61: it used to be worse

it used to be worse
with those burnt-out demons
hiding back in those caves
of repressed hate and hate again.

every once in a while
they sneak out quietly,
past their curfew of normal daily life,
the day job done and signed out for.
at night those innocent heads were riddled with
Satan's thoughts and typical hell.

The fire never seemed so real before.

60: fashion's daughter

The tragic excuse of the tired sense of shadow lurking.
still they follow, in an honest pursuit
for the hope of the most famed and wonderful
days in a snow globe of the collection.

but she knows the kind who shares the
similar rest of all real thoughts,
abiding in the Law unchanged.
shifting the fears, she leaves the room
and opens the other doors.

59: Scorch'd

Paintings burned beautifully into the eclipse of the sun,
and the colours streamed together into a charry, muddy mess.
Never did it leave against the dry wood,
burning together like old, exhausted friends.
Later picking up the paintbrush once more
with an instinct to start,
though he can't help but smell smoke
from the remains of lost art.

58: chandelier

A trophy call to hang frames of crystal,
prism-like, the faces seen and multiplied. Razor-edged glass.
Never noticed indoors, only seen from the out.

57: Over/Under

Overseas they're under siege;
anonymous hate and toys to destroy them - allocated.
They hide
while they seek, while we watch,
old critique. What a terribly difficult
game we have, here.

56: A Common Pasttime

Deja vu tunes on the FM radio (been sung before)
Modern hearts perform to the seats' content
And they clap, we clap, I clap to the resolve
Muted by satin, and the thread of solitude

55: word of the mouth!

word of the mouth!
hear the gospel-boy singing out
his heart to tunes of our rumour-fueled views

the constant need to be surrounded
by inflamed truth and the expansion of others.

to make ourselves full of that which isn't.

to make us consider the placement of time,
to envelope it all in surrendering media army.

let those soldiers do their march
and their sins will be forgiven
in our masses at the 6 O'Clock News.
those priests ought to hang themselves with those lies
spewing from the anchorman's desk.
take the microphone and run, just don't be frigid.

54: Roof Top

When we climbed up the roofs
and looked over down --



but we didn't, we just looked over storm cloud ideas
viewing downtown illumination.
Bright lights that lived to tell the tale
of urban life and love and work and the passing of.
Glamourous lights, rich with electric clarity,
imagining ourselves in their position
and secretly wanting to finish off the deed.

53: Yards

Time gambled, fear played, voice withdrawn to a shape.
Old relations, trees whistling dust, wind sleeping, defunct mischief:
Grab the gun, son!
Get 'em all awake!
Dry those clammy hands, give that man an old hit.
All else is loaded, but the pop-cork bang - insignificant.
(1, 2, 3)
You see?

52: The Mix

Set down the beats: your mistakes are perfect
the critics' acclaim is not in denial.
The luck that was fished out belongs to you
and your humble wayward soul.

Still, we need to be classified
and we can't have you here mixing palettes of sounds
and expecting nothing from no one.
Aall rest still follow, but you follow them, too
into that drowning faith
that gathers the millionaires and locks out the gates

It's too bad that you're not into it, I am torn
between what you wish, and what I want.

51: Showcase

Throw me down a line, pull me off the streetplay the role of judge to the green little kids.

From stage to stage and coast to coast
most are the same, I beg you to boast
about one little band that is the secret,
Lying alone in the whispering trees
with the smoke signal warning -
reviewers are pacing -
racking their brains for the metaphor racing.

Songs glittered with struggle, did they not know
what more there was to come?
Oh my brothers, it has only just begun.

50: Nest

Disease ridden basket case paints pictures on the asylum wall.
drips black-bird paint on the ways of the hall
makes murals on the cage.

Tiles stained with melody colours
ink splats there go two-by-two
they conform to the floors, and hug it well
enveloped in these blending shades
of emerald blue and topaz silver
polka-dotted-striped
delivers explosions of plaid
and written words
painting on her hair and shirts.

Quiet white slippers tread across their floors.

This can't be sent -- it's only visted
to stand on the realm of visualistic catharsis
before the tragic hero trips
and falls into oblivion.

49: History

you don't deal well with the living crisis,
do you, sister?

this candy's stale and ancient
like those dead civilizations we trod upon.
cowboys and indians
bows and arrows
black and white
slaves and non-slaves
compare, contrast, reflect, review.
Open your textbooks, and listen to what we have in store for you.

