Fuzzy Alexander

Audrey likes igloos and the Ocean as she shimmers
finds immediate beauty in cognitive dissonance
she remains utterly feral and gives us the shivers
under the midnight sun she will soon dance.

Her life is a grand enchantment of sere tales,
constellation watching on a hot Saturday night
thermogliding from the fuzzy alpine kittentails
favorite wildflowers end up in a peace pipe.

Researching knowledge and keeper of the scrolls
hums that make angels a less terrifying protector
perilous cliff-tops swaying above the dark souls
likely to be eaten by a spider named Alexander.

Related articles

• Cognitive Dissonance – Psychology Definition of the Week (psychology.about.com)
• Cognitive Dissonance – PsyBlog (gcmpacaquaticindustries.wordpress.com)

From the Sun to the Earth via the Moon

I’m so happy with my feet on the ground
the people in the mirror laugh at you and me
the blackest moment my head spins around
the people in the mirror will one day be free
sitting contently on a fence meant to confound.

Do you remember those blackest thoughts that were mine
oh they‘re all mine and now a little bit wise and older
when too much time was almost yours and not mine
oh these days are mine and yours to only remember
when too much heaven time was almost not mine.

Do you recall when you walk the talk to yourself
we can’t help notice there is no light in your grime
we give you armor and our eyes ask for only glory
do you recall in your winter there is a winter-time
in the streets of your autumn with your fall self

I’m wishing to be nothing at all because that is what i decide
the people in the mirror people know not how to leaven
you’re handing me heaven because it should be ours to hide
I’m giving what’s truly mine and you only want heaven
there is screaming at the mirror from the people inside.

The Aetherspheric history of this race upon our home called Earth
all us little life forms growing up in ten dimensional time-space
multiplying with little children and in the process we unearth
the way our world is made by singing in our own voice and pace
dying again and returning through a transmogrified rebirth.

Out-of-town again and searching for reaping money spinners
here is another mother who goes by the good book of plod
the sleeping policemen reaping all the gifts from the sinners
wino mothers giving birth to a mentholated invisible god
time goes by so slowly when giving birth to beginners.

Time goes by so slow when you’re stuck to me
rain birds dive through the hole in a broken guitar
it’s true we’re in the gutter and yes it’s set us free
my energy says I love everybody that’s truly bazaar
you and me and them too can be as you want to be.

Hiding in the spotlight upon a famous stage
rain birds sing a song that’s so sad and blue
he tries to fly but instead dies filled with rage
stranded like an insect stuck in a bowl of glue
rain birds fly to the edge of their gilded cage.

They are rich and cool and always has the latest look
they are on the T.V. in your head and in every room
they are a jerk and you can find them in the phone book
they are front page today with their name on every tomb
they can never leave the zoo whilst stealing what they took.

I’m gone and welcoming tomorrow with a book glistening in splendor
I’m not a tree or high rise deity but so sad for saving you from the devil
I fall asleep as the militia men will murmur and try to dream of surrender
I’m free with liberty and done welcoming tomorrow by becoming invisible
I’m close to feeling them before they die in love and are called by the contender.

Here on Earth everything happens times two here on Earth again
they the masqueraders who believe they will always have it made
the prophet who is thought to be a fool with no new tale to tell
the skinhead begins to picket without the armed policeman
we’re waiting to end the thirst that’s so very hard to quench
we’re waiting and waiting for occasional showers that never drench
the astronaut in space-time becomes a student of being human
the one who wears your mirror face always has a new tell to tale
wondering if there is really any such thing as having it totally made
your sights upon the grail to have it taken from your hands with pain.

You cannot go against nature because that’s part of nature too
lives can get a little complicated because of a simple thing
our world is your world where people like to say your name
when you are stuck on me the Earth is slightly heaven bent
time goes by so slowly when singing and not necessarily sane
all of the Earth searchers are asking who to charge and blame
a son-of-a-gun who will cause the birth of another malcontent
rain birds swoop through the chimney and out to the rain
complicated is simple as flower power and the need to sing
don’t feel so free as you kiss the world goodbye and say adieu.

Who are all the gurus telling us that heaven is theirs to be lent
the men in mirrors see through those who observe the masquerade
it’s a long way up when you are down looking for a new talent
do you wonder if heaven is the true only exception that is made
please forget my name because there is no tale to tell to be sent.

Do you want to go to where you can hear an angel sing
it’s the same thing again and again with no new tell to tale
don’t you want to live in the kingdom without a king
when you’re stuck on me there’s time to tell the tale
thoughts pin me to your wall and make my head ring.

You drive me crazy with a lazy love that is hazy to judge
looking at me looking at you searching for the purest blue
the girl who works over the critic with a love crazy grudge
how can I love a youth like you while still waiting for you
you had to send me away on my back with a heart nudge.

We’re waiting for the flood to take a glimpse behind the veil
seems all that we get here are distant pale blue showers
waiting for the flood and a pure form of a sympathetic evil
our life’s blood is flowing with a look at all the flowers
the blood red water sure tastes good when we go primeval.

If the telephone is empty then you should realize what’s timely
you’re oh so phazy so please just let me go do what it is i do
these words are a pure form of collective Aetherspheric sympathy
i didn’t even know that you now have what turns you blue
when we were young we wanted to just give it all away freely.

We all have to work so hard slogging and in the end for a pittance
hungry like the starving cat who turns his nose to the scent of liquor
drinking down the same old lonely roads for a moment of remittance
the bad judge will become the good prisoner and rape the crazy vicar
if you break the system down then heaven will reject your admittance.

We are all full of the Energy and don’t need to believe in ghosts anymore
everybody wants to go to heaven and now we know what that means
we will shine together all over you and right through the black door
a lost boy dreams of kings but instead ends up watching t.v. screens
a youth so self -possessed that it needs no more self respect to abhor.

Everybody wants to go to the heaven that isn’t going to smother
the rebel becomes the teacher and the vandal a saint after her fall
so scared of driving that they are drinking to catch one another
the preacher that has aids with a revolution revelation for us all
drinking to forget things and remember nothing of the other.

We are the rich beggars and royal kings of nothing fine
our role is pre-set to be played in a boot and shoe town
planes of flames rise and now we realize the slowing time
the empty telephone will turn and burn you right down
that’s what you get when you give away what’s mine.

Governing Operational Dynamics propels the bright blue Earth
when i think about what’s been done to her i begin to cry too
we were all once photonic liquid red energy from our nearest Sun
inhibitions and exhibitions want to display what is really you
everybody wants to go to heaven or at least visit the Moon.

