Sometimes when I can’t quite figure out how to write an idea I get my guitar and play it (badly) and often the strumming brings words out and I will sing (extremely badly) any thoughts that come out of my head.
No I can’t really write music, I just strum a long and see what flows. My guitar playing is…. bad. So I don’t have music to this, and no, I really, really, can’t sing! So it will have to remain written only.
This anxiety has filled my lungs with the sea I can’t breathe And I’m supposed to make a recovery but when I leap up to the surface I can’t breathe A fish out of water in society
And all the people talk about the likes of me ‘what and who should they be? I love freedom look at me but lock him up he’s a freak.’
And this anxiety has filled my lungs with the sea I can’t breathe I leap to the surface a fish out of water in society and I can’t breathe.
‘We should open up the circus he can be an orca in a tank bang your hands and feet against the glass provoke him and you’ll see he will seethe and that will confirm our beliefs
And this anxiety has filled my lungs with the sea And I can’t breathe And I’ve got to make a recovery in this fucked up society and I can’t breathe
You’ve got to be super sane to fight for the rights of your people Because if you don’t act like a ducks back if you let them see the slightest crack they will shake their fists ‘see this is why we can’t talk to the likes of you, you’re too emotional mentally ill.’
So I guess we’re supposed to be robots but then haven’t you heard of the uncanny valley? we’d still be too human for you!
I’m a freak A fucking freak if only I could own it I’m a freak A fucking freak A fucking pretender an agitator A fucking freak trying to be normal A fucking freak Is that a bad thing? I don’t know I’m a fucking freak But they call me a fucking sheep I’m an alligator A fucking agitator A pretender A fucking freak
I’m an accumulation of freakish things A caricature of society A reflection of mans insanity.
She existed only in the periphery of their vision. No one saw that in her was reflected truth. But maybe they had sensed it and that was why they never turned. She was a mirror, a fractured caricature of the society they tried to withhold. They treated her presence like the absence of something long forgotten. She was the earth and the bubble, the ecosystem that sustained them. Yet they dare not look. The roads they paved both physically and metaphorically were scars upon her arms and wrists. And she bleeds away her sustainability while they continue to carve and crave more and more. And while the Jays perch upon her oak crown and paint the forests, they cut them down. And sometimes she could forgive them, they were after all animals themselves. And some trees got put to good use but then they started to cut too much And the land bared it’s bone.
The night was different shades of black with gold specs, and the moon was a silver goddess shining brightly onto the world when she left. A fleeting love that died like the wilted roses of winter as snow blinkered all our colours in white. The train came at 21:05, and that was that gone in a haze she was just a face staring back from a window with a tear writing sadness upon her cheek. The snow of winter turned grey as it was muddied by the boots of people trudging their days away mindlessly while I noticed every little wish unfulfilled in the stars. A plane shot through my vision, pointing as if it was going to the moon, a trail behind it that is poison in its own polluting way. It occurred to me then that life itself was pollution, everything was spinning on this globe, and everything was interacting within it. Yet we pulled ourselves outside of it with our distractions and words, but I know now it was only ever an illusion. That we are the earth, as are the birds and the other beasts that share this world. And the train shook on the tracks, our goodbyes said only in our staring eyes as the train rushed past, and I knew I’d never see her again. yet she was still the earth as was I, even after the train tracks drew a divide between us I didn’t yet know if that was comforting or all the more painful. These goodbyes always feel like the end of the world, still, it turns, but somehow it doesn’t always help to remember that fact. Our emotions never could stick to the notion of calendars and diary planners sometimes, an anniversary feels too quick in the heart and loss too long in the dark. Neither of us waved, our eyes blinking through the sadness that words couldn’t express. My eyes took a picture of her face in the window while it never left; it fades as the days go by, her absence getting more noticeable with every feature lost in the memory. It seems to me absence is a lot like a cockroach nothing can kill these beasts
Shut up buttercup and lay in the grass We’ll watch the Jays fly past his blue feathers not so covert the king of the oaks Watch him fly and gleam all that he knows His dinosaurian voice And moustachioed wisdom calling to us the harshness of reality as we lay back on fields of yellow soft beneath our skin yielding to our unrelenting bodies in this monstrous yet wondrous world