48: Neccessities

Ego booster shots should be necessary
I'm getting the narcissist flu. The world revolves clockwise
and all else follows, down those stairs.

Overestimated guesstimates and presumptuous wishes,
hopes thrown up into the air,
let the leaders catch them all
we're filled up to the brim with the likeness and luck
and fame of a chance in a lottery win.

The platform's set with the stage lights bright
heating up lines under that harsh candle
bring down the spotlight laser beam
pinpoint fame not to be seen.

The audition tape is fraudulent,
yet talent comes across like heaven sent.
Always, we strive to prove ourselves,
to nobody, to noone.

47: ballroom dancing

Commence awkward silence when we stand for The Songfaking our way through the normal procession.
Outside the cigarette smoke lingers its way back in
on the five-hundred-dollar blazers of
the ghostly heartless suits.

Then the patronizing speech tries to be revolutionary
tries to steal our time and throw it back
on our tired, expressionless faces. We study the ceilings,
ornate decorated vomit,
distract ourselves by moving in those certain ways.
Follow the music, follow the standards.

46: those aryan girls

Hair sweet like honey, strolling through the forest.
Creating everything themselves, their own reality.
Painting stories on their nails,
knowing the difference between us and them.
Bathed in riches while knowing nothing of the sort.
Perfection was a lifestyle, we studied them for mistakes.
And we thought we couldn't find any.

45: Academics

They stride through hallways and corridors.
They're down the ravines
while we climb to the top.
See them looking up at us and then they all stop.
Since then, clouds of decay and all that is drained
of recycled emotions and thoughts and of old feelings
are not a surprise to the lovely old skeptics.

When everyone's a hero
is it hard to decipher
the love from the hate,
endurance or suffer?

They swallow their words, I examine them.
Thoughts manifested, ideas blooming in the night.
And still I sleep during these days.

44: Lone Listen

Seal off noise pollution except for what's yours,keep it to yourself.
Put a barrier to those soundwaves, souvenir records.
Let's make a toast to the
antique love songs
that weep of violins and make flowers wilt and bloom.
Like a well-done summer, soft and tender,
where days tread on
with gorgeous L.A. heat, and the bitterness soon.

Like the best sort of jail with isolation,
nothing but sounds to wake up the soul.
Stuck with the thoughts that run across time,
jumping through time's hoops
and catching memories in baskets. Plant them in the soil,
water them daily. Tend to that which you created.

43: Dripping

It was only then in orange skiesthat anyone even realized
the scope of days in our snow globe
so isolated and secure.

I like it here
and its clockwork routine is easy
for the patterned days that shake our hands,
assuring us of the order of things. The permanent soul.
Radios never turned off, televisions never really on.

42: Dropper

He's dropping names on my foot
like anvils
and I chuck it at the next limo passerby.
I'm in a purgatory heaven making mountains out of lies...

But look - the stars are a-gleaming
with their Dior fashion earrings
and I'm blinded by the rays of light radiating from fake tans searing.
In the queue to catch a glimpse; flash photos in an accolade,
Strolling around with ghost parades
all screaming and a-wailing.

Just a few seconds for the crowd to die,
then resurrect as they naturally do,
like they're done with this life here and now,
reaching for the unattainable.
So shiny and clean, like the soles of their feet.

41: Label Debut/Dispute

Playing our hearts out, here in front of you.
Be the judge as we plead our case
with our major label debut.

Throw out those memories of failed attempts,
those rooms that never filled.
Those songs that never turned out right
a fanbase slowly built.

Hometown's a worldwide tourist trap
we're the spiders, you're the flies.
you're swimming in my ego pool
with gossip column lies.
We're too good for you, you know,
molded clones are waiting
in my manager's backroom closet.
Gone are the days we've gripped our roots:
we're out for harvest,
rotten fruits.

40: poolside

Wait over here by the poolside
Chlorine blues
Make a bet and make it; twice.
Achieve whatever else is left to steal then take
yourself out, and we'll join too.

We'll die legends, I promise.
Everything's an arm's length away.
(it's easy to leave but it's hard to stay)

Because the hands strike high
to lead your sunshine-state lifestyle
and say goodbye to the neighbourhood,
those streets that carried and nestled you home.
Those gates that softened reality's blow.

39: Dance Up

Atmospheric tango: bring those speakers to the sky.
Grab your microphones that magnify
the soundwaves of your lullaby.
Audience bloodstream circulation,
pumped up souls all ready to go.
Crash the waves to surf them all,
to move in unison or one by one.
Domesticate your inner human,
train our relative theory test.
Question the faith that we've been seeking
and find your answer in a pile of dirt.