Transmogrification of “Earth : Sun : Moon” by Love and Rockets

http://www.davidjonline.com

http://loveandrockets.com

Strange Deep Blind

A strange kind of love and feeling swims through your eyes
like the doors of perception to a wide vast dominion
they open to your prize beyond the terror ground
a place for the rage where there are no broken hearts
white wash lies with just a taste for the truth
perfect taste of choice and meaningful looks in your eyes
blind to the gemstone alone we smile from a frown
should we stay or should we go while they circle round
we shout a rage so strong that knows no right or wrong
take a little piece of us into the dark middle ground.

That’s how it sometimes seems to to walk or to take
instead we stumble down to either side left or right
to love or to hate is to see the light while thrown in disgust
They speak of heroic feats that housed the fear forever
a howling wind changed the course and blew out of bounds
so sore are all the walls that bound us descending bleak and put upon
chew through your cheeks to wake up from you cerebral slumber
vases grow bigger to the eyes that snigger and despise
the wall grows taller up to doom thrown in disgust like shoes in a room
how we all fall to the worst and of course you say you don’t understand.

Your words write your fiction and your crooked hands scribe the lies
clearly now we tell your soul that all we say is all we can
we are nothing but hedonistic sin that learns to caste them in
while young girls with pretty fangs and slit crystal wrists
wait patiently for us to twist then look away like distant rains
water falls and honey dew days with us in black and blue rinsed eyes
gaze whistly at their slender thighs with a twist of shade to the right
spit at beelzebub on sight and go on loving for all to see living patiently
I find you in the morning after our dreams with cerbral signs
pour yourself into me like the sun is to the recently blind.

Lift me up high now and then get me out of your sphere within
keep me walking on air but never shout out with caution
hold your secret close because I hear everyone knows
the way it throws while it takes you in and spits you out
it spits you out with your desire to conquer and feel higher
follow and become ultra clean with mistakes that you mean
move the heart over and switch up the pace of your desire
look for what seems to be out of place and doesn’t quite seem
on and on it goes yeah like calling like a cold distant wind
as we walk through the zero hour we cut the thick and break the thin.

no sound to break and no moments clear when the doubts are crystal clear
crashing hard into the secret wind that knows the way it twists and turns
changing colour and spinning yarns the way it leaves you dry
it cuts you up and takes you high by the way it’s painted bright gold
is it honey or is it gold by the way it throws about and spits you out
that special kind of you would like the sun to shine through the blinds
lift me up and get us out and keep us walking but never shout
it’s okay because it goes this way while the line is thin and twists away
the Ocean is deep and the sea is vast alway asking how and why that’s me
your ocean heart is clothed in respect and sweet caresses unfurl my uneasy mind.

Imagine a set of steps easily climbed with the power of pride and plasticity of mind
where there lies a round table and the table stands for the power of our success
respect the sign with intelligence so cold your glass heart is surface deep
dip and swell in my sphere and you’ll find that deep caress open my uneasy mind
wave then dive in like the damp heart and the sun holds me so very cold
beyond the power fists the Ocean hearts are healing all of the uneasy minds
dive in with us and cling to the rock and always know that I’m quickly waiting
your heart is hard and you think your legs hurt because you smell of aching sweet success
a cerebral supernova would like anything to stop the pain from your fingers screaming
standing naked in the sun without a leather whose pain needs to wash, and let go the fear.

Take the steps to the other side with up-turned razors as the air is thick with karma
the sutra of a long way down listens to a boy that’s a long way down from heaven’s gate
heaven’s gate has no steps and the steps before you are to the tower of misplaced pride
the devil lied with drive up to the highest point where our lives and souls are saved
when the lives on the table stand for power, success and respect will dissolve steps
mothers love it so they say through sad eyed pearls and dropped lips
their old eyes skim with increasing lids and a tear falls as she describes
glances pierce through writer men as they spoke hushed and frailing hips
approaching death with a yearning heart with pride and no despise
hot tears flow as she recounts her favorite worded token about the Dharma.

Forgive me please for hurting you so and don’t again go away heartbroken no
wise owl tones with velvet lies crush her velvet lining and calls the fools
they write on your wall with a forked tongue about you and your secret life
dead hands will change the plot and will make your loving sound like snakes
you were never really that hot and hot tears flow as she revises and recounts
wondering aimlessly while walking down a long and winding grey paved street
breaths from your only friend warm the chattering others surrounding you
going out again and again just to be seen and laugh with a gas new crowd
tell yourself lies while buttoning up a new red shirt meant to allure
twenty years of doing this ritual just the same into the dark night glow.

Day after day with your preset mind you wake up with a preset find
with no self control you decide to wake and call the empty Roll Call
the socialites who are mortified yet see fear as their next surprise
you’re happy with nothing but the bitter sweet F.A. of the night
believing that they’re alive and real but if asked you’re not sure
they have nothing to yell except the words of a clashing rhyme
calmed down and out of sync so even real sounds like zero time
to a brain stuck in the lip sync Roll’ there is no wrong or right
forget your preset mind and Roll with us to a very welcomed fall
the night is endless with you in it with or without your mind.

As the day grows older the moon appears as if in a two way mirror
in a fire side mirror a distant walker hears the call to do good deeds
the moon and the sun feel okay like partners in a dualistic light
separating his reflecting with one beam of light and one dark
hearing this confusion wanes with no need to ask for more wealth
one thing more is all we need and now we go into the night
he feels the same as a cool hot summers climb through the weeds
the voice comes with no shame and bad deeds for which he must pay
walking the line as the day grows older, heavy-weighed and pierced
the moon reflects his heart and another image hits seven veils of the mind

The walker looks at his days and knows not how they came to pass
one day you will be the one to say I’m sick of all of this empty fun
if your faith is strong it means you are no longer being led astray
you can see that all the light comes straight from our shimmering sun
soon we will be with the one that will show when the lights turn green
I want to get near so I can be clear that soon I will merge with the one
there is no time for this requited love in which I thirst and yearn for
don’t be shy and don’t get caught with the world and its thoughts
I’m not asking for obtuse idol worship or lazy sleazy thoughts
walk with me now into the dark light and there we will repast.

The Sister of Sleep thought of him as a strange and good looking man
darkened eyes are hidden from view in empty puddles of shallow hue
views on death spread like two anecdotal tales reclining and declining
death is the surname of sleep but the surname is unknown to us
disclose in public these opinions of the tales that hold the key
sleep is end of daily life and a small practice exercise in death
not every brother and sister are equally close while holding onto nothing
giving into the enemy within with a small exercise in submission
a wide and vast dominion will open your eyes to your awaiting prize
this is a known terror ground and place for the misplaced rage.

