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Furnace

Furnace

Ex-Bluelighter
Joined
Sep 22, 2000
Messages
3,740
Location
Remember in the beginning of "The Empire Strikes B
comedy
violence
death
denial
a life lost deep
a life set to trial
giving me energy
to destroy my enemies
living in the past
is a way to steal from my future
an essence in me
describes life and how I see
how life changes, ends, revolves,
begins, twists, turns,
objectify
rationalize
stereotype
dissect
vivisect
inject
virus
destruction
tears
emotions
baptism
repentance
dance to a song
with no ending
live a life
that has no meaning
nullify all your feelings
objectify what your feeling
ignore what's deep inside
never mind what makes you feel alive
just take your heart
and place it on a string
on display for everything
human, bird, insect, cell
take a piece, and save it from its hell
cold winter nights
demonic burial rites
a never ending story
with tales of suffering and uses of allegory
to explain how one person deals with strife
throughout his long and torrid and lonely sometimes horrible life.
[ 13 January 2003: Message edited by: Furnace ]
 
bring it up
another piece of you
a slice of metaphorical pie
to cover in the ice cream of your skin?
Tell all those around to crowd in.
Hear a story not yet told,
but in the mind, you see the plot unfold.
Torment
Desire
a relationship connecting them both
all time to understand
that all things in this world
cannot be here forever in a state of love.
But in a state of learning where god and I are one,
a star, better yet the sun,
the earth casting a shadow onto the moon
which stares back at me, proving that there's more than this...mortal coil.
an expanse just hovering over us,
but we're too blind to see past the orange street lights
that block our view of where we go
when this shuffling of our "lives" comes to a complete stop.
shuffle on like rats like sperm like ants in the ground.
Praise the giver who is the taker of life, but fear his different manifestations.
 
my feelings are discombobulated
I'm not considered a "life giver"
b/c I've never menstrated
Yet I've held a babe in my arms
and given my personality a subtle charm
when my looks have failed in what "they" call sexy
You know what is sexy?
Not looks, which fade and keep you occupied for days
applying concealer for your pores,
when really you wish you had a blush for your heart
Your face is beautiful, you're a work of art,
you know there's more than just ass, your lips, and tits that set you apart.
Wonderful beauty that's more than skin deep,
do you want to be a thing or a posession?
something that someone wants to keep?
deep in his pocket to share you with his friends
I wonder if I find myself lost, deep in this trend?
 
denial
desperation
forgiveness
jealousy
wonderous
emotions
constant
feeling
of self-worth while draining you slowly
one baby said to another, I'm happy to have met you
come closer so I can sink my teeth into you
and suck all that you cared for and replace it
with love slash despair.
a white queen with no heart
a black slave torn apart
kept in slavery called penitentiarys
a key that holds him back
a lie from his childhood that made him feel like a mack
a way of life shown on the box
now his arms and legs are in locks
they chain his mind with the system that beats on him
everyday as he tries to keep his sanity with him
in a chaotic world where fear and strength rule
his white masters kick and beat him until fresh drool
drips out of his mouth like a ocean of love
mixed red with the boiling of his sorrow-filled blood
 
my reality shows
your reality shows
reality shows me
the reality shows on tv
reality shows what you wanna be
the reality shows me that nothing is real...
how tricky they are with their editing skills
what's happening now since that shit pays the bills?
we get to live life through the eyes of some bachelorette who didn't cry
or some joe, some painfully obvious average guy.
I'd go on blind date, turn on my charm
cure the hate, and destroy the harm
horribly we're portrayed and allowed to believe
that our species is a germ, a virus, a disease,
consuming resources or each other, it's sorta the same thing...
[ 13 January 2003: Message edited by: Furnace ]
 
where are you?
where have you been?
where's the one person
who's seen this before?
where's the person whose gaze is filled with scorn?
why is it that my desire for you right now is breaking all my plans?
My horrible treatment.
That script of torture.
The insanity you pleaded,
was at the expense of my heart.
But now you're just candy,
waiting to be eaten.
Spread your legs, and I'll spread my soul
on this mortal plain where the grass stopped growing
your feelings died, mine, unfortunately, are still showing
for someone who died a long time ago.
Tell me to stop performing spirtual CPR on something so dead
that it reminds me of my granny lying in her bed
slowly fading, not able to speak or breathe.
My mom's chilling screams, my angst, they feed.
I wake up to them now, her cries on the phone.
I go back to my dreams where you leave me alone.
what can I do?
I have desire to eliminate my desire.
all this bullshit and lying makes me tire.
We were close, down to the wire.
Now these times where I think I need you
are too close and too dire.
[ 13 January 2003: Message edited by: Furnace ]
 