Tune in, friends and lovers, to the soundtrack of our lives.
Recorded, produced, and heard without us;
while we live the ins and outs of days
the music plays along in karaoke bliss.

38: Speaker

So as she speaks to the world
on her homemade soapbox -
endearing us all with soulful blues,
her words of wisdom are less than enchanting
when she proclaims them to an empty room.

Did you want an audience?
Favouritism plays in our natural daydream.
Our semesters of luck
and the downfall omnipresent.
the silver lining's been repainted,
renovated to lose all meaning
because tradition is not an easy trend,
its upkeep is atrocious.
Why stay back and watch the rest evolve, like a passenger on the freights?
Observers aren't enemies — we're the burning lights.

37: Z

Returned from sleep
watching the missed events they never captured.
The world tipped sideways
for a minute there
deception strangled our hearts.

Failure policies and talking points
fall from the cloud-bitten sky
like invisible daggers. Harmful but glaring,
fear-instilled. Tired, weary, power.
Hopes dashed, dreams dead
watch hell unfold from the comfort of your home
with muted life and the ethics game - endless.
The contest dwindles, all bets are off.
Stop the gambling, and pocket your guilt.

36: Vines

The changing syndrome: phases, obtuse.

Nothing linear, about this mathematical life
simplified and proven, one trail remains.
No room for turns, let's be mundane.
How far can we go
in this streamline of safety?
Bordeom's our best friend and our favourite enemy.
Drawing the line to a faithful close,
we're closer to nothing, and yet we are everything
that we've never wanted to be.

35: Rest, and a-one, and a-two

The music breaks, finally -
let's hear another tragic story
hear it in the silence, rhythm of Nothing echoes
and echoes
and Echoes

Contagious, infectious,
we cannot bear to be unable to hear
all of the nothing that's been spewed.
I miss that white noise. All the greys.
All those invisible hues. Nothing but notes on a page.

34: Planning

Hands on the emergency exit,
out of chaos,  distress and the sacrilege scent,
The convoy's leaving, so "thanks for nothing".

grab your parachutes with your pale white knuckles,
electricity buzzing from head to toe.
We were told to do this.
Stunt-double nightmare — he didn't show up.
The leader's abysmal call to distress slays all logical reasoning.
Natural wake-up calls, nature rattles,
and it takes a lot of hate
to overthrow their spins and demeaning.
We were told to listen.

33: Trop Tropic

Misty-eyed days
The clouds are covering up
what once was bright and shining us blind.
Shoreline envy and battalion waves mimicking those of
business raves.

But the beaches steer clear — as if a mellow escape
to the blinding buildings encasing the caged.
Away from the lights, cells of financial districts,
Drift off to sea, afloat on your souls.
I eat from the pavement and sing to the skies.

Sink — if you want to, they will let you go.

32: rire

thanks for the laughs and the classic
frame them upon
walls and walls of ambition.
those nostalgic days
and permanent deja vus
are all I can count on, all I can witness.
when the future's just a concept to forget about now,
the past is carried away by the currents.
waste time looking at pictures
long and gone
and hoping what was once the golden age
will return to embellish us all.

31: I love you and your high expectations

Just a fad, questionable diets.
Children's playthings.
Faux melodic woos and harmonic "Heys!"
As he's strumming away through chords of wisdom,
you're breaking mirrors
upon mirrors of art.

Never be good enough,
nor will your dignity prove that.
Mistakes buried underground-- withhold the breath.

30: M.N.

"roll the dice," says mother nature
and with it, all highlights of various depictions of our
creative apocalypse,
too distant to be taken seriously.

Ravaging sea water
rapes the land that forgives it
like clearing the canvas
with toxicity,
drowning mistakes by making a few more.

This is how renewal celebrates.
The ones left over fend for themselves,
while savaging deeds reciprocate.

don't we get it, yet?
we had this coming!

29: lifted

The impulse of the curses of joy.
Pill-formed happiness; mainstream ecstacy.

Profoundly animated/imagined dream
made real to life for those who fake it. And they made it.

The campaign slogan is a song fit for a drink.
Entice us to join him in romanticized glory, hated and thirsty.
Hold his hand, and you'll hold mine. Hang on tight.

