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3 Songs I'm working on

Apr. 5th, 2008 | 01:03 am

feel free to play along. Yay for simple songs!



"Conch"

Capo 4
C G Am


C G Am E
He had a good head on his shoulders, but the cops were on his tail
He was 23 when he confided in me he was afraid to go to jail.
"I'm just not that kind of person," he said to me with chagrin
C   G Am G
It was hard to summon sympathy at first, but his story drew me in

C G Am G Am C
C G Am E
He was only a kid with an axe to grind and no one to swing at
He made straight A's until the day he realized that didn't mean he passed
So he took his pen and paper, traded them in for a knife
Tried to rob a wine and spirits, but a hero gave him his life.

"And I didn't really mean to," was his only defense
Packed his bags, caught a Greyhoud, hit the road for penance
Found the east coast under gray clouds under which he thought he could hide
But the Sherriff of Biloxi wanted him dead or alive.

C G Am
And I don't know where he is today

G Am C
And I wouldn't tell you anyway

C G Am E E7
So get out of my house now, kindly go away
C G C
I don't need a hassle today.

Sit and have some coffee he said, when I passed him on the street
He was in a sidewalk cafe, and i have to say I needed something to eat
He was lonely, needed a place to stay; somewhere to sleep
He crashed on my couch, and collapsed in a heap

It's a funny thing I think today, giving a murderer board
But I tried to help him as I could, and what's my reward?
He took everything he could, I'm a gullible fool
C G C
I didn't know someone could be so cruel.

I'm glad I think, in a way, that he left me alive.
The fact that he did only makes me derive
That maybe somehow he thinks of me, wherever he is
I sure hope someone does, I've given all I have to give.

chorus

We're products of our environment, we all are taught.
We're malleable and rubber, but our steel souls are wrought
By a meaningless world of doubt and lies
We're all nothing but subjects of the Lord of the Flies.

Chorus






"A Moment of Rage Made Manifest in Blood"
Capo 7
C G F am G


There are times that I find myself saying that I think it's about time to give up
And there times that I think I should just leave it all up to luck

But there are words that haven't yet been written, things can't be left unsaid
And there are many more lives that I'm living than the one I do inside your head

You think that I'm some kind of toy, beaten, hobbled, laying on your chair
You think that I'm incapable of conscious thought, you think that I don't care

am F am G
The flames of desire have woken me to life
Broken down doors, handed me the knife
I can't believe my luck; I'm not gonna give it up

I'm sick of the lying cheating manipulating you say you do for my good
I'm speaking quite clearly and lucidly but I still seem to be misunderstood

It's kind of ridiculous you still insist to keep your hand on this wheel
I'm not even here anymore you see a ghost. The body in front of you is not real.

So the pain that your doings have caused are now returned to you sevenfold
It's funny to see you give me that look, I'll remember ir till I'm old


C G em G
I'm raging i'm battling inside of my head
I'm gonna bring out all that remains unsaid


chorus

There are times that I find myself feeling that it must all be my fault
But I shrug that stupid thought from my shoulders, and still I carry on

chorus




"Roots"
Capo 5
C  G Am F G
C G F G C G
F G C


with eyes like two laser beams she looks into mine
and i feel her gaze work its way down my spine
and I think to myself, 'i might stay for a while'

I sit on the couch and light a cigarette
take a sip of the drink which lingers on her breath
and I think to myself, 'i could spend the night.'

her mouth whispers miracles deep and close in my ear
Secret sentiments meant only for me to hear
and then i know, i'm where I belong

Am      F G

Because time takes it toll
On a rock that insists to roll
So I feel right and good

Am                  G
Staying here like I should

C  G Am F G
C G F G C G
F G C

Spent cigarette butt smoldering in ash tray
Burns like cat's eyes, imploring me to stay
and i say to it, 'you don't have to ask'

Because heaven takes its home inside her hair
Holding her head to mine, vanishes all care
and behind us I see floats the past

chorus


Am                    C
Time posts I feel the stall
Am                 C        G
I'm wandering down a broken hall
Am                     C
And the light down the corridor
   F                 G
Is all that makes me yearn for more


The light I see is her ambivalent face
Causes me to quicken my pace
I'm scrambling, I'm running, I'm falling
towards the place


chorus

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Here I go again...