Searching through the wasteland we see a blazing white light
soaring birds now hunt with hunger and gripped the thirsty brow
win the battle with me that is clearly and painfully wafer thin
between the devil’s teeth is a line which can never repeat
push me in and take me toward the signified as the subject is taught
a war within a war within a head and heart for us to newly begin
bemused we flinch with no easy work for the invited we loath and shirk
how will you feel when all you have and all that you own are gone
your only true friend dances above you in the mindful firmament
the blood of the prophets flow out of reach from their aching speech.

Transmogrification of ‘Deep’ by Peter Murphy

http://www.petermurphy.info/

http://www.lyricsdepot.com/album/peter-murphy/deep.html

Sassy Shackled Ankels

This world of social engineering is painfully engaging
the cup seems dried with dregs of vacant bitterness
voices sewn shut and stained cheeks with tearing
let the crowd stick to oval holes of emptiness
a blind mole-like mentality blindly hurting.

Sweeter than you think of a unique visionary
blazing forests don’t follow the damp leader
cane flailings dance with a lacklustre morality
feelings come deeper and swim with a sinker
embrace the differently downtrodden eternally.

The moments you touch with reaching velvet silken hands
hidden places aching that only you can make ache that way
the omega love/lust connection is fraught with hour sands
bruising kisses of the evening hardness then soft by day
feeding addictions of desire with mutually planned plans.

Meeting the needs in between that of want and strife
there’s a razor thin line between sweetened and sweet
hair pulling passion with a lie we both share in rife
committed and adulterous while still in mourning to meet
being entwined in a perfect union with a lover of life.

Shackled ankles are always ready to be slightly unbound
baking cookies in negligee and silk scarves flowing
be sweet and rough and change my face to being unfrowned
transparency in a flawed interlude of internal glowing
tongue twisted lips tied to your singing sultry sound.

A modicum of “difference” makes you more understanding
a prescience believed singing and shouting it out loud
a really lived beatitude life of raw nude existing
a cloud of your conscience seeing the facebook crowd
a quirky chaser brazenly defiant in the act of living.

The broken and battered are a kindred disjointed folk
just like being there the yokes of a never-ending pain
years of tears peppered with split seconds of pseudo hope
flowing syllabic evolutions are going to once again regain
who knows but for now just write while you continue to choke.

Knowing that perhaps the best work is laying latent
kicking rocks is gone forever replaced with shallow breath
take a sick pleasure in knowing that few get my intent
see me like they used to before my poetic birth and death
lurking in the locked box with stripped poems of discontent.

Square pegs shining in a semi-final round of proclivity
prelude to alliterative experience of intimate assonance
dancing with words one at a time or maybe up to twenty
plenty of rhetoric spewed with silent cognitive dissonance
words take on a life of their own with each one worth a penny.

A visage is smeared in the angst of tumultuous torrent
heckled profusely for being hated and once again shamed
no one cares and they can’t see the trees or the forest
adoration of writing their way out of ever being gamed
the things you’re beaten for are usually your favourite.

Transmogrification of three poems by Amy Gabrial
http://sassifiable.com/

Pharmacide; Philosophy : Art : Physics
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43344

Positively Genuine Conception

The society occupies the second floor,
the scents followed me up to the entrance.
The stairs below lead to the front door,
the woman at the desk full of kind pretense.

Fanatical about manners you never ask for more,
you have my permission to do your best friend.
The someone who’s there to kill you isn’t a total boor,
apologies offered graciously never meant to offend.

I’ll be with you very shortly in the next waiting area,
invite me to make myself comfortable then return.
Just the right age, slim, fit and dressed with hysteria,
casual drop-dead elegance let grandmothers burn.

Take your time quickly of course there’s no rush made,
it would not serve the purpose to say so.
Laying is like business stock in the detective trade,
manners will get you much farther than go.

I knew perfectly well that with immediate social reasons,
that would come with flipping and demanding instant information.
The pretext of purity for membership shouldn’t rush seasons,
the topic of the day is how you might pick up more lasting elation.

By listening patiently to whatever is being said,
you’re never really lying and always think it through.
It would be cooler to be part of your club instead,
horrible and very shocking is what they say about you.

Genders and articles there’s no such thing as correct,
as well as with the right order to speak more frequently.
People love language that scores immediate respect,
tell me your price of membership then ask about my frequency.

Bend over the desk as innocently as possible,
give us a moment to notice your perfectly cut hair.
Prospects of horizontal socializing are delightful,
pleasure combined with excursion will take you there.

Words can be translated as loss or pity the martyr,
mourning in a way that’s telling the emotional sounds.
Give me your full attention and make things harder,
make sure I have the right verbs tenses and pronouns.

Dead beat poets and people with red notebooks and pens,
a discerning eye it’s agreed is a beautiful work of perception.
Allow yourself the pleasure of looking at each others sins,
write down something that’s like a positively genuine conception.

Transmogrified from a short story by P. Segal

Just Let Go the Blue

She sucked in her teeth and grabbed her bag,
followed me out to the car to go all of the way,
commenting on how she thought me as being a fag,
I never told her anything because it’s my birthday,
for my present she bosses me around with a gag.

She had on her shoulders a young good head,
putting out for me not needed but she wanted to,
cozening up to me instead of a you is all she said,
plenty of other Sweet Boy fish in the ocean blue,
I too know how to make ghosts disappear dead.

I watched you sipping sideways sitting at the bar,
you were something like me and just couldn’t see it,
short neat hair and deep set eyes brooding from afar,
that made women look and do more than they admit,
hoping they are mistaken and act like a porn star.

Inside the club the dimmed down lights were velvet red,
everything happens more quickly than you expected it to,
lock the doors and stand guard then fill your guns with lead,
it doesn’t matter running ahead while warning what to do,
can’t order out for the time and place once we have fled.

The camera blocks all front shots of the hands and faces,
send them running back where standard intimidation belongs,
some stare at us instead refusing to hide in the dark places,
you saw me and didn’t turn away with rights and wrongs,
you weren’t alone on the dance floor looking for traces.

Standing protectively in the V of your bare slim elegant legs,
when it reaches your mouth it starts off low like a burning growl,
shifting your arms tighter you saw me knowing that she begs,
when burning hits your throught it gets louder like a howl,
arms wound around my neck pulling against the dregs.

The sound of fingers being pried one by one off a rock,
coming loose from the gut with burning and ripping pain,
a stuck-coming-loose-sound from my trembling inside clock,
you body wrenching loosely shaking and coming in vein,
the bureau speakers sing the sounds of my wet jock.

