Installment number two. Happy new year!!
LOVE CAN MAKE YOU SICK
there's a time and a place, they say
for everything thats real
but useless and unwarranted
compared to how i feel (without you)
the pit inside the guts
is giddy with emotion
the kind that's less than good
like i've fallen into poison
rattle back and forth
break apart my spleen
pull and wind me up
until you're happy (there's no in-between)
as hard as i try and try
the two as one disturb me
not to trust and more to doubt
the other side persuades me
who knows where to go
when the darkness overcomes
submerge erupt explode
the stream from head to ground is one
completing revolutions
of confusion and regret
embarrassed and diluted
nauseous and wet
the salty rivers flow
all the way down my neck
my logic remains cloudy
I JUST WANT HIM BACK
the past is in the past
the habit's there to kick
the future's only now
love can make you sick
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
one
As I embark on this new journey of showing my writings to the world, a small shiver of nervousness runs through me.
Here's installment number one.
ESCALATE
the rhythm is rising.
the pace is enlarging.
the flow of the movement is ever evolving.
where from do you come to?
which up do you go down?
how long do green branches stay green till they go brown?
They turn till they're knotted all twisted and rotten
then how can you think when you know you've forgotten?
All of the noise and the things and the rain
that does flips and make marks and strike chords in your brain.
From this moment to next
from that there to this now,
where does one little thing turn to tumbling down
to the pits of the lava, the black in the void
it just vanishes - gone - man I get so annoyed.
what I will say to you is the fun and the tricks
that do sometimes waft in when you're falling to bits
they will shimmer your stilts
open up all the dams
let the weightlessness into your wide-open hands
and for one out of ten
that box will suspend
and the beauty of that will come tumbling in.
Don't be fooled by some nonsense of short unforgivings
where many get stuck holding onto beginnings.
The safety of one to the hole in another
is something that grabs at you way under cover.
You then go back hunting the road with the net
when you come back promising you will not forget
all the things on the way that will lead back to dot
when I knew all along I was losing the plot.
Here's installment number one.
ESCALATE
the rhythm is rising.
the pace is enlarging.
the flow of the movement is ever evolving.
where from do you come to?
which up do you go down?
how long do green branches stay green till they go brown?
They turn till they're knotted all twisted and rotten
then how can you think when you know you've forgotten?
All of the noise and the things and the rain
that does flips and make marks and strike chords in your brain.
From this moment to next
from that there to this now,
where does one little thing turn to tumbling down
to the pits of the lava, the black in the void
it just vanishes - gone - man I get so annoyed.
what I will say to you is the fun and the tricks
that do sometimes waft in when you're falling to bits
they will shimmer your stilts
open up all the dams
let the weightlessness into your wide-open hands
and for one out of ten
that box will suspend
and the beauty of that will come tumbling in.
Don't be fooled by some nonsense of short unforgivings
where many get stuck holding onto beginnings.
The safety of one to the hole in another
is something that grabs at you way under cover.
You then go back hunting the road with the net
when you come back promising you will not forget
all the things on the way that will lead back to dot
when I knew all along I was losing the plot.
it's been a while
So I was thinking about this blog. I don't know why I started it, really.
Was it a curiosity? Or a test to see if I could? No idea.
But I know I won't continue unless there's some reason for me to post.
Which brings me to my change of direction with this.
For a while now, I've been fattening up a folder on my MacBook with
pieces of writing. Call them poems, prose, lyrics, I don't even know.
There was a period of time where quite regularly, I was using the writing as an expression of something. This urge, mind you, came from nowhere.
I have not been a writer all my life. It kind of surprised me, even.
This folder sits on my computer, waiting to be used somehow.
I have considered including the text in my art – and still might do so – but,
for now, I thought to load them up on here and see what people had to say.
If there's anyone out there, reading this.
The only thing I can ask of you, is to please not duplicate or use these in any way without permission. (All writings © piasala 2008)
If you do like anything you see here, please drop me a line/comment of encouragement!!
Out.
Was it a curiosity? Or a test to see if I could? No idea.
But I know I won't continue unless there's some reason for me to post.
Which brings me to my change of direction with this.
For a while now, I've been fattening up a folder on my MacBook with
pieces of writing. Call them poems, prose, lyrics, I don't even know.
There was a period of time where quite regularly, I was using the writing as an expression of something. This urge, mind you, came from nowhere.
I have not been a writer all my life. It kind of surprised me, even.
This folder sits on my computer, waiting to be used somehow.
I have considered including the text in my art – and still might do so – but,
for now, I thought to load them up on here and see what people had to say.
If there's anyone out there, reading this.
The only thing I can ask of you, is to please not duplicate or use these in any way without permission. (All writings © piasala 2008)
If you do like anything you see here, please drop me a line/comment of encouragement!!
Out.
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