i walk and i feel it. black and red approaching with frightening speed and knowledge it will hit me, bore through me tear through flesh and soul i call out, try to grab, to clutch at a straw but i find only black feathers and i am flying sound is just wings amid a strangled accordian cacophany singing; my blood on the roof of the sky reminding my heart to risk a beat and i have insight, wisdom in the raven's eye i see through walls to the squirming bodies inside a scream, a crash, a squawk, a flash like a coroner's flashbulb and i slip -- -- back. walking. my boots click on the pavement. 8/3/98
let me have my obsessions, they keep me sane this is not the place it once was these are not the people i once knew who am now, stuck in the middle? suddenly acting differently old insecurities die hard it seems returning again like half remembered dreams... no one day is ever repeated people change, things change, i change what seems indifferent is unique tomorrow will come too soon while yesterday was too late leaving us all stranded in the middle... the present gets lost in mundane things the moment drowned in worthless sorrows i claw at the future but clutch at the past warm places go cold and grey forming walls of concrete in the soul divisions that all the world can't bring down 17-03-98
reasonefairia outpourings of the heart can strike so deep hit something inside where we haven't been - yet perhaps, but we feel it. honesty of the deep kind is such a shock like an out of date single on the radio - perhaps not, but we notice it. this strange life forces us to hide away shrinking in the gaze of the other - scared perhaps, or sensible. flickers at the edge of our vision frighten voices in our head make us look behind us - mad perhaps, but sane. 6-4-98
epitaph "golden days", my friend said, "they were golden days". how true. golden days that pass, pass without a whisper at the time. happiness under a fig tree, laughter in the night. a group of people, now separated a warmth gone stone cold in the world. you lose something, break something, something of childhood perhaps. each moment you realise they're lost, golden times, spinning away in the past. you can't hold on, crushing them to death, sand through your fingers. if you realise, at the time, just enjoy what you know can't last. it's a leap of faith, deadly catharsis, leaning into the face of oblivion. it takes effort, clutching at a straw, to hold on for another day you'll miss. slugging on, in a world of cloying grey, introverted behind a poker face. in the suits and umbrellas, coffee breaks, autopilot, and tea rooms of waiting. 01/05/98
ode to hating sportos (unga bunga) rum scotch coke vodka orange a drug like music kill the mind dull the pain push the world away living in a cocoon an otherworld full of underworld subway at night bottle'o during the day drinking in between music all the time through the floors out the windows across our minds it flows on to worlds unknown discs mp3's tapes singing bring it to life any way you can any way you have to all the ways you can think of maybe you don't understand maybe you can't did we say we did? if the volume gets to you then turn it down a life we didn't ask for a life we're jumping into we're doing ok thanks to you i guess but we'll take over eventually we have to reinvent the wheel we have to try to understand like you we're growing up unlike you we're different in the same ways you were pontoons cars roadblocks speedbumps stopsigns killer buses oh shit what does it mean dead signs for dead clubs red tape that fucks our night people who don't understand people i want to kill and do the world a favour in my anger i hate them they're too dumb to understand the mentality the idiocy the stupid bureacracy not ours not us not for us who asked you to talk speak when you're spoken to the beat is part of us the bass is in our blood don't worry if you're lost maybe you weren't meant to get it go listen to cold chisel the sample isn't for you the other world doesn't want you we don't want you there so fuck off and die stupid sporto fucks choke on your fourex get strangled by don mclean tapes run over by the last bus leaving outside Alices or crash your commodore you mean nothing nothing at all to me i hate you for hating me leave us alone if you don't get it your opinion is verbal diahorreah my world isn't for you and i don't want anything of yours so just fuck off and live your life and i'll fuck off and live mine it's called a compromise what a pity you don't reply what a pity you're stretched desperate to produce something your mind struggles to accept... just say "unga bunga", fuckhead. 4-5-98
goa the beat builds and slides down my spine kisses my nerves with fire runs a cold finger through my head spitting flickers of pain at me it sets off explosions of pleasure teasing me with a better world superbly crafted construction terrifying otherworld nightmare lounging in the bassline it gently rips me to pieces roughly puts me back together poor humpty's been headfucked no drugs needed to catch this trip a ride on disc kept in captivity let loose through an amplifier scream in terror at the sight scream in pleasure at the noise dance hard on endorphins dance gentle in that good night entranced by the power entranced by the fear your head is gone away now your head is gone away 12-6-98
the static sounds like rain and the rain falls down my neck, my back, my life trickles, cold rush... life itself tastes sweet familiarity disappearing my room seems strange my life seems strange who is this? notes tastes smells alcohol and internet these are the days of our lives what the fuck? power drunk no power at all wandering through things unguided and unknowing 23 june 98
the watch ticks in my ear as i adjust my ponytail. fingers clicking on keyboard email, web urls, shit. calming vokda and orange feeling sleepy now. cool oblivion on black sheets begins to call me. 25-6-98
walking past doors with the wrong people behind them the past echoing like an empty bottle's memories passing buildings that seemed so full of life, once places gone cold in the sun searching for new warmth by the light of the moon wrapped up in the way the silver rays bounce off metal moving onto the next building that seems warm playing overdue catch-up 17|8|98
it takes too long after i hit play disc spinning but making me wait searching across a plastic plate fast but i'm dying from the suspense it won't come fast enough i want to drag the sound out reach into the speakers and grip forcing it out tearing it out ripping it away from the otherworld faster faster faster i need it now now damnit now i have a picture in my mind a perfect picture that needs music and i don't want to lose it 14-09-98