With sounds heard coming from labor rooms the house is shaking,
this ass-kicking world expects to be trembling with you my only goal,
it’s me trembling now and free falling arms out like a bird and stretching,
swimming away from the surface towards the bottom of the blue hole,
what’s coming next is darker still with my bluedark shadow following.

The cave hole narrows as we swim toward the blue brightness,
you get there first and turn and wave to me to stroke your breast,
kicking freestyle through the swell of the water and its blue deepness,
I still feel you everywhere when you’ve disappeared like the rest,
your laugh is inside my every molecule making me act clueless.

When I come with you there every part of my body is slack,
the shaking over and done with I can now hear your breathing,
feeling the life drumming underneath I let myself think and fall back,
placing your heart over my chest and sway with the sheathing,
without thinking or trying you inhaled and made me your snack.

Transmogrified from a short story by Helen Klonaris

Nude

Between the epic center of nothing and absence,

my chrome nest of bubbles scatter the plight.

Dragonfly wings shatter at the mirrors expense,

buttons fly after scales molting in the blue midnight.

 

Under the bed a dragon is still alive from the ashes,

drinking the strawberry acid juice and salivating on the pain.

Panther like cats stare through the gold eyelashes,

their eyes dilate together as their lungs breathe the rain.

 

Your wonder is way more than impressive than death,

knowing you my greatest privilege in an accelerated rate.

There is no remedy against the ending of my breath,

tonight let us rejoice in a way that makes you vibrate.

 

Transmogrified from a comment by Marzia Puzkin

Petite Circle Domme

Seven naked women left dark spots in my night vision,
the leader hangs her clit over the taut neon lizard skin,
drums respect the judgments, body, music and woman,
rules apply to all and after you break one pass the sin.

Advising time is fun and you’re allowed to scar away,
be yourself a silent ringer and then prepare to sway,
respect the process to the end be on time and stay,
crossing rhythms die before starting your own way.

Taut belly skin can borne any ancient ear shaking,
breasts only suggest knowledge of appreciating,
nipples know structure of painful climax pulling,
drumming to what you are hearing and seeing.

Ass stripping with pleasure marks from a demon,
standing in front with soul-searching bush season,
try to stay without inflection or smile is the reason,
healing life with death & sink or swim without seamen.

Women need a different rare phantom deadpan respect,
naked mountains between the legs with drums as a subject,
dare yourself never back out that’s treating death as a reject.
beat your demons with psychology in which you dance and reflect.

The whip-wielding dominatrix knows the secret to life is that it’s good pain,
awakening sensations of sexless experience in a private car on the terror train,
possibilities are endless when the joie de vivre lingers in a quivering spastic brain,
to a paroxysmal you there’s no difference between melted ice cream and a cum stain.

An expert and master near the highly charged nerves ending in a merciful equilibrium,
dive into the pool of pain just once more scratch and claw before releasing them,
not immune to the fear of failure with power to rescue from the edge of asylum,
reflections in a mirror transmit terror that crosses a fragile line with a stem.

The slap slides off from the oil and ooze with the tears and sweat delirious,
feeling the creative methods of inducing euphoric pain is mysterious,
naked skin is absent with a pure locus of new pain that is serious,
the ideal sadist offers a revolting experience that is imperious.

Voices of the brain torture the raw red exposed flesh,
sensations from the body soles and palms mesh,
repetition yields to stinging when they thresh,
another dimension of pain beyond a creche.

Slime and moist skin wet the black hair,
deter leather whip from being there,
breathing well beyond the stare,
pain and pleasure as vapid air.

Transmogrified from a short story by Beth Bransby

Red Blazing Ferris Wheels

The mind lives where scene four begins to doff,
staging directions for the front porch at dusk,
beginning summer days are hot and cooling off,
nice horses grazing in a pasture flowing of musk.

dreaming of still missing the dusty lost pony,
the day you came home and got a birthday prize,
in the seventh year of existence of being phony,
big ribbon around necks killing kicks at surprise.

plenty of big bows by the way had a lovely long lasting day,
then they were gone just like that as if they were always away,
the sun rising in the sky crimson can smelt the sweetness asway,
like a never never painting you can’t give away in a dark midday..

chaotic upside down turning went all wrong and got up early morning
why do you implicit on who did this and why be a horror and insist,
because we just told you sends regards and had a nice time without hearing,
you can’t hear what’s being said like you think seeing again will resist.

you get dying at least a little bit to get out of this place and find a life,
big city living of murderous loneliness as existing in a bunch of people,
the miles are empty all around except for the few cats inside of our strife,
driving the right kind of crazy and the rotting of your life’s steep steeple.

trying to get back that which you don’t want and it’s coming in fast,
it maybe they might just start pouring the details with anyone fun,
doctors and nurses prosecuting people way out of realities grasp,
the rain has a way to know what to say every day on the thin scar run.

red blazing traces are not so bad now that you’re frozen like a distilled life,
thinking and dreaming are two sides of the same space time thing,
hating this place never knowing a trace about people’s strife,
the depressed traveling ferris wheel begins to quietly sing.

working side by side a rhythm forms together,
we are mostly quietly thinking our thoughts in the rear,
there is nothing more to forget or almost remember,
the end of the day is near and it’s just begun to rain beer.

Transmogrification of play by R. Bauknight

Counting Hypnotized Metaphores

The demotive glow surfaces misplaced or displaced,
trying to be part of something and sprouting predictions,
falling short from eyes of something & quickly being replaced,
with a misaligned inside and stretched from wishful derelictions.

do this and that, be this and that, and never chance being revealing,
potential stems from self-castigation and a sense of self-congratulations,
avoid weeping and being manipulated by the perceptual reality of being,
consciousness does not capture realistically wet colorless expectations.

stop look and glisten then to solve our problems before we delve in,
shrapnel’s of shooting stars falling under our open eyelid caravan,
your letters came across our eyes admitting false recollection,
postcard like memories threading a quilt of lonely san-fran.

i haven’t thought of you in years and relished every reprieve,
your voice of absorption and suggestibility can’t remember feeling,
absorbing so much of everything we were no longer able to disbelieve,
allowing the fantasy for quite fun time that significant correlation is waning.

between the strong pendulum of hypnotized susceptibilities is a kangaroo,
imagine hopping around with the two pronged empathy flagellation,
helping lead sad lives like an emotion corporation and mind zoo.
semantic satiation’s become exemplary specimen stratification.

this meaningless life creates an absolutely chaotic feeling,
efficient and productive as a whole ready to blow,
courtesy metaphors with a therapeutic healing,
identify the helpers of obstacles to the goal.

something goes strong with the achievement of troubleized stay,
when the bursting inside began and memories started coming back,
which abandonment do you prefer on this sunny Friday afternoon in May,
filled with fresh and hopeful air there is a price to pay for believing way off track.

hungry gypsy’s desperately exude pride on the corner of every town hall square,
escaping the mantis with the corner of a big black eye from mister fortune,
abandon this life with a laughing and flashing hip swinging hunting stare,
your money’s your life & the vision ends with friends who’ve strewn.

the whims and dreams end just like that with an inoperable brain,
faking best friends and favorite missed funerals fall in silence,
they buried themselves in my psychic cemetery of reign,
don’t open the door we don’t want back your glance.

with a razor-blade ready for anything but nice,
don’t be late the cold blood will not wait,
don’t pray for our souls of wild thrice,
ghosts will always haunt the gate.

