Who Needs Anything More?

Cold Forgotten Earth - Sombres Forêts
Crystal Ammunition - Wolves in the Throne Room
I am the Wooden Doors - Agalloch
Not Unlike the Waves - Agalloch
Percées de Lumière - Alcest
Liquids - Self-inflicted Violence
Of Stone and Stars in the Sky - Falls of Rauros
Le Cercueil - Sui Caedere

Let Me Go

You bang on my door like a knock knock joke that I'm scared to hear the punchline to.
Because the who somehow always turns out to be you,
and its always nothing new, and we've been through this same old sing-a-long song and lap dance before.
Its like you tore a page out of the playbook,
and you've been trying to reinvent the paper airplane. Folding over and over using the same piece until there's a crease running in every direction and that shit won't fly.
And its okay, cause I feel grounded these days. Less like a bullet that strays into a crowd looking for a home. Passing through bone as if it were another big city stop on a vacation planned with a sightseeing book.
See I took a class on listening so I could hear something positive. Then live happily with a mindset that will get me altitude when needed. I've got a confidence so deep seated its growing in reverse.
And I rehearse handshakes with titans because even giants need someone to look up to.

"Open fire. Theres wounds to be licked.
Near the eyes, you inherited.
In a bar, people wait for their numbers to come, one by one.
They ride, and so will I. I forget that I don't live here anymore.
It's not my scene. I'll wait to be amazed,
by a voice I'm not expecting.
Open fire like a car crash. Open fire on the names and the faces.
Open fire and as you fall back. Open fire on the city."

And if we agree to disagree, then we never took the time it takes to analyze the mistakes we made.
We stayed at a stalemate where the rate of progress was equal to a snails pace in a rat race where people chase fairy-tales. Hoping all the happy endings get married to the tragic beginnings and all the ever afters last forever.
And I'm the first to admit, I sure wish there was a Never Land. Where time never takes us by the hand and forces us to grow old.
I wish every lie told would make our noses grow. That way we'd know who the politicians should be.
Let me go, so I don't cut your heel trying to fit your foot into a glass slipper I already smashed against the sidewalk.
Let me wander within a flock to show that wolves have got teeth too.
And they've bitten through my tongue everytime I've had to hold it, and when I've had to hold it, I have held it. And I've got the words. I've got words so sharp they'd have to drive you to the hospital just to stop the bleeding.
I'm tired of you needing us to be friends. Let me go. So I don't slip and say something like, "The only person who lets me down more than god...
is you."
See.
I didn't mean to. But somewhere along the way I grew a mouth like a cannon. So the next time you ran in and out of my secret lives, I'd have some knives of my own I could throw and I know my aim is getting better because now I can say your name in a prayer.
Its right there. Next to the hallelujah, and the goodbye.

"Looked for a radio. A voice built by sin.
Indulgence in the finer things.
Build a room, with the letters that you never sent.
And never meant to. Who's it sent to?
Every train, that you can catch, will arrive.
Every hour. Every day. With every phone call. Every response.
Is expected.
Open fire like a car crash. Open fire on the names and the faces.
Open fire and as you fall back. Open fire on the city lights."

I try to fit and fill a cathedral where the needful kneel and feel nothing now.
I somehow believe you less and less. And I guess I trust you about as much as I should.
Which could be another way to say I wonder if I ever did.
Wonder who was hiding behind each eyelid when you had to close your eyes just to touch me.
Wonder where I'd be if I hadn't let you use my own physicality to weaken my arms and legs against escape.
Wonder what you did with that cape I used to keep hanging in my closet.
Let me go. Like an atheist caught in an undertow hoping to nothing that maybe he was wrong.
Let me belong to myself again. Then stand back to back with a mountain and ask people, "Am I taller yet?
Cause I kinda got my heart set on being huge."
And I figure maybe with a bigger heart I can love strangers a little more. Laughter can be my encore to every smile and I could pile pyramids against hurricanes and have hands like cranes and lift the heavy burden of loneliness from the shoulders of the dejected, because the world needs a friend.
And maybe I could bend minds around the concept that depression is dangerous. And we can't afford to have 911 dismiss unhappiness as if it wasn't a god damn emergency.
We should be sending out hugs like they were blood, food and rescue teams. We should be holding the hands of the comfort less, teaching them to walk balance beams.
And yet it seems more likely, that you would keep me in a constant state of unhappy.
Which lends a truth to the theory about misery in company.
Let me go. I've got shit to do.
I've got to get a shiny new friend that I can prop up beside me and say, "See, I'm alright. I've got a fight scheduled by the bike racks for the week after next."
But I've gotta put it in context. So that when they write a story on my back in blue and black ink you won't think its about you.
Cause a story is only true if you live it. The minute you give it a personal touch it becomes something that the facts were based on.
And we could argue endlessly over wrong and right but day and night occupy both spaces between dusk and dawn.
So let me go because the truth is...
I'm gone.