28: pocketed

Nihilistic ego hard-ons
accessorized faith
the green from their pockets
leading them in.
Fictional books
make fictional buildings for us to live in

and there's
not much left to bear from it.

27: I want to invite you

The past is fostered: An abortion of thoughts,
enigma, feelings, smoke.
Every dig of the way,
your ideals draw nearer. And mine become farther away.

26: cancellation theme

hanging hopes, suspended, mid-air
collisions in what was meant to be-
let's meet, love, in its last few days.
Cordless invitation: you bring the wine, we bring the bottle.

25: a gathering of all gatherings

The collection of ghosts
and their nightly meetings
with talks of philosophy drawn outdoors to dry
with the other thoughts
dripping of recycled pretension -
the cannibals are feasting
on this picnic of talk.
Finding out who's the weakest
then, having been fought,
ranked themselves highly on society's scale.

24: Cubic Cull

office politics: "Hear Me"
yell the suits from the streets. From the
ties to the cases. Crisp folded twenties.
Did those pinstripes shriek as the deal closed in?

well, the brushes are handed,
the paint's dripping through.
the masterpiece ruined, happens everyday.
"Good game," they lie -
they smirk,
they sigh.

23: metal medals

for the golden truth to be awarded.
Special effects, static transmission - all just minor distraction
until the time sweeps by
and takes the dust
off our weary face and shoes.
Perspective's lost in our hide-and-seek game
but noone's bothered to find it.
The scale of things
grow eventually smaller
while the finishing line is crossed only for a moment,
that flashing moment where statements are proclaimed.
One last look at the days that rolled by.
our living soap opera
that never ceased.

The knowing of what happens
in a subtle joke.
we live for today, tomorrow will dwell.
Our bodies buried, our souls to sell.

22: And When He Saw

A rush entangled; waiting for spiders to feed
gratefully escaped, for now. Good causes, albeit unknowingly.
The charity was all the same.

something special exchanged - not physical.
there was a hunt for the perfect gift.
the perfect prey
to feast another upon.
good for us all,
but truly only given to another.

21: pay role

Company fallacy forgiven
taken as an accepted fact -
the saddening belief of the inevitable.
it grows on us slowly
like an ivy's poisonous hug
'round that place we all call home.
we forgive them every day
as god would bitterly
do to us.

20: retour

The return of my full-fledged
inexperience. Oh, shapeshifter city,
these morphing families,
these days where you
exchange your souls for another.

Instead, the ignorance rushes back
to me and stays, desensitized by gentrified waves,
unphased by our beginning.

It's possible to achieve this height
of high anonymity.
on and on
I climb the ladder
to disappear completely.

19: Tides and tides

Attacking, pouring in
like a lakeside of enemies.
Invasion of privacy and personal space
yet - you withstand it -
in the valiant mix of noise, those splashes of ambiguity.

Don't forget the heart, leave it buried.
Exposed to the world and the meaningless statement
that everyone's done.
Pretend to brush it off and re-gift it to listeners.
Rejoice - you've all been had.

18: Floored

As if nothing happened; nothing disturbed.
ignorance reverbed and the answer of awkwardness
like silent conversations
and then after - infinite nothing.
By the stroke of the clock,
never met, never talked.
Never saw, never knew.
The vision's askew.

Perhaps all these years of costumed ideas
were dressed up a little too much.
Void of real and raw solutions
like integrity sliced
in half, crushed, and taken.

17: Tonight

Beware the lair of the talk show host
their wit's not dry,
absent and replaced with snappy replies
biting off the end of your
sentence

16: The Reeling

mainstream force-fed
monopoly-seekers. "musical" convulsions.
that's why every once in a while
a blue moon dances overhead
as another great dream
of raw, inspired talent
steals the sun - from those who see it.

15: WSX

exchange of the words, guns traded at battle.
aim for the fire - "I'm shot, I'm down!"
Don't look at me further, move along, move along.
No use staring at the deadness of dawn. Retaliate,
your turn.
The corner keeps me warm.
You're winning 'cause I let you, free will obliges you.

But we both long for the future
and our downtrodden days,go on unphased with those wooden smils.
What boils underneath should never be revealed
Never will we erupt again,
until all wounds have healed.

14: Be Sharp

Poisonous butterflies hopped up on acid
-- that is hate.
it's just a matter of when. in the face of the grim.
covered in sins, a dusting of lewdness.
unapologetic, gall of us each and the other.