 

Transmogrified from ‘Tea Kettle’ by Kristopher Lichtanski

Whose Plague Is It ?

Its flattened body shaped like a sunfish,
maneuvers with ease through hair shafts.
Its large hind legs were adapted for jumping,
it could travel quickly speaking vertical laughs.

It’s row of spines catches the hair,
with a deep and backward pull.
So It would not be dislodged,
if Its host scratched it off full.

With Its rows of sharp mandibles,
It bit into the flesh unnoticed.
Salivary secretions caused an itch,
sensations in the host most remotest.

Even though It had just punctured the skin,
the unfortunate host extracts Its meal of blood,
It was still hungry because of the infection,
poison that multiplies within Its system like mud.

blockage in Its throat when It attempted to feed,
the meal could not pass below the blocked cage.
Instead It puked up blood back into the host,
It was unable to swallow Its own blood back rage.

It would eventually starve to death within the interlude,
containing the poison It will die of the disease It did transmit.
You and I are the vectors in an event of horrific magnitude,
because the plague is finally here and you are really It.

 

Transmogrified from “WE ALL FALL DOWN” by Jeani Rector

Velvety Blind Bay Visions

Your dreaming blind visions are now mine,
you make ink stains disappear with a wish,
pulsating against empty walls of our time,
intermittently dumb and electric like jellyfish.

huge steamboat windows beaten by foamy billows,
your aether eclipses the moon with sulfuric vapors,
rushing crowds of wicked brides come in multitude,
we’re deliriously greedy for cheer feasts and fears.

velvety lips will ravenously kiss lavishly everywhere,
ancient shadows of vague fears plod along darkness,
frantic steps chase each other down the damp alleys,
confused filthy drunkards are all revelries from afarless.

your furtive moans of laughter will fade away the fog,
it darkened outside when your gaze was realized,
you drink in my rain when our eyes are glazed,
naked skins energize the storm in our skys.

thousands of chills awaken the burn inside,
arrogant hands strike the damp caresses,
my infected mind is now of your flesh,
pieces of the evenings torn dresses.

rocked by tremulous midnights and lazy waves,
your scent satiates the SF bay,
while turning tugboats into silk float raves,
pale fragments of opal decay,
in their very own reflection of graves.

the sea will grow shallow as a cup,
our livid dawn will soak it up.



From the siren across the sea:

Sogno.
Cieche visioni.
Macchie d’inchiostro scompaiono, a tratti, sulle pareti, e pulsano a intermittenza,
mute ed elettriche come meduse.
Dalla finestra, enormi battelli sbattuti da
onde schiumose e lune eclissate dentro vapori sulfurei.
Accorrono in folla le spose maledette, ebbre e ingorde,
a rallegrare feste, a banchettare, ovunque a elargire baci famelici con labbra di velluto.

Sagome incerte di antiche paure arrancano nel buio e passi veloci si inseguono nei vicoli midi.
Da lontano, confusi bagordi di lerci ubriaconi, risate furtive e gemiti si perdono nella nebbia.
E fuori, fuori dove? A occhi chiusi bevo la pioggia.
L’energia del temporale sulla pelle nuda, percorsa da mille scosse.
Carezze di mani arroganti risvegliano il bruciore del tuo marchio infetto nella mia carne iva, e i morsi delle sere trascorse.
Intanto la notte, cullata dai futti molli e tremolanti,
annega nella Baia, dove galleggiano profumi di seta e pallidi
frammenti di opale si dissolvono nel proprio riflesso.
Dall’altra parte del mare, un’alba livida si impregna di noi.

*****************************************************************

Dreaming.
Blind visions.
Ink stains disappear, at times, against the walls and pulsate, intermittently,
dumb and electric like jellyfish. From the window,
huge steamboats beaten by foamy billows and moons eclipsed into sulfuric vapors.
Rushing crowds of wicked brides come in multitude, delirious and greedy, to cheer feasts, nd banquet, and lavish ravenous kisses everywhere, with their velvety lips.

Vague shadows of ancient fears plod along in the dark and frantic steps chase each other own the damp alleys. From afar, confused revelries of filthy drunkards, furtive laughter nd moans fade in the fog.
And outside, outside wre? With my eyes closed, I drink the rain.

The energy of the storm all over my naked skin, struck by thousands of chills. Caresses of arrogant hands awaken the burn of your infected mark in my bare flesh, and the bites of passed evenings.

Meanwhile the night, rocked by lazy and tremulous waves, drowns into the Bay, where they float scents of silk, and pale fragments of opal dissolve in their very own reflection.

On the other side of the sea, a livid dawn is soaked with us.

Incomplete Rippling Fragments

Ripping cardboard boxes to shreds with incomplete orgasms,
your grimy nails scratched beneath my very beginning,
anger nor frustration could almost describe satisfactions,
peel back our clear sticky tape to reveal the gleen grinning.

if possessed by a familiar boar spirit use every arm muscle sleeve,
stomach that which did the damages deep inside our box,
when the cardboard is equipped to rip it’s time not to breathe
rippling fragments unevened the floor with the dog watching clocks.

a sea of sickness came over me and we ripped more boxes to a shred,
we could not stop until they envisioned the enemy scorned,
my ripped little pieces are wanting to die more than being dead,
the whole aching heart was recycled silly after being stabbed & warned.

Transmogrified from ‘Cardboard’ by Kristina Farrow

 

Troubled Dream Reams

Keystroking every day from nine to five,
our desk faces the door of dreams,
unpractical inferior superiors derive,
rolls of dreaming troubles by the reams.

Pinpointing dream troubles for free is our business,
mouse feet wake early to watch the world run,
the world is sitting by a hag-face and panics,
whore-faceless letters awake and undone.