anxiety bubbles burst
in each one of my iron lungs
deep in the chest of the machine
that makes me move endlessly
until I become
another part of the whole...
a cog or a gear
is there no hope right here?
I just see who I am and who I can be
not some wannabe
who suffers in the way
marching through sludge,
completed, day to day.
You hinder instead of help
to remove the sleep from my third eye
what's the point? Where's the fun?
it's like covering up while lying
on a tanning bed sun.
a whole lotta love from a dip.
a heartbreaker stuck on a led zeppelin trip.
rockin' out to choruses and verses
making you think of all the curses
that life has "given" you,
but wait...
it's not a life, if you're chasing,
suffering desire is all you're only embracing.
(rectify...)
 
strips of metal pierced through your flesh
come and rescue us from this
just another diatribe against the masses
"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, fuck you, I'm out"
without a shred of a doubt.
No regret can hold my self-image hostage
like an American in 1978 Iran.
My "better than you" feelings of hate escape
to fall deep in joining desire, regret
the two worst motherfuckers of all,
so morose, and I drink and propose a toast.
*ding*
I raise my glass of gin 'n' ativan, pharms and booze,
together at last
I propose an asskicking, a wild fucked up blast.
"Here's to pain, who'll try and pull you in. To regret, you know why, the hopelessness within feels like another chance to win.
Here's to my self-image, horribly scarred...just like yours."
*ding*
They've got their bases covered.
They've got you by the short hairs.
So go in naked, and leave your shame at home.
Keep it locked in a box, with a broken key
take a thrower of flames *or a heart* fuelled by
anger and jealousy and melt that heartshaped box away.
dissect
expose
your
jealous
lired
create that love
that you eliminated
What is the heart? Who are the desired?
I've grown weary, but not yet, have I grown tired.
 
rescue us from this
this cascading waterfall
blackened by lies and rage
nevermind the bars on your cage
forget about the shackles in time
your heart does not have the ears to listen to its crime.
I want super friends to hold me close,
to stroke my hair and laugh at my jokes.
I want to give myself in return,
a feeling of emotion inside me that churns
like a wheel set in motion,
on no course with no stop.
Let the walls of my desire crumble,
let my heart cave in,
then in time, I'll believe
the things that were set in...
stone...like what I thought was your heart.
(am i making any fucking sense at all? is this just selfish? is it just a waste of time? what is compelling me to do this?)
 
Listening to too much godspeed in the morning
makes the sun seem a lot more boring
even though it shines in your eyes,
makes you feel warm, it's all a horrible disguise.
To make you believe that you're one day away from the future
A future where things are as bright as the sun,
a star not yet supernova, but for me...
It's exploded already, but since I'm so far away
it'll take a long time for the destruction to lay way
to this 3rd planet, rock amongst the heavens
live life right now, or live life later
there's not much to it, jesus was a player hater.
but I get to try the world's evilness
Each day a little less I long for the people I miss
alone in a full house, how can that be?
Well, here's an example. The example is me.
A cardiac arrest of my love and my heart
that is what is driving me apart.
from the man I am and the man I'll be.
I've got to stop looking at you, wanting to heal me.
Back to me, back to mine,
My love hurts, drunk off of wine.
There's no more times of glee and trust
my heart's over, broken down to dust
like a bag of coke, cut into lines
snort it all up, into your mind's room without any blinds.
Your brain's coked out, codshit leaves your tounge
I'm leaving chems along, and sticking to the fung...
Us here together, we'll be cool soon.
I wish Dubya meant something token
words that could never be spoken
but coded like language
cryptic and stylized.
Personal affects
gender effects
way of the heart
which I regret
but desire dies
and the saddness tries
to make me breakdown in a selfish cry.
Forget her, last call
do no let it make you crawl
like a slave, leashed
trying to break the chains
attachted to the beast
that mocks you
and drives me mad.
I know your game
I know you've been had.
Love is an ice planet hell
it's where my desire used to dwell
in hell, it dwells together they meld
into GIANT fucking heartbreak
which is now in my rearview.
slam on this, suffering.
slam on this, indeed.
 
