Category: erato

A snippet of something that was being worked into a song – I like this bit; the rest I could do without.

What’s your religion
Religion and spirituality
Crookedness and truth, an actual axis of evil
Samsara, Nirvana, the fading of passion
Evil is done by oneself
Nirvana and the everyday world
Freeze the frame and join the search for Jesus today
Or become the deathless way
Don’t be heedless
Two kinds of suffering running into reality
People are unknowing
Worship those worthy of worship

A poem, a song – who knows. From the heart, anyhow. I’ve always been good at lines like “I remember my jealousy louder than your screams”; figuring out what to do with them has been the challenge.

in a dark house paved with snow living all alone
it was so long ago what was I running from
the fire crackles the lightning sings
the memories come back to me
this is how this is how you make my heart haunted

I remember my jealousy louder than your screams
I let my guard down and your arrows fly beyond me
no path to fly no hands to catch me no options left
I’m going to stay
the fire crackles the lightning sings
you close in on me
this is how this is how you make my heart haunted

sunlight finds my eyes cast down meekly at the ground
I felt your breath on that lightning spark
touching at my heart
no path to fly no hands to catch me no options left
I’m going to stay
the fire crackles the lightning sings
it was always ending
this is how this is how you make my heart haunted

This firmly solidifies my nomination to the black crayon club. I like some of the aliteration, but overall roll my eyes at it.

the harsh light of morning shattering the dreams dreamt before dawn
washing disillusionment from horizon to horizon
what was only imagined
what was actually there
what’s been turned unreal in this morning light
what’s been blown away by this frigid air

the night brings its comfort it’s shadows full of maybes, hope lurking in the dark
in chocolate eyes the passion reads while doubts flee from such clarity
what was only imagined
what was actually there
what’s been turned to reality in this evening light
what’s been brought forth by this fervorish air

For a while, it looked like I would be providing lyrics for a group; sort of pop/EBM, although the sound was never really defined. This is one of the original proposals. I don’t have a date for it, but it would have been some point between August 2001 and January 2004. Specific, eh? I could look at the meta-data, but I’m lazy.

Girls who wait
With frigid tight smiles
Guys who leer
Looking for their mile
The advantage you take
The risk that you spread
Are you at all aware of it?
Is it at all in your head?

The little boy smile
And innocent appeal
How far does it take you?
How much do you feel?
Where is the cost, benefit, analysis?
Where is your conscience in moments like this?

And I wonder
Do you know
What your actions do
To those other than you
With your blaise smiles
And simple boy grin
Do you see
How it is
You affect me

The little boy smile
And innocent appeal
How far does it take you?
How much do you feel?
Where is the cost, benefit, analysis?
Where is your conscience in moments like this?

I wrote this about a friend back in June 2004. In some ways it’s one of those “life got in our way” things, and in others it’s specific people – his fiance, my husband. In the end, though, it boils down to someone I was very close to, spending hours a day talking to, suddenly moving himself out of my life as much as he could manage – and doing it without warning. Sort of an on-going story in my life, isn’t it?

even without their holy circle
the magpies work their mourning song
nature holds time in her carnival
and the intolerable sweetness of water
glasses ground to dust

so tell me Chancellor
are we ready for dinner?
have the knives been bled?
and tell me Chancellor
who will guard your sleeping form?
from the assassins hiding under your bed

since we do or did – there
was a time was there when
Borgia’s Pass wrapped around me
i hate rabbits said in threes; looking up
like smoke you blew away from me

so tell me Chancellor
are we ready for dinner?
have the knives been bled?
and tell me Chancellor
who will guard your sleeping form?
from the assassins hiding under your bed

whose secret police are we running from
into whose arms do we run
the walls bleed blue
with pestilence hands, mildewed
reaching (as we)
run