Mar. 23rd, 2008 | 01:48 am

I need to get back inside my dreams. I need to become aware again. Guess the Skullfuck ritual is tonight. I just hope I don't attract any more Succubi.

I need to become more spiritually focused too, I think. I've really slipped. I used to project every night. Now I can barely get out of body. I feel like I'm losing the awareness I had. Communication with the nonphysical has become harder too. I can't tell if that means I'm gaining sanity or merely dulling my perception of existence. You wouldn't hear many people complain that they can't talk to demons/spirits or transcend time or space anymore. I'm strange like that.

I guess if I get back into practice I'll get more adept again, but I'm worried that this is all a symptom of coming to terms with reality. I don't know how I feel about that, if that's the case. I would like to live in a reality which allows for more than scientific truths, and I'm afraid if I lose contact with my spiritual world I'll be sucked into thoughtless materialistic pursuits. Heh, that rhymed.

It's just that now I'm so used to seeing another layer to everything. The world seems naked now. Not naked in a raw, visceral way; but in a bland way. There is no life pursuit: no greater goal or oneness that is easily discernible. I guess that's where faith comes in, but I hadn't yet reached a point where I had decided what I wanted to invest my faith in.

That's really why I'm a Chaote. Not because I'm drawn to panreligious concepts, but that I see no one path laid out before me. I was close too. Fuck me for getting off track. I guess I have to start over.

Yeah, I guess I just revealed a side many of you don't know about in this post. Fuck it.

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Metempsychosis: A second attempt at epic poetry (In Progress)

Mar. 21st, 2008 | 10:31 am

Metempsychosis

i.

We live

One life

To the next,

Oblivious of our past Pasts,

Without knowing our united Identity.

We die

Time after time;

Life after life;

Foreseeing only an end,

Never a beginning.

I was born in a past life

A Mongol warlord,

Living by death and sword,

Ushering the world to future greatness.

I died to be a tortured soul,

Locked in the deepest dungeons

Of a Victorian London sanatorium.

My soul crossed the Irish sea

In order to be a modernist writer

Streaming my consciousness onto a page,

My Daedalian wings outstretched I flew

Freed only in body from the chains of insanity

I insist you remember me!

Remember my name, for it is thine own

The name

One name

One life

One time

One hope

One truth

So now, bring yourself to being

And walk onwards and lead yourself

Free from the shades of the oppressor

Wade

Deep into the hollow sea

Meet me

And all, he



Who had seen the best minds of his generation destroyed by madness, he transcended sadness;

Who had insisted we hurry up please, it’s time, he had taught me to know mine mind;

Who had admired that Grecian urn; a lover’s yearning so observed;

Who could not stop for death, she now has her rest in me;

Who found himself within a forest dark, had hearkened to the words and is now free;

Who held with those who favored fire is freed now from that deathly mire;

Whose life immense in passion, who leads me in such a fashion;

whose sweet et cetera rings and praises i not sing;



Bring now, to our eternal gathering

Your voice, and your word

For it is ours.

And mine is yours.

And mine is ours.

Do not then, silence the speech of

One

For

One

Is all.

Is all there is

And ever was.

ii.

So now I do call to thee

I bring you out of the darkness;

Out of the oblivion in which

The Many Parts

Of our One Whole

Reside.



I call you now

Out from the depths of the mine

And summon you to the depths of the mind.

I bring across the rift of time

To analyze my line.

I call you now

From the blackness of night

Make right

That which was torn asunder

By the destroyer these eight years.



Bring us now out

From the shadow of the valley of death

Be not deaf to the call of your brethren

Rather; listen.



Listen to their words;

Make them your own.

They are your own.



Inscribe them upon your heart

So you may start

To usher in the postwar century.



