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Array
(
[sid] => 64925
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => What's the purpose of life when....
[time] => 2004-09-23 18:46:36
[hometext] => At the end of the rope, spun threw all the stress I can take
[bodytext] => Starving threw nothingness, lobster clawed drug deals, experience my unmotivated adventures. Enevidlbe doom out waited like death for his victims, burned from the tilt that others never walked. Can't became a headline with the newscaster getting drunk in a trunk of a stolen cop car, the police injecting grease like a diabetics daily routine. I'm as negative as subtraction greater than what’s held tangible. I feel pity for those who care, who once lived but thousands of flat lines later on a course that leads towards the begging of a journey endless, still going nowhere. Spend my time like fine cuisine at an over priced downtown restaurant, think within thoughtlessness, dreaming away. I believe irony is the gullibility knowing better but torn in the circle of being unsure. Watch the irreversible re-winds, the fast lanes fast-forwarded, the high-speed chase where sanity robbed the bank of normality and got away with my human reactions. The spirit in the mirror of unlawful pointing fingers, to claim justice exists on the outskirts of their smut peddling national views. Vision the primitive de-evolution upon their silly putty-minded admirers. Taken tornados of media development, focused on theirs, people and power holding hands like Edward with scissors, cut out of the system like china white in the middle of the park, purchased with semi earned bullspit toilet paper. Close corroders, and blockades, we trade paths like eyes cross at the meat markets where butchers count skins like poachers gone taxidermist from the hunt. The jungle in some concrete shoes, fog filled lungs breath the dust of the window panes in which hours pass waiting for their ride, going nowhere. Laughter trapped in cigarette cellophanes, sealed for rain of tears the hurricanes bring. With programs of chaos existing on the same channels, watching and not blinking, escape to these unconscious minutes, these messages are not recorded. Vincent Van Gogh with what they hear, they as a whole, reflect appetites that go unvanquished, eternal victory over apples with flavors of tequila worms, eating microdots that are bigger than solar systems, experience galaxies of moments. Listen to depth, as the shallow waters move slow on the pulse of reality that’s played like harpsichords and chainsaws. A dream prophet that refuses to awake, p.c.p. In gusty winds that blows friends away, running downstairs all along strapped to chairs, at work with laziness. Frightened like Freddy, ashy beer can walking, TV. Stereo foaming in the moving dimension, leave the future behind us, and enter what’s TIMELESS. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 207 [topic] => 66 [informant] => treeson [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => drugabuse )
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