Archive for October, 2008

hey man, i’ll miss ya…

Posted in glory in the overlooked on October 26, 2008 by tony saputo

i just wanted to express some love for this man

i’ll miss you rudy ray moore…

do not forget everything i have is already yours…

Posted in guilt in the serenity, is it really real? on October 26, 2008 by tony saputo

there is no shame here anymore
and i have realized every episode may not have quietly passed as we thought
there is nothing wrong with this i reckon
and push forward to resolve whatever issue we may still have

these simple choices extend themselves from our fingertips
like the lilies in a pond of everything unspoken
all i have to ask you is it still too hard for an honest run?
do not forget, you have seen everything i am, and it is already yours.

what am i becoming?

Posted in disdain without dilemma on October 22, 2008 by tony saputo

dreams are what they are because you are sleeping
as an insomniac, sleep is but a waned desire for me
also, as myself, sleep is something i cannot give into as well

it takes a lot knowing who i am becoming is destined for solitude
but this is my soul, my body, and my fate
these questions i keep asking myself are useless

give me the person whom can accept the curmudgeon i am becoming
give me a light in the dark world i have so longed to burn
and perhaps, just maybe, i could learn to love again

until then all i see is fire
all i know is pain and selfishness
and the lack of a world who will see what i see

there is only fear or love
and i have forgotten how to be afraid
which, obviously, leaves love

Boredom Has a Taste

Posted in funny noises on October 16, 2008 by thirdcircuit

He pulled up against the curb and parked. In his rear view he saw that there was a security guard walking toward his car and then realized that maybe he wasn’t supposed to park there. But never mind, he figured. Normally in a situation like this he’d just take the ticket. It involved handing it to his secretary and the matter would be resolved. Ten dollars he would never miss would disappear from one of his accounts and he wouldn’t even know when. He paid somebody to know when. Paid them to stress out over it so he didn’t have to. And there’s a certain beauty to the arrangement whereby someone’s family is fed and all this person has to do is chew on the nuts and bolts of boring numbers – numbers in such supply that they had finally just become tedious. Success, was the word for it. But that is not what he was thinking about at the moment. He was thinking that the security guard who was approaching, the security guard who was now tapping on his driver’s side window, was familiar. He knew him, but he never knew him to be so goddamn pushy. To have the balls to tap on his (MY) fucking window. “Sir you will have to move your car.” “I’ll only be ten minutes.” “And that will be just long enough for us to tow the vehicle. And I’d be happy to give you the phone number to where we’ll take it if it pleases you to not move your car……Sir.” “Who the fuck are……………” he was about to ask when there was a tap on the passenger side window. The situation had taken a different shape. It had been lifted out of the security guard’s hands. And the guard was glad about it. It was fun and all to push and pull a little, but not his job. Someone else would be explaining how profoundly things had changed in the gentleman’s absence. Sir.

End Over End

Posted in is it really real? on October 14, 2008 by thirdcircuit

There’s been some confusion lately between what happens in my dreams and what happens when I’m awake. Confusion is not necessarily bad if it forces some kind of solution. When confusion asks “What is beautiful and what is not?” rather than “What is and what is not?” it is in this moment serving its highest function.

In my mind there is something huge and looming about the final of 36 tracks that make up the Ghosts album. Included in the notes to this record should be listening instructions: “Best absorbed while falling asleep in a dark room while trying not to fall asleep.”

The song starts and I’m on a jellied plane, and thirty seconds in I’m moving slowly downward, not like I’m sinking, but like it’s claiming me. There are sounds of crickets (definitely) and waves (which I might be making up). And that piano is a fuckload out of tune. It’s lazy and beaten up. And how many hours did he spend tweaking not the large, but the small wires inside this thing to make it sound like it’s just not getting along with itself today? And it occurs to me that T. Reznor is not the kind of person to spend a couple of days twisting knobs just to make something sound like it should not. At least not all the time. He found this piano. It sounded like it does. And it was good enough.

So it drones on and mingles with the waves and crickets and the other people on the beach. Including me there are three. One has been lulled to sleep. The other is my conspirator. And I created this scenario: I find a rusted out and warped piano. Play it. Someone falls asleep and is left to the sounds of the beach, safely sleeping where the sand meets the tree-line. The keys have wound to an end.

We have to be quiet now, I say to my third. We have to be quiet, but we have to take this thing with us. It doesn’t belong here. It belongs with us. We have to roll this motherfucker end over end off the beach and to our home. And we cannot wake the person it’s lulled to sleep. All this in a glance. And we know it’s impossible, so we’d better get started .

dear humans:

Posted in foreshadowing, lost in these purposes and collecting ours on October 8, 2008 by tony saputo
it is with the upmost apologies to send you this refrain, but i cannot see a better way. no matter how evolved we are to be; we still are animals.it is a sad day when i see these actions in my light.

hopefully we can outgrow it, but i will not be betting on green anytime soon.
consider me sick, I could not care less.

 
 
 

 

the conscious is breathing

Posted in is it really real? on October 5, 2008 by tony saputo

if this is a dream
i would love to meet whose head i am in
shake the hand and drain the veins
just to begin a whole new set of nightmares
on my own accord