The Limbo.
by Rewired
9/23/99
We were young and so enlightened
the world had so much color and such wonderful odors
and you could taste the reality and feel the life;
but as we grew we belt-sanded the texture
and now everything tastes like air
and we lost the roses in the scent of shit
and all we can see is the black and white
as apathy reigns and we drown in our own ignorance.
A child that yells from my heart, and an old man on a hill preaches in my brain
they've bickered about this and that for so long, but their influence has waned
ignorance died out, and I wouldn't call this apathy, but on the contrary
some kind of empathic transcendence; a reluctant, mature acceptance
of my own anger and my own place, in the spikes of times that break down space
and the load of things behind me, and the thing as of yet to come
I'm undefined and beginning to unwind right where I stand, at home
a place where my feet wander, and all is familiar too me, no matter
if I've been there, or it's a new place that I see, the world is my home
and no shit it's a sick place, but I can only hope it'll heal
as I pursue a health, and face my face, stepping over the gripping shitpiles
in the limbo between the wild-eyed, expressive, wizened old man and
the twinkling, curious, absorbing enlightened child.
The Dry Leaf.
by Rewired
9/23/99
Five thirty in the morning and another thought passes by in the open wind
a dry leaf floating through my mind, crumbling, and I can feel every portion of it
as it signifies my soul, and I reflect on the letter you'd wrote me
humanity has an illness, you wouldn't dream to disagree
and it fills you with misery, as much as it does me
but there's no point in drowning in sorrow, you let the darkness flow
into enjoyment, at times certain masochistical manifestations
in sexual relations that complicate romantic situations,
but you also let it flow in a way I can't comprehend, a way I strive to understand
because to use it, I feel certain, would make me a better man
you say accept the fact that it won't change
do you best to be your best and laugh at those binded in chains
you can't change them, only yourself, and why join them?
Put the hate and pain they feed you up on the shelf, your soul
could use a laugh, a joy, bliss comes in bites and pieces
swift moments, a hit off a cigarette, a walk in the night,
smoking a bowl;
why is it not the same for me? I feel a smile, but the strength is only momentary,
a minute passes and it never ceases to happen,
and it falls to it's opposition, which deepens past my chin until it's so low I can trip over it
and I get disgusted in the joy I trusted that brought me down when the puffy clouds cleared
and my teeth clench and grind, it blackens my heart and twists my mind,
and I feel that leaf lifted by the cold wind, crumbling,
like my soul in the light of day, but you're right it's such a dumb thing.
by Rewired
9/23/99
We were young and so enlightened
the world had so much color and such wonderful odors
and you could taste the reality and feel the life;
but as we grew we belt-sanded the texture
and now everything tastes like air
and we lost the roses in the scent of shit
and all we can see is the black and white
as apathy reigns and we drown in our own ignorance.
A child that yells from my heart, and an old man on a hill preaches in my brain
they've bickered about this and that for so long, but their influence has waned
ignorance died out, and I wouldn't call this apathy, but on the contrary
some kind of empathic transcendence; a reluctant, mature acceptance
of my own anger and my own place, in the spikes of times that break down space
and the load of things behind me, and the thing as of yet to come
I'm undefined and beginning to unwind right where I stand, at home
a place where my feet wander, and all is familiar too me, no matter
if I've been there, or it's a new place that I see, the world is my home
and no shit it's a sick place, but I can only hope it'll heal
as I pursue a health, and face my face, stepping over the gripping shitpiles
in the limbo between the wild-eyed, expressive, wizened old man and
the twinkling, curious, absorbing enlightened child.
The Dry Leaf.
by Rewired
9/23/99
Five thirty in the morning and another thought passes by in the open wind
a dry leaf floating through my mind, crumbling, and I can feel every portion of it
as it signifies my soul, and I reflect on the letter you'd wrote me
humanity has an illness, you wouldn't dream to disagree
and it fills you with misery, as much as it does me
but there's no point in drowning in sorrow, you let the darkness flow
into enjoyment, at times certain masochistical manifestations
in sexual relations that complicate romantic situations,
but you also let it flow in a way I can't comprehend, a way I strive to understand
because to use it, I feel certain, would make me a better man
you say accept the fact that it won't change
do you best to be your best and laugh at those binded in chains
you can't change them, only yourself, and why join them?
Put the hate and pain they feed you up on the shelf, your soul
could use a laugh, a joy, bliss comes in bites and pieces
swift moments, a hit off a cigarette, a walk in the night,
smoking a bowl;
why is it not the same for me? I feel a smile, but the strength is only momentary,
a minute passes and it never ceases to happen,
and it falls to it's opposition, which deepens past my chin until it's so low I can trip over it
and I get disgusted in the joy I trusted that brought me down when the puffy clouds cleared
and my teeth clench and grind, it blackens my heart and twists my mind,
and I feel that leaf lifted by the cold wind, crumbling,
like my soul in the light of day, but you're right it's such a dumb thing.