words, these ideas need a word
my goddamned mind desires to be heard
I won't call a girl a bitch, instead she's a bird
flying free without the help of a dream
unilke me, who needs to be lucid in order to see
the world high above. the sky and smog are now one
in the city that entraps me, clutched in its grasp
wake me up this morning with death metal and a full flask
of emotional moonshine fo'sho
the freshly fallen snow begs and screams "let it go."
covered and cleaned, an ice planet heaven.
When I was 8, I stabbed my palm
with a pencil, it snapped off, but I did remain calm.
Now 17 years later, I give a second thought
about getting a knive, slicing my palm, ripping out the ideas that I was taught.
A piece of lead (unlike a bullet) my soul sometimes feels dead,
but in my eyes,
a light is bind...ded in my mind, held back hard due to a nasty lie
that I tell everyone to make them smile, to make them hurt, to make them die.
why?
because fear grips me each morning
every morning, I'm in mourning, a shaking coffee cup in my hands
that hemmorages and tries to clot but it seems that my bleeding hands are at the center of the plot
of what's really wrong with me, come, stare, look and see...
that tired-eyed face looking back at thee.
(Rework, a burden on our souls. We try and try to be happy with our fucked up goals)
 
On second thought, it makes me feel kinda shitty
when I give into these girls who aren't so pretty
their sexual overtones border on pity
like I'm stuck in the country, while all the gorgeous ones leave for the city.
In a room where everyone's older
my age and inexperiences are bolder
ever though my eyes grow colder
doesn't mean my heart doesn't want to hold her.
I was scared to sleep last night,
my dreams became ones fill with fright.
Dread and chills replace the thrills
of living the dream, and what that instills.
These ideas bore me like a tunnel straight to my heart
there's nothing more I'd love to do than go back to the start.
Back to square one, back before all this was done
back when I used to be fun.
Instead of tortured (now more than ever)
I think about that Dave Matthews girl named Heather
She leeched my spirit, my love for life
her body image, now, filled with strife.
I'm ugly, I'm beautiful, I'm filled with love
assasinate me from high up above
on the streets which I lay upon
my sickness, you dawned on.
stress, hell, devoid of life
my hands spill blood, cut by the dullest knife.
That either you or I wield, in control
it's like they're with me as if they're a mole.
Digging deep into my thoughts
telling me that I give them "the hots".
These ugly girls, loose and incomplete,
tell me how great I am as I suck on their teat.
"You're so hot", yah, I'm on fire...
burning to the touch, I'm such a liar.
to you, for you, just want to hear,
told to you in a drug n booze-induced fear.
I want to feel loved again
this time, this feeling, is what I want to maintain
Instead of just ignoring the pain
I bust through it, that is, when I confront it again.
 
when my looks have failed in what "they" call sexy
You know what is sexy?
Not looks, which fade and keep you occupied for days
applying concealer for your pores,
when really you wish you had a blush for your heart
Your face is beautiful, you're a work of art,
you know there's more than just ass, your lips, and tits that set you apart.
Wonderful beauty that's more than skin deep,
do you want to be a thing or a posession?
something that someone wants to keep?
deep in his pocket to share you with his friends
I wonder if I find myself lost, deep in this trend?
dude, i only got this far in your readings.... i didn't realize how long this thread was, but that, that right there, is really intense.
Click to expand...
 
Keep on bleeding, my heart,
even though it's been ripped apart.
the style kept it beating on,
like clockwork,
like the sun with the dawn.
New dawn fades,
they were all my maids.
Cleaning up destruction left behind me,
a wake of wasted lines that he...
used to impress you
goofy imitations of what's new.
make them laugh and sigh
I've stopped (finally) wondering the dreaded question, "why?"
Why not? How come?
All these tired questions have already been done.
Their job? They haven't got what it takes,
to make their targets shiver and quake.
Doesn't mean that a part of them breaks
when they're...mentioned in conversation.
I'll take your culture, your beliefs, and alienate myself from them,
We loves it when you're the catylyst, that certain chem...
Mysterious ways, in which she moves
just like Bono said, well, actually he croons...
but he's got no worries about girlfriends, attention, crime or violence.
All he's gotta do is sing a song to cut through the silence.
But I enjoy the silence, my own thoughts made available
to write down, scribble, edit, refine, make it saleable.
I'll laugh when my riches come (when I'm dead)
from some missing words unspoken, mislaid, and unsaid.
[ 04 February 2003: Message edited by: Furnace ]
 
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