Whenever there is panic i am the assistant,
sounds so-end-so says while they seldom get around,
when we’re done you’ll be an out-patient,
setting records steadily up and down never to be found.

Dream by dream and educating that rare character,
structured self analysis is provided for every member,
dream makers are not dream stoppers and much fairer,
exploiters of dreams are conquered by the rare explainer.

Makers of dreams are lovers as well with health and happiness,
dreams themselves are lonely as well and forever will forsake in stacks of reams,
reams of dreams for the record books my mind did caress,
your calling is to memorize the reams and scribe them down in a bible of dreams.

Your elevator is raising the red roof of my three a.m. nights,
trees from the far side flares torching flattened and rockabying,
pushy invisible witches push hunks of stone until they are lights,
east of the river in the ocean though the ream island city is sleeping.

You are tight as a taught string and nervy curves curve like a violin,
the blue sky begins to hue and we’re ready become a sleep receiver,
thoughts of all those dream weavers and the reams of all the sin,
sleeping in my dreams with me comes with a week long fever.

Page by page and dream by dream my Intake books fatten,
eight down the bookshelves of the cabinet in the stall,
passage doors to the doctor with their cubicles open.
narrow passage running parallel to the main hall,

Detecting interlopers who come in their dreams,
concerned single dreamers choose their own time of death,
ball-bear dreaming every night backless with no seams,
growing bigger and bigger till it’s size won’t allow another breath.

Certain dreamers get ether and cut out the kid tonsils,
rollers of a cotton mill will keep fighting for your life scenes,
never alone when you think you are standing in the stills,
when dreams are now dreamt they power all of the machines.

Cagey dreamers won’t go on the subway or the elevators,
wander now and to the dreaming mill in the fourth floor tent,
my dream passing while puffing up the unswept stone stairs,
your one and only dream of dreams is great and self-transparent.

Stretching omnidirectionaly my vision sees the heavy hanging shores,
looking down from the glass belly doors of and invisible helicopter,
deep and dark masses moving and heaving like real dragons roars,
dwelling in caves with raw cooked meat and dancing wheels around a fire.

Enormous isn’t enough for you unless it comes with the word strange,
dream about panic long enough your feet and hands shrivel away,
looking really closely the sun shrinks to the size of an orange,
only chillier than performing in the last ice filled stage play.

Soft rooms where you can float and dream of dreaming,
great original floaters actually float on their pointless backs,
running minds at night trickle into the gutter and begin sparkling,
drinking blue waters of hope in the middle of barbed fenced tracks.

Ttransparency aside the smoke naturally stinks from what dreams have left,
sogging for centuries over what you think about one night of dream props,
one person in a city and a mere pinprick on the map of the space world,
multiply the number of dreamless nights where there were no stops.

Ideas have meaning and I’m not the mathematically dreaming type,
splitting the number of dreams during my snake swarming night,
dead bodies dreaming of an unfinished paper cutting glass eyed sight,
blowfish embryos with evil-toothed messages bobbing with bottle might.

The sound of their ring and the look of their vows make backwash commonplace,
spiderwebs are now part of our new human vision to turn facing aside forever,
a grain of dirt has more beauty than our frequently misshaped & silly face,
give us a thick sip of darkened blue water and to the last of every lover.

Seeping in among everything else and resolving with aetherqueer power,
opaque and ubiquitous is the transparent bog of liquid thinking madness,
people lie with their worst dreams then toss themselves off the tower,

brotherhood wakes and thinks herself utterly apart and never undresses.

 

Transmogrified from “Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams” by Sylvia Plath,

Recoiling Digital Philosophy

 

Increase your essential compression and mix the steady quiet with elemental peaks that bevel,
obscure emotional power is filled with sonic detail that leaves listeners un-movingly strange,
self-protecting ears of compressed volume blasts is how we’re taking it up to the top level,
evolutionarily sophisticated minds pay attention to exciting music with proper noise range.

If you are truly seeking sensory excitement and avoid the typical pop-culture tiresome fatigue,
add variation to your rhythm and let’s do something warm and dynamic in a big empty space,
‘I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor‘ sounds better than it sounds without the intrigue,
one-dimensional noise sung by frozen monkeys bombards Stalkers turning into a Prey face.

The downward download spiral Methods are momentarily Drifting away a vitally hidden tether,
reverberating squashed reproductions of highs & lows that move transience with a reasonable crunch,
selected enhancement always backfires and leave us in need of a much stronger effect taken further,
un-satisfyingly brittle results leave us feeling indistinct and hollow seeking experience with no punch.

The digital landscape is changing everything and quality is sacrificed at the alter of convenience hunger,
inferior modes of sound operations lead pop-culture through a single isled store for a ‘must have’ choice,
time will bring us into the battle that has already begun to improve the way we look and listen younger,
significant shifts in listening methods reveal the truthful ramifications of hiding the subtle Missing Piece.

Blindly return to a high quality of art that embraces the wonderful technology of science,
equitable distribution for the art creators and theirs friends who want go with them,
an old fashioned Bloodline panders to no one and seeks hand crafted reliance,
quality costs and it’s well worth it for beautifully created art and some sin.

Unusually huge at any time can lead to a long life of creative non-conformity,
we struggle to be heard like millions of others who wear the label of ordinary,
success does not come with big digits and a dose of commercial popularity,
background helps but it’s what’s inside that keep them coming back weary.

Mainstream anything hasn’t improved nature in a way that’s recognized,
paper back magazines have little to minimal impact other than amusement,
the plug in drug is duller than ever and MTV has become marginalized,
society is gleening to be seen or heard on a television advertisement.

Become your own way to escape the turmoil of a subsidized production,
expensively formatted anything are there for those who desire quality,
fundamental elements are coughed up qualitatively in our reduction,
always take the bold approach and invest in yourself seriously.

The shifting doldrums of marketplace delusions is nothing new to me,
making forsaken art at Strange Hours is all we know as boss,
reinforced cynical views towards the injustice of our reality,
so many of us long lost in the marginal mêlée of dross.

Pragmatic belief in a major company remains to be seen,
the Faith Healer inside downloads a Liquid mutation,
our legs are chained with the survival of barely being,
exert positive pressure and avoid blind stagnation.

Selected while Drifting and recently for the very first time the old band played and he got to see,
the first listening experience of a special Shunt recording needs to be heard as it’s intend to be,
once you craft 1+2 and Hydrolically begin to understand the full pleasure of a quality toil,
you’ll discover springs at the core of all art and the art of Alan Wilder is called Recoil.

