a composition
- happening fish
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a composition
'Dying Some'
The lights are bright with emotions. Swirling colours drip across the floors, across the empty chairs and the taken stools. They reflect in flashes off of shiny countertops and desperate eyes. Tonight, the youth will walk in. They will not be sure why they are there, only that it seems like the right place for them to be. They will not question, nor allow themselves to wonder why. In their desperation to break one set of rules, they will rigidly be following another.
At the door stands a man with money in his brains and muscles in his arms. He is there to rule over unruliness, to pass judgement over those who will not be judged. He is there to protect the destructors from their truth. His body is a bridge which no morals can breach. It will only be depassed by those who would sell their souls for a short-lived happiness that they do not want.
Tonight, the youth will walk in. Their eyes will be beautiful and barren. They will shift reality, make imagination from the unfantastic. Their faces speak a secret language, a common language, rife with hidden meaning and secret longing. When they are burned by the heat they create, they will not escape it, but rather revel in something that they never sought to possess. They will not know why they want this, only that it feels like the right thing to want. There are no answers for them, for the questions that they will not ask.
Behind a small wall stands a man who sells dreams. The wall is there to separate him, to keep him apart. The dreams he sells become lies in the end, but still they come, and still they spend, and they do not know why. The wall is there to remind them that this man does not believe his own lies, and yet they will not ask why it should be they who believe. They will think to themselves that perhaps, one day, the dreams will retain their truth, and be worth their price. The man smiles and complies, and provides them with no answer to the questions they will not ask.
Tonight, the youth will come. Their clothes will shine and sparkle like the searching fires in their eyes. The clumsy rhythms will imbue them with a sense of freedom, so false that it hurts. When night is shattered and the dreams wear off, they will be gone. But they will return. The man at the door knows this, as does the man behind the little wall. They will return as well. Jaded, oblivious, they will return. And they will dance....
The lights are bright with emotions. Swirling colours drip across the floors, across the empty chairs and the taken stools. They reflect in flashes off of shiny countertops and desperate eyes. Tonight, the youth will walk in. They will not be sure why they are there, only that it seems like the right place for them to be. They will not question, nor allow themselves to wonder why. In their desperation to break one set of rules, they will rigidly be following another.
At the door stands a man with money in his brains and muscles in his arms. He is there to rule over unruliness, to pass judgement over those who will not be judged. He is there to protect the destructors from their truth. His body is a bridge which no morals can breach. It will only be depassed by those who would sell their souls for a short-lived happiness that they do not want.
Tonight, the youth will walk in. Their eyes will be beautiful and barren. They will shift reality, make imagination from the unfantastic. Their faces speak a secret language, a common language, rife with hidden meaning and secret longing. When they are burned by the heat they create, they will not escape it, but rather revel in something that they never sought to possess. They will not know why they want this, only that it feels like the right thing to want. There are no answers for them, for the questions that they will not ask.
Behind a small wall stands a man who sells dreams. The wall is there to separate him, to keep him apart. The dreams he sells become lies in the end, but still they come, and still they spend, and they do not know why. The wall is there to remind them that this man does not believe his own lies, and yet they will not ask why it should be they who believe. They will think to themselves that perhaps, one day, the dreams will retain their truth, and be worth their price. The man smiles and complies, and provides them with no answer to the questions they will not ask.
Tonight, the youth will come. Their clothes will shine and sparkle like the searching fires in their eyes. The clumsy rhythms will imbue them with a sense of freedom, so false that it hurts. When night is shattered and the dreams wear off, they will be gone. But they will return. The man at the door knows this, as does the man behind the little wall. They will return as well. Jaded, oblivious, they will return. And they will dance....
awkward is the new cool
[url]gutterhome.blogspot.com[/url]
[url]gutterhome.blogspot.com[/url]
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- happening fish
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- happening fish
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- Joined: 3/17/2002, 11:22 am
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- happening fish
- Oskar Winner: 2006
- Posts: 17934
- Joined: 3/17/2002, 11:22 am
- happening fish
- Oskar Winner: 2006
- Posts: 17934
- Joined: 3/17/2002, 11:22 am
:sigh:
either people don't understand my constructive criticism (JOKES) or they do and just want to get me in a tizzy....
and please... no more american jokes... it's getting quite old.
either people don't understand my constructive criticism (JOKES) or they do and just want to get me in a tizzy....
and please... no more american jokes... it's getting quite old.
!EMiLY!
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know