conscience away while crimson painting all over the wall on my back appear and there will stand.
If I die while the exact time my cancer went down ‘cos doctors said: you won! Ready to go now and play another set… no more pills and no more (the unusual) radio like they did uselessly to my Dad, end of the line, ready to shine, far from the hospital but right back to the basement, the pit, right to the morgue in a bag as long as me, go spinning those wheels ahead ‘cos warm it’s bad to a corpse so better to be and stay and rot right into the cold (and) so I, there, went.
If I die in a nuclear war or whatever the fuck else, planet’s gone, it’s a matter of time it shell explode, so birds and cakes and toons are gone, no more words and no more ramblin’ all over those streets, no more fears on catching a cold ‘cos will be a long and sad and darker winter to oblivion, no more to care for my half burnt plastic heart, don’t even think of making balloons and sweets, there I’ll be down with braves or fools… no matter about tides and even the fat bright side of the moon and her smiles, shouldn’t be this collapsin’ while my skin’s in shreds and my entrails spurtin’out’ll start frying down into the dirt?
If I die tellin’ for Her I’d die for, all games would be finally close, no more ups and downs the mattress or right back, standing, at the door, no more striking on the nose, no more telling my two cents on truth and lies and life on Mars and my youth... I can’t live ‘cos of Her... but I’ll be dead and gone and so why, so why, whywhwywhywhwywhywhy should I care even, EVEN STEVEN, a little bit more...
If I die then I die and why? I’m set and lousy and dirty and bent to shreds… why should I be so sad? If I die and then I die will be the end of all my compass searching the source of my pain, there will be no more seasons and waits and claims and self inflicted delusions on wide range. All’s done stays done. Can’t make the wheel spins uphill, time’s set and yet hopes go on its tangent, there’s a place where all goes and there it’s possible to find the answer right there into the void where the only really absolute truth lies meaning there’s no absolute truth to be shown or discover.
If I die while I write would be a shame even if without being able to end this sent...
21 luglio 2017 ore 00:18 segnala
Long night no sleep, long time no countin’ black sheeps in order to get some of it (sleep), long vane pray (is) unworthy to it (sleep), long time no see any lights, towards the end of stage it appears wide, just warmin’up, just warmin’up what she said when time was enough not to talk nor to (guess...
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