Monday, August 5, 2013

Ghostfriends

"Ghostfriends float through February, faded, fallen
Colder winds through our hearts, faded, fallen
Skin melts back to reveal naught but black
within us all, withering the soul, breathe the pollen
Our life culminates within a crack, faded, fallen
Allergic to the dust, beings reek of reddish rust
We are the Ghostfriends, see us but we're not here
'cause we have so much fucking fear, the lights
they're on, but no one's home
You could say that we lost our hands, we can't
feel
'Cause we're the Ghostfriends and we aren't
real"

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Common as the Sun

    The deceptively gradual sinking of this generation's faded capacity for anything of relevance, beyond one's self, is gaining speed and acuity. A degredation of "higher thought" is quickly developing popularity, and with it, tumbles many other essential anthropological "terms". The capacity for art and the beautifully basic human urge to further everything we know, rationalize, and interact with, is being dropped, as if it were a white-hot iron. Instead of wanting to become or to create, we claw and scream for any miniscule drop of carnal pleasure we can soak up with our ravenous sponge. We forsake ourselves in a disturbingly self centered race for whatever makes us "feel the best". Instead of striving to add onto this one, single planet of which we inhabit, we kill one another, and ourselves, in an attempt to reach a pale and sickly state of faux nirvana. We drink ourselves into disgusting states of idiocy, and we are consumed by lusts and fucks. We talk about love as if it were as common as the sun, but we have never seen the sun. Our society blurs into a mixture of lies, addictions, hates, and stupidity in a vile obsession with gaining control of our own pleasure.
    So, our future is bleak. What should we do? How can we save ourselves? I would say it is too late. We are all caught in the sinking sand of our own lazy and addicted sponge. There is no hope, there is no escape. Who cares, though? 'Cause I feel alright.

Broken and Poor

"Thoughts make me a slave,
can't control the train,
no escape inside the grave,
vessel meant for pain.

How can this be real?
Straying from the plan,
It's all that I can feel,
wish I was more a man.

My ability to speak,
it's always wrong,
why am I so weak?
Please make me strong...

My heart has reached it's length,
such a sad state, broken and poor,
just give me some strength,
I can't do this anymore."