13: the chair

the big screen directs our small screen lives.
manipulating images and ideas, metamorphosis of the mind
visually appealing.
richly animated.
falsified people, WE CONNECT WITH YOU.

but for a second, looking at those beautiful faces
that kill themselves
on-screen. That cry and weep and die for each other,
The Drama Queens.
could you wish to do the same?

no one admits it, but we sometimes feel the itch to
let ourselves fly - to do the impossible.

12: it's the suit that makes the man

Walk with purpose and meaning.
Heart beats in the financial district,
heart racing for that feeling. What is it?
The sound of that which affords them Life, As Printed
in That Magazine.
Lunch powers dismay the simple pleasers, here is your
coffee on the rocks.

11: wipe the dust

We're taking a trip to a desolate wasteland,
our ambience won't be disturbed. Listen to doves
as the morning rises, the radio head's playing
While the evening dies.
Summer out but hearing these tunes
changes the scene, buckle up for the ride.

like that girl who thought she
could impress everyone
by proclaiming that one album
she would love to die through...

10: Admit One

"The squirrels who took every extra-curricular
activity so that some college admissions
officer wouldn't believe
how they'd actually spent their
time drinking wine coolers
during study hall."

I couldn't have said it better myself,
He said it so perfectly,
I wondered why.
Then I realized
he's a comedian.

9: televisio

Lights,
camera,
Siren.

Darkness-streetlights-neon signs drilled into sky
And then the redblueredblueredblue of the uniforms,
Oh, they speed as much as us. They like to trail,
We like to hear the rush like acid through our veins
(Hey, we need that hit again)
It roars against the asphalt and I can smell the sin
It smells like gasoline and desperation
Hear the copters loving the infrared thrill,
Until we step out of the vehicle,
Hands up, roll the tape,
The lenses out, they do record
And film us as they end our trek,
And we smile at the cameras.

8: Grid-Light

A shot of darkness, the power sleeps
like standstill summer tides.
Stealing the lights away-
Candlelight finds shadows never present
in fluorescent light.

7: The Upper-Middle Class Dream

Doctoral prestige: Pride, money, respect.
Status, class, homes
(in the good part of town)
To be revered, picture photo frames
of Their joy; not his. But he smiles into an empty wall,
Thinks nothing of what's been done.

6: Within

It never occurred to me
that this was what families do.
This is what is made
and what becomes of -

What is created by us and ourselves,
Supported, unselfish and back-breaking.

But if you don't have The Instinct,
Why do that?

5: Her Ode

Ennui is her groom, tuxedo-fitted, tailored,
Self-fulfilling prophecy made true. The altar
sinks from all these heavy thoughts, weigh down the air
As guests sit in the stifling room
Make calculations between themselves and I,
We bet on the results of months of dinner parties,
Cocktail dreams and poolside eats
Gatherings and followings,
Trips to far-off islands to invest their time
in What Should Be. Seems like the veil was never taken off.
But he, he did.
Years of being - statistical wreckage. We witnessed it,
and still we looked away.

4: CD

Get my headphones on like a passport
to heaven and its wonderwall --
(The arcade's fire is burning all night long.)
For it's better this way - straight to the source.
When it's personal and you hear the voice.
The radio's head is mixing my messages,
breaking my social scene
They are history now so let's make it classic
and that's how it is
and how it will be.

3: πλαστικός

Floating, corpse-like living
in the crisp summer tide. Corals sharp enough to bite.
And in the azure-pacific haze, the salt dawns upon our eyes:
The surgeon resurrection. They do revive
the dead and dying souls, invigorate old decay,
With the sheen of tired youth hidden/stretched
Bask in the artificial glow. Already hear the cameras flashing,
So put on your face, curtains drawn, and welcome to the show.

2: Air France

leave it up to the experts
behind the machine
wielding thoughts of erotica
advertising shampoo scenes
cos yeah - I see that
a plane crashed today




"It's a miracle flight,
number three fifty-eight."
and we're thankful and all
though for a minute
we hoped -- sort of -- for the usual ending
So we could Remember The Day When...?

but
there was nothing. Only flames and smoke
and traffic jams along the way.

1: Industry, industry

The late night brings productivity
and with it, buggy eyes for the next morning after.
How difficult it is to stride towards slumber,
Wrap myself in cotton, synthetic fibres brush against my skin
And the moon makes its rounds
Orbits slave-like, bounded path it weaves
Like a drone, borrowed light created
Supplying our demand, continues forward into
the soundless, starry, night.