Transmogrified from a 2008 article by Alan Wilder; ‘Music For The Masses – I think not‘

Image via Wikipedia

Personal Psychic Wings

Personal psychic landscapes,
sprinkled with red land mines.
Darting and narrowly escapes,
around exploding real minds.

The muse lives at some times,
beside the common man & all.
An intricate balance of rhymes,
the kind that come with a fall.

Emotions are like aether waves,
ebbs with a naturally good flow.
Taking and leaving Plato‘s caves,
with each receding stop and go.

Alone with you on a stormy night,
stranded on the bridge of rings.
Linking death to an immortality,
when we jumped I grew wings.

remix of ‘Muse’ by Regina Walker

Tar Baby Tapping

Tap
Tap Tap
I found you!

Looking for Flies
Laughing at the Tap Tap
Your case can be broken!

The sunlight sent inside of life shifts
sending forth tiny sweet blues and bees blooms
the feathers were all but picked down to the roots
Their dried lilac moss drifted through it’s new life

that had gathered looking to steal the tar baby‘s lump of Sun
Skipped silently whistling to the small woodpecker child tap tap tap
As for what was deemed insignificant time and again standing space
it’s head stood bowed open so it could stand beneath in gazed hover falls on

hammer to see what other house joined in and case they hold out at casing.
once upset child sneaked inside stands on crevices tapping out balanced solid mass
that tap tap bird had all but passed out with the soon be covered hollow oasis silly thing!
As a Navel tap tap child that raises it’s head and falls up amongst wonders to tap tap tap fluff

The broken doors had closed out the insects creeping of the cracks who gave shelter to the tar baby blackbird
Surrounded by a strange megalithic softly covered hammer that stands ‘and dusts weathering rainbows at weeds
Intrigued by the somnambulistic echo the grubs skipped forward to become fertile by imaginings nesting unearthed
all ignored remnants forming deep traditional presence which had stood for so long before moving beneath cracks

The hardened tar baby child figure stood by to process a meadow of birds
at the cracked egg shell of life brought to you by the sound shine stood to roost
Decomposed lazy birds singing for occasional visitors they had shat upon
as a ruminating tar baby mists had taken their faeces smells out on the winds

So there came the missing tar baby butterflies
and smashed windows left in concrete waste cased in fluff
The top head case child chicks crying for the crumbles
off to the weeping seasons with giggles in hand

The blackbird flees surprised
Tapping for the tar baby child
Then raised her hammer of haunts
One day as the sun came down

They, however, can never escape themselves…..
You are free now!
Tap tap tap
Tap tap

 

Transmogrified from a poem by Lucy J. Hughes

Ten Spontaneous Automatism Essentials

Write without consciousness like Yeats’ did in a semi-trance MENTAL STATE,
allow your subconscious to take over with interesting prose of the phantasm,
admit you own uninhibited use of modern language as a consciously censorless trait,
write excitedly and swiftly until the cramps in your fingers obey the laws of orgasm,
centered from the periphery with the beclouding of your consciousness of relaxed fate.

The object is SET-UP before the mind in either reality,
just like sketching a landscape teacup or dilapidated old face,
vignette is set wherein it becomes more than an accessible memory,
sketching from memories a definite image-object with an exhaulted pace.

Time is of the essence in being true to the purity of speech,
sketching the PROCEDURE of language in its undisturbed flow,
from the minds of personal secret idea-words conscious does reach,
blowing like a jazz musician on subjects of images upon the distant plateau .

Periods separating sentence-structures are arbitrarily riddled by divisions of a false colon,
timid and needy commas vigorously space dashes while rhetorically breathing in the badness,
jazz musicians draw in breaths between outblown phrases and sounds we hear that are swollen,
measure the time and note it down because pauses are essential to the METHOD of our madness.

Selective expression is following a freely deviated association of mind with limitless rows in seas of thought,
swimming in an ocean of discipline with SCOPING rhythms of rhetorical exhalation and expostulated subconscious statements,
fists coming down on a tables with a bang for each complete utterance deeply written with and without fraught,
satisfy yourself first by fishing deep with the laws of the human mind and receive telepathic shock and meaningful excitements.

No pause to think of proper words because of the infantile pileup,
scatologicaly buildup spontaneous prose till satisfaction is gaining,
a LAG IN PROCEDURE will turn into an empty and cracked cup,
pounding appending rhythms think accordingly with the Great Law of timing.
Nothing is muddy that runs in time to the laws of Shakespearian dramatic stress,
forever hold your obviously rational tongue with no revisions or improper rhyming,
mistakes are accepted insertions in acts of writing and intersecting without digress,
we need to speak and write now in own unalterable way of unconscious TIMING.

Begin from the jewel center of your interest in subjects of image at the moment of writing itself,
toss away preconceived ideas of what to say and write while outwardly swimming in sea of language incest,
peripheral release and pragmatic exhaustion now go blow the song you sing and write to oneself,
painful personal wrung-out and tossed from a cradle of a warm protective mind-tapping CENTER OF INTEREST.
afterthinking is unnecessary to improve or defray impressions except for poetic or p.s.’s to ourself,
ludicrous and spontaneous confessionals are interesting because crafted and not-crafted craft is our best,
the best writers are always the most bad and good while offering a way you can be honest with yourself.

Modern bizarre language structures arise from words being dead,
new themes like transmogrification give the illumination of a new life,
roughly follow outlines in fanning movements over subjects like a river bed,
run your mindflow once to arrive at the jeweled-center of essential pivotal rife,
language is the STRUCTURE OF WORK trying to wire the time-race of dread,
cutting the laws of Deep Form to their natural conclusion like a razor knife,
dim-formed beginnings become a sharp-necessitations ending in red,
last words trickle with the last trickle-night at The End of strife.

Transmogrified from : 9 Essentials of Spontaneous Prose by Jack Kerouac

Theorhetical Transmogrificational Knotification

A knot is defined as a closed piecewise linear curve,
occupied in theory 3-D Euclidean space known as R3,
our knots are different from what you often observe,
not a piece of string with free ends dangling loosly.

The theory of knots is a branch of math called Topology and other,
you are now challenged with the Problem of the Placement,
the embedding of one theoretical outline of space into another,
represented as boundaries of the aethersphere in tracement.

An essential elemental form of a knot involves embedments that sync,
the unit circle inserted into three-dimensions of space in groups,
two or more knots that are embedded together are called a link,
aetherspherical knots almost always appear in closed loops.

Two knots or links exercise the equivalency principle,
if one can smoothly be transformed into the other,
if there exists a homeomorphism on R3 to grapple,
which maps the image of the first knot to the nother.

