I was Thinking, or Not

Another Time Maybe Here I sit, smoking my cigarettes, drinking to much coffee, listening to David Bowie's "Modern Love". Putting words to the page, which may make no sense to you, but it makes perfect sense to me. I read the news today (oh, boy), it was the same old shoot 'em up, the same old rock and roll, so I won't bore you to much with the details. The state of the state is an economic smoke screen, the world is finding new grounds on which to establish peace of war, and the US is front and center in their own minds. People continue to go about their way, picking up shiny objects, or watching their own pathetic lives tank, feeling sorry for the empty bottle in their hands. The song changes, and I feel that it is more to the point. If I could save the world, don't you think I would really rather see it crash and burn. You know who you are, so just take up that banner, run through the streets naked and scream you are oppressed, because you are free. A...

Whatever Today, and Tomorrow Today I was listening to some guitar players on you tube, and I happened upon Suicide is Painless, which most people would recognize as the theme from the TV series MASH, if they even remember that. Well whatever I was looking at the lyrics, and I thought you know I wonder if they wrote that for the show, or if the creators of the show just thought the song fit the show. This led me to a link that provided me with a version from Marlyn Manson, which I listened to, for a minute, before I switched to Crosby, Stills and Nash, Just a Song before I go. Then I went to lastfm.com to listen to some more CSN and whatever else. What the fuck am I talking about, have I become so fucking empty headed that I am suddenly just chatting about some music. Is there no end to this senseless prater, that I read, dribbling from the emptiness of the electronic digital circuitry. Have they already taken over, these metallic sounds, no metal, but clipped sounds, devoid of fee...

I can't move forward any further. The weight is to great for a frail frame such as I. This hollow and empty hole that fills me, consumes me, won't let me see through this fog of manifest destiny. I carefully pick my way through the verities of the passing days, observing how the people swirl in ever changing hues of blue and green before me. Passing by the dark hearts, and purple people in the sea of green, while a few blue and gold will extend a hand, only to have it greased up in some formal joke I was not told about. This is about enough, it is time to take out the garbage. Time is catching up with us all, it will catch us with our hands tied to the whipping boy. As the carousel girls swirl in their undulating dance of seduction, around the inferno that is the moment of your now. Can you resist their suggestions, their twisted bodies mirrored in the pools of despair. The boy laughs and hands you your head, in case you ever wanted to use it. Now, now, that's okay, ...