"Over the hills a desolate wind turns shit to gold and blows my soul crazy...
The end of the end, we live again, but oh I grow weary of the end." - Beck
Oh, is it on now. This cannot be real...I am experiencing things that I didn't know existed. Sick still, on almost a metaphysical level, coughing up little bits of my past in disorganized clumps, moving on to see what lies ahead. I keep thinking I'm dreaming, lost inside a hazy vapour, disoriented. Dynamically disoriented. Watershed communication...saying things that I've never been able to say. The old Daniel Robin Brugioni is dying a slow death, and what will come about? Someone new, always pushing myself in new directions, always reinventing, learning to fucking take a chance of two, unblock my blue aura and let someone in. Electricity, melancholy, a dream-like covering of slate clouds, rain, little sleep, startling thoughts that swirl around, transcendental, moving on but which way do I go?...things that were important to me just aren't now. Reinvention. Human contact versus the poetry of wandering alone. Sometimes there are no answers, at least not inherent ones. I opened myself up last night, to the point where I felt out there, like some current was touching me ever so softly on my skin, jiving me up. It was all so surreal...This is weird....I'm waiting for a more comfortable illusion, one that's not so full of nails. I'm not lost, but still not found. Out on the edge where the gnarled trees cling I take wing and in my confusion, I find the trail again.
I thought that the roads to renewal were passing me by, but looking ahead instead of down, I realised that I've been on them for some time.
Come back, zinc...Come back, zinc. :)
Oh, I'm weary of the end.
The end of the end, we live again, but oh I grow weary of the end." - Beck
Oh, is it on now. This cannot be real...I am experiencing things that I didn't know existed. Sick still, on almost a metaphysical level, coughing up little bits of my past in disorganized clumps, moving on to see what lies ahead. I keep thinking I'm dreaming, lost inside a hazy vapour, disoriented. Dynamically disoriented. Watershed communication...saying things that I've never been able to say. The old Daniel Robin Brugioni is dying a slow death, and what will come about? Someone new, always pushing myself in new directions, always reinventing, learning to fucking take a chance of two, unblock my blue aura and let someone in. Electricity, melancholy, a dream-like covering of slate clouds, rain, little sleep, startling thoughts that swirl around, transcendental, moving on but which way do I go?...things that were important to me just aren't now. Reinvention. Human contact versus the poetry of wandering alone. Sometimes there are no answers, at least not inherent ones. I opened myself up last night, to the point where I felt out there, like some current was touching me ever so softly on my skin, jiving me up. It was all so surreal...This is weird....I'm waiting for a more comfortable illusion, one that's not so full of nails. I'm not lost, but still not found. Out on the edge where the gnarled trees cling I take wing and in my confusion, I find the trail again.
I thought that the roads to renewal were passing me by, but looking ahead instead of down, I realised that I've been on them for some time.
Come back, zinc...Come back, zinc. :)
Oh, I'm weary of the end.
Comments