Spin me a web
The sadist in me sleep for a time, Not entirely asleep, but more a aspect of my spirit then the dominant part of me. And then, like Sarah Palin finding a half off sale at wallmart, it awakens and roars back to lfe.
Wheels seem to be tunring in our little lifes and planets aligning. I can feel the energy ramping up, the engines warming as they come back online and I wonder where next this journey will go.
Tit torture
We have had family staying with us and it has forced us into a more vannilla stance for awhile, but also it has shown us that we crave and need our dynamic and in some ways will leave us stronger once the family finally departs.
Dark wheels turn in my spirit and hooded eyes bide time behind my skull.
Which brings me to these thoughts that churn and tear at my mind numbingly boring days as we bide our time till family moves on out.
Those dark waters of the mind, to bathe in screams and dance in terror. Welts and bruises my tapestry to weave with shocking cruelty a thread passed through a thin needle.
Balance upset, the board tossed to the floor the pieces scattered, I am giving up on being who I wanted to be, abandoning finally that dream and being instead who I am, which is infinitely more frightening.
Emma is my love and together we stand or fall but try and stand we must, or time will fell us as surely as failure.
Send me a hooker, pathetic and shattered to pull into the darkness and crush against the wheel of pain. How much should it cost? No really, give me a figure.
Bathe me in darkness, feed the logs into the furnace and push forward the throttle.
Morality escapes me and ethics sing a different tune, the opening cords of the song begin, the friend awakens and we fight and struggle or dance and sing together.
No really, give me a price.
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March 9th, 2010 at 6:15 am
Give Butterfly On A Wheel by The Mission: Carved In Sand a listen.
My wife entered my life with a housemate, who is now back with mom, taking his diapers with him and life begins anew for us. Thanks the gods. The energy flows and I’ve built a lovely collection of sjamboks in the mean time.
Somewhere in my nightstand lies half of a five-dollar bill … the other half I stuffed in a used hole … she made such pretty sounds.