Bring the age of peace,

So that after may arise the culmination

Of Samsara.



At this point lays the end of the circle.

At this point resides our freedom from:

Straw houses,

Cat and mouse games with hidden men in robes trying vainly to free their world;

Interregnum politics with our own Oliver Cromwell, embodied in a burning Bush.



This Bush is not WHO AM, but AM NOT.

BE. Do not BE NOT.



iii.

Sesquipedalian and Daedalian,

Filled with corpsegas and grandiloquent phrase

I stand,

To address the crowds

The crowd now wearied

Of psychological torture;

Of postnatal abortion.

UNITED WE STAND.

WE STAND AS ONE

WE STAND AGAINST THE TIDE

WE STAND FOR ONE

WE ARE ONE.

I reject your flag.

I will not pledge my being

To a cloth emblem of fascism.

I reject your ideals.

"Patriotism" is glorified xenophobia;

The assertion that one’s home is superior

Is IGNORANCE.

I pledge allegiance to my brothers and sisters,

Now here before me.

I pledge allegiance to peaceful coexistence,

Now out of my reach.

I will unite the cross with crescent,

Hexagram with pentagram.

Marduk will resurrect Tiamat,

Osiris will reconcile with Seth,

And on the banks of the Jordan and Nile

Great banquets will reign.

Over the lands of the disenfranchised natives

Will rain great pestilence

Until their home is restored

To its collective beauty.

iv.

Restoration and reparation

Is a lie.

Why must we fool ourselves?

The sins of the father are not inherited by the son.

The Sun asserts that

History is a nightmare from which we must awake.

Awake!

Bring yourselves to life, my friends!

Your chains and locks are not bound!

It is an illusion!

Shrug your shoulders like Great Atlas is wont to do,

And the past is gone!

The past is present in another life

The now is then, and then is now,

Forget. Be free.

Be to me.



v.

Be your own God,

Now and forever

For I am your God and you mine.

This is no turn of phrase,

No clever subtlety.

I use not subtlety in these words,

For truth is truth and truth.

Awake and rise!

You are my father and mother and child and uncle and aunt and neice and neighbor and benefactor and beneficiary and persecutor and persecuted and prosecutor and defendant and victim and rapist and murderer and mugger and robber and philanthropist.

We rape, kill, exploit, maim, deform, defame, lie, cheat, steal, molest, solicit, abuse, use, and obey in our own waste.

We give, benefit, aid, protest, elect, question, care, and coexist in our marble halls.

We are one in our opposition of ourselves.

vi.

Bring divergence full circle.

Come back to thineself.

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Poems

Feb. 8th, 2008 | 12:46 am

I've been trying a more classical, lyrical style lately.

Pantheist:

Osiris and Set make a temporary alliance
In order to kill Arjuna's defiance.
The Pantheon assembles, without recourse
To silence Siddhartha Guatama's voice.

Eris a golden apple lets drop
To tempt Yahweh's servant to a rise to the top.
Shiva, riding Nandi, the bull
Onward does Apollo pull.




Speculation:

If I told about the flames that rise above the halls in which we dwell,
Or dwelt upon the frozen ground of each own personal Hell;
If I tried to be what we all will, in the end of the May
Or were to find the way on home, here would I not stay.

If I felt the eyes of Future’s Son piercing into my back,
Or saw the Present’s children run, avoiding our attack;
If I were one to question Fate and ask why we must march,
Or were one to make a trifling love, I would fade to the dark.

And if I would just be able to see all that we could be,
I would leave well enough alone, and strive only to be free.






Child:

Sweet children of the night do strive
To live in peaceful Unity;
Be not content, merely alive,
But live in one in Me.

Deathly pyre brings smoke unbound
And wakes me now to life;
Acolytic prayers float around
Over the earth, my celestial Wife.

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Fuck.

Nov. 20th, 2007 | 04:46 pm

What do I do now?