There’s no cutting of these knots resolve,
allowing them passage to be equidistant,
like people it’s a difficult riddle to solve,
if two given knots or we are equivalent.

Tame knots are polygonal paths in space-time that is three-dimensional,
all other knots crossing your math path are a Wild and strange norm,
knots that are equivalent to the unit circle are unknotted and trivial,
the non-trivial Trefoil comes in a left and a right handed form.

The Trefoil is not equivalent to the unknot,
it’s only equivalent when,
the homeomorphism mapping one into the other,
includes a reflection,
the 8 knot is equivalent to their mirror images,
they are known as Achiralian.

Related Articles

• Theorhetical Transmogrificational Knotification (agentaslan.wordpress.com)
• It’s as easy as A, B, Sea: K for Knot (beachchairscientist.wordpress.com)
• Tying the knot with computer-generated holograms: Winding optical path moves matter (physorg.com)
• What Is A Knot? (soothinghandsandstones.com)
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Spoken and Spelled

There is a New Life stepping still on the shady streets,
we watched everyone around turn into a stranger,
you think you only know me when you turn on the lights,
now the red room is darkly lit with our real danger.

Our newness is complicated & circulating in an operated & generated life,
transitioning to another place so our time here will pass more slowly,
like a film i’ve never seen show me your hidden face as if it were out of sight,
features fuse together and your shadow’s a thick dark red glowely.

The road leading to nowhere is long with a stranger behind the door,
standing still stepping on the shady streets and becoming another stranger,
before the nowhere questions are answered the same is something different,
you only know me when you think to turn on the lights and now i’m your red danger.

There are new sounds all around and you can feel it getting too hot,
I Sometimes Wish I Was Dead like right now and that will never stop,
turn away the new day just for me and you dancing on the radio,
wipe away the tears from last night and say that you have to go.

We know where you go but don’t want to know why you lie,
it feels too right knowing that we’ll be dancing with you all the time,
you say that it’s from above and we say this is modern cry,
meet me again in the back street to say goodbye and commit a crime.

Do you ever get that feeling that your head is reeling with you in control,
you now now me and know that i can move and soothe you without a bed,
like Puppets we can take our places in different ways you won’t understand,
with you in control i will be your operator while we share the same head.

Watch your actions close the reactions with everything you’re thinking,
conversation about my creation has nothing to do with you unless i said,
you now know the consequences of the things you say and tried doing,
things you tried to do and all the words that melted before they were said,
only part of us is starting and you can no longer stop me from being.

You don’t understand that this is a demand for a twink show,
look inside and try to go for a ride through the day and night,
getting to know where Boys meet and get together for a blow,
don’t Say forever or the word no and run away if you stray right,
when you Go close a door the end is the same as our tomorrow,
rain pain and sorrow are surly part of the all boys high flight.

The picture we saw of you playing the part you are,
sometimes we wonder if you’re really taking a chance,
a thousand watts inside you taking this life way too far,
this ain’t Nodisco and you don’t know how to dance,

Move me to a disco and don’t let go of part one,
act like everyone is pretending and this is a story,
reaching the end always makes everyone happy,
when you’re taking a chance you feel a little whory.

Watching you walking the streets sometimes,
at midnight we can feel you in the air gritty,
looking good we know you like rhymes,
all the time we understood you so pretty.

Everybody seems to look your way now,
hey they want to know What’s Your Name,
feeling just right tonight and with a wow,
hey we get together for a night of the same.

We can go together but never know,
the nights together we can stand,
the things we need to show.

A white house with a white room and the program of today,
maps represent you and the tape is your voice following along,
turn the lights on by flicking a switch when your eyes are far away,
you recognize the choice till i take Photographic pictures with song.

Bright lights in a dark room are needed to write a letter,
never take the time to look for the day to mesmerize the light,
years were spent just thinking of a moment we both knew,
a second you just for me seems too bad to be true or quite right.

They were raining from the sky and exploding in my heart,
from the skies you can hear them cry about our Tora,
i had a nightmare only yesterday and you played the skeleton
in the town they were going down to find a Tora,
is this a love in disguise or just a form of modern art,
in the town they were going down to bury a Tora,
you took my love and died that day while i played the American.

The Big Muff of silence remembered all the shadows and our doubts,
vivid blank pictures in our film are like standing next to an empty wall,
still nights are a small affair with relapses of closing the nightclub door,
when you speak we watch you move away and always seem to fall.

She is hoping to forget the moment and almost slips away,
we need to change the words we are liking and reading,
when the colours move apart Any Second Now you’ll want to stay,
as you touch my hand understand this message is a warning.

When I’m with you baby we must go out of our head,
we Just Can’t Get Enough of getting enough of you,
all of the things you do to me and everything you said,
we slip and slide as we fall in love with the things we do.

We walk together as we’re walking down the street,
we just can’t get enough of getting enough of you,
every time we think of you we know we have to meet,
it’s getting hotter with burning love and morning dew.

When it rains pain you’re shining down for me,
we just can’t get enough of getting enough of you,
just like a rainbow you know you set my fire free,
you taste like an angel while giving me your love true.

The film was broken when the man switched the light,
night fused with tomorrow dancing with a distant friend,
filming and screening the picture of our scene at twilight,
Dreaming and filming about something we can transcend.

We left understanding so cleancut we’re sounding fast,
quickly remember and fuse then see a face before the fall,
talking of sad war we laughed and climbed the rising cast,
timing the reason with understanding of the association hall.

Shouts from the factory are running secretly through my head,
like the blood-wine in the darkroom scene of a past reunion,
ringing you on the telephone silently as if you were dead,
from a cracked window resurrect the feeling of submission.

A seven year long letter has been composed as tall as a tree,
like the city and air we breathe while reading the wall of emissions,
recall dancing like children before meeting our feat of efficiency,
the Ice Machine stood before me once again with her face full of visions.

Like the girl on TV she was trying to act silent and knowing when to say,
wishing for a moment that we can see ourselves staring into the night.
your picture in my room leads me to write a new set of lines every day,
break away and understand tonight i need your hand until we’ve got it right.

Carefully Shout while watching and waiting standing upon the backs of streets,
we started to play by screaming louder as the curtains fell between us in a twisted way,
staring into the night with a picture in my room that in between reveals her fine beats,
placing questions in the minutes of a game we won so long ago and want to stay,
beautifully dangerous the radio transmissions are known to be full of deceits,
never run away or try to stay because you belong with me as your prey.

 

Transmogrified from ‘Speak and Spell’ by Depeche Mode