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Stole from Geoff

Oct. 3rd, 2007 | 05:31 pm

TEN random things about me:

1) I am listening to the Sonic Youth.
2) I am not the kind of person many people like to know, but you won't regret it if you try anyway.
3) I am heavily medicated. If that's a problem to you, just don't talk to me. I'm sick of people who don't believe in biological psychology getting in my face.
4) I plan on attending Temple next year.
5) I love Danielle Nichole Bronson
6) I always will.
7) I am genetically predisposed to many bad things.
8) I have 71 gb of music in my itunes.
9) I haven't listened to a lot of it, but it's comforting to know that i have 26 hours of the chemical brothers on my computer
10) I am a writer

NINE ways to win my heart:

1) Show you care about me
2) think for yourself
3) Make me feel good about myself
4) care about other people
5) love.
6) care what I think
7) cook with me
8) accept me
9) Be Danielle Nichole Bronson


EIGHT things I want to do before I die:

1) Change the world in a positive way
2) Write a recognized work
3) Write a successful, well-known song.
4) Provide for those for whom I care
5) Tell Mrs. Smallen to fuck off
6) Make people care about each other
7) Write something while tripping
8) Enlighten the world

SEVEN ways to annoy me:

1) Flaunt what is obviously pretense.
2) Give me the cold-shoulder.
3) Talk about your problems, the same problems, every day.
4) Be awkward.
5) Criticize me stupidly for my vegetarianism.
6) Act like you're hysterically funny.
7) Sit on your boyfriend and grope him whenever you are together in public.

SIX favorite things:

1) Literature
2) Music
3) Activism
4) Equality
5) Chaos
6) Aleister Crowley (the giant pink animal rabbit, not the occultist)


FIVE things I'm afraid of:

1) being alone
2) being stifled
3) "Dying of lung cancer."
4) loss
5) the truth


FOUR favorite items in my room:

1) Dani's drawings
2) Shrinivas Sugandhalaya Nag Champa
3) My books
4) My altar


THREE things I do every day:

1) Listen to music
2) write
3) eat

TWO things I want to do right now:

1) "Smoke a cigarette"
2) Write

ONE person I want to see right now:
1) Dani

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Posted using TxtLJ (http://www.livejournal.com/manage/sms/)

Sep. 29th, 2007 | 04:09 pm

phone just test LJ posting from my phone.

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Beginning a short story.

Sep. 21st, 2007 | 06:00 pm
mood: calmcalm

I decided to take up writing a concept that someone I know sucks at to boost my own ego. Let me know what you think:


I fell into her eyes. Those dark, dream-filled eyes which had seen so much wrong in the world, but had not given up that glimmer of hope which lay buried under years of pain. Those eyes which unlocked worlds to me, which told me of a life that I had never known existed, a life beyond the shallow and pointless existence in which we had been so hopelessly stagnating.

She came to us that crisp November evening, a stranger outside the crowd; wandering haphazardly through the street towards us, a gathered motley group of they who had become disillusioned with society and therefore took up occupation of its constructs as a sign of rebellion. We reluctant consumers, in our combat boots and sixty dollar pants bound by the chains which we thought represented our dissatisfaction. They represented our sins, we here now bound as Marley, but bound in the present. We wore shirts in representations of heroes, from Gogol Bordello to Ernesto Guevara, from Throbbing Gristle to Leon Trotsky. We alike in thought, idyllically set in a system which so adamantly opposed our views. We had not time to think about this ironic juxtaposition of consumerism and collectivism, rather we had to indulge our hedonism.

“Got your bowl?” a voice asked.

“Got a lighter?” I retorted. I reached in my pocket, and so selflessly handed over my life’s blood to a stranger yet unidentified by sight. He approached us moments earlier, but I trusted him. I knew him. His voice was one I had heard so many times before and therefore I harbored no doubt when he asked me to get him high. I was generous like that.

“Shit, Jimmy, its fuckin cold.”

“I like it.” I took a drag from my cigarette. I didn’t like smoking. I didn’t like that cold but hot feeling you get in your throat with the first drag from each cancerstick, but I did it anyway. It was the same for all of us. I looked at Mark, the stranger, and cleared my throat of the carcinogenic haze which tasted vaguely of stale pretzels and warm beer. “It helps me think more clearly.”

“Fuck, isn’t that the pot?”

“You know, I don’t even know anymore. Its chicken or the egg type shit. What kind of results can you get in an experiment in which there is no control?”

“Listen dude, don’t even fuckin start with that haughty motherfuckin intellectual bullshit talk. Who—”

That was when she walked up. Conversation paused. No—died. Mark shifted his gaze. “Eh, not bad, what’dya think she’d do to score?”

“Oh shut the fuck up right now with that shit. Girls don’t do shit for pot. You can find enough spare change in between cushions of a shitty couch at the dump to get high. Or what, got something else? When’dya start that shit? Jesus fucking Christ you ignorant—” I looked at her.

“Oh fuck you man—she’s like fourteen…”

“Four years don’t mean shit. Look at those tits… Anyway, that only means she’s probably really fuckin tight.”

“Fuckin—Of all people I honestly didn’t expect you to be such a rabid fuck. Where is all this coming from?” I flung my cigarette in the gutter, doing my little part to help the environment, and lit another, subtly cringing upon my first inhale. “There’s plenty of girls here your age, and much more suitable to you. She probably doesn’t even drink.”

“Your point? Who cares, she looks like a good fuck. They all fuck that young now.”

“Fuck you asshole, my sister’s her age.”

“My point exactly. Your sister really looks like she can really take a cock like a champ.”

I grunted disapproval. Truthfully, I really didn’t care what he said about my sister. For some reason though, I felt obligated to defend this stranger’s honor. Lisa approached her and tried to start a conversation.

Lisa’s asshole father raped her when she was eleven, and she’d tell anyone who’d listen. Lesson one of being a guy. Damaged goods make an easy fuck. No one even tried to make it work with her, they just used her and threw her away. I was guilty, as was pretty much every guy and about half the girls there that night. She had a broken smile, like





and thats what I have so far. What do you think?
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The King pt. 2-- A song I will perform Thursday at Casino Tony Goes

Apr. 10th, 2007 | 09:29 pm

Seated on a throne of glass
Among the ruins of a crystalline life
He watches swarms of his subjects pass
And converge upon his royal wife

She fights and pushes; we still have no hope
They tear and rip and bite and chew
He doesn’t know how he will cope
But there isn’t anything he can do.

They turn to him, blood red in intent
And slowly approach his royal chair
He will go the way she went
But he will die seated there.

He grabs hold tight to his chair’s glass arm
And braces himself for their attack
He tells himself he’ll come to no harm
But soon enough he is on his back

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peripherals

Mar. 30th, 2007 | 06:50 am

I am an
Appendage
Peripheral
Unnecessary to the machine because I lack the so-called fortitude to do the so-called right thing. But self preservation being my one and only goal I strive to do more than you know I strive to arrive at the hive and kill the queen and do such as this unseen act of modern warfare and tactics untaught and unlistened and thought and bedridden. Come and testify before the grand counsel wurm before the court and tidal germ where we were taught the tribal burn to give us all one maiden home and lead us to the written tome by scribes who taught us how to walk and talk and eat and breathe to live and hope and fight and dream. And give me the final test to be better than the rest I want to be the very best and wrest from your grip the life giving vest the life preserver to guide us further in uncharted waters surrounded by the sharks of modern ecology disposable bed ridden ecology of so called surrealist dreams. But no, I want more.

I want me. I want to be free from the rules of modern death and squirrels will tear at my bare chest at guts and life unspoken unknown and unbroken by waves of sound dispersed from a source from a megaphone with a protestor attached screaming about the Vietnam War. Past events are bereft of purpose as I plug onwards towards the surface where the whales converge and breach and live and teach and give and preach to the congregation of whalers before being so rudely stripped of their blubber. Our rubber souls are torn our shoes and glasses so very worn, but we move steadily on.

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