Dome Argus

Where we now stand.
I shall hold no hope. Nor wish, nor dream.

Arms in which I long to rest.
Near forgotten, or so will would have it.

No longer can I stand, or walk away.
A desire for futures beckoning strides.

If you should fall within another's comfort,
I shall fall into a happy end.

1

1 4 1
One for one
1 4 1
One for one

A Fuckable Text

What is a fuckable text and is it only fuckable in English?

Escape of the Dove

Trapped amongst them
Accepted their treatment
Dove amongst crows
Lack of fulfilment

Born in that state,
Never to ponder
Still there was light
The dove learned to wonder

Is this all there is?

Broadened horizons
Ready for new ground
Possessed a strong flame now
He felt free, somehow

Sade

Wir glaubten nie, wir sein am leben
Und doch der Tod verschonte uns
Kein Gedanke schenkt die Gunst
Benennt dies Welt, die kalten Reben
Die vom Grunde sich erstrecken
Und unser Sein im Schwarz verstecken
Als wären wir niemals geboren
Ein reiner Streich der Phantasie
Als hätte sich die Welt verschworen
Und den Menschen gab es nie

Und sei es so, ich würd es lieben
Umarmen würd ich diese Welt
Wir hätten keine Seel vertrieben
Hätten niemanden gequält
Der Himmel künde keine Träne
Das Federkleid nicht blutverklebt
Das Licht würd sich nach Sünde sehnen
Wie’s im reinsten Herzen lebt

Doch ist’s nicht wahr, ich fühl es noch
Zu tief ist dieses alte Loch
Aus dem sich niemand bergen kann
Ein Zustand zwischen jetzt und dann
Das aller Menschen Kinder liebt
Und uns’rer Tat sodann vergibt
Die sich durch unser Leben streckt
Und spottend das Gewissen neckt
Ach wär dies Welt ein Reich der Träume
Der Tod wär jedem Menschen fern
Es gäbe keine kahlen Bäume
Doch hätten wir dies wirklich gern

Wir leben nicht, wir sterben nicht
Und künden jedem Angesicht
Dass man es ehrt, die Meinung schätzt
Bevor der Neid es dann zerfetzt
Das Streben stirbt, und resigniert
Denn alles steht am Anfang fest
Das Geben wirbt, kapituliert
Und gibt dies Reich final den Rest

„Zum Glück wars nur ein kalter Raum
Ein Märchental, ein finstrer Traum
Wir streben wachsam durch die Zeit
Bis zum Ende gibst Geleit
Und küssen jeden neuen Tag
Aus Angst man könnt ihn nicht mehr sehn
Tanzen durch das Sonnenlicht.
Bis wir am Ende dankend gehen.“
Geschwächt erhebe ich mein Herz,
Der Traum hat mir an Kraft genommen
Und trage mich zum Fensterkreuz,
um ihn vor Freude zu begrüßen
Die Sonne schweigt, der Himmel weint
Und liegt dem Menschen nun zu Füßen

„Er wird geboren, bis er zerbricht
Sie leben nicht, sie sterben nicht
Ich bin allein in dies Geschicht
Sie leben nicht, sie sterben nicht

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Stop Signs

Its all stop signs, its all lines that shouldn't be crossed,

Its all interpretations that have been lost in translation,

Even when the meaning has been embossed on something that redefines stop signs.

Something that erases and redraws lines for all the times curiosity gets the better of us.

But until it gets the best, we test the lines, until it gets the best, its all stop signs.

And then there's you.

And I wanna kiss you, so bad, I'd be willing to cut off my own head and just throw it toward your lips.

And you would be well within your rights to just swat it to the floor.

But I'd redefine hardcore, lying there at the tips of your toes because god knows I'd be trying to figure out some way to roll towards them.

And maybe thats crossing the line.

Maybe thats a little creepy. Did I mention that I like you?

And if I knew you better than I do I'd probably know that creepy isn't the way to go so hows this?

I wanna kiss you, like a traffic jam. I wanna move slow. I wanna stop and go like I know at least I'm moving towards you.

And there's no use weaving through the gridlock because every clock keeps ticking and tocking.

If only theres time for all the amazing in between thats been seen and heard and each word has passed between us like somewhere with someone to go, and I know I hardly know you, so lets go slow.

Like a turtle with a purpose.

Lets not miss a single minute, because every sixty seconds contained within the nearly two hundred times I've tried to coax each smile to bloom into a laugh

And the exact science of math can't begin to calculate half the time it would take to make misery turn itself into a punch line.

One thats willing to mine past silver and gold just looking for something to tell you thats never been told.

I wanna hold you like mine were the last arms in the world. I want them curled around you like the red and white stripes on a barbers pole, I wanna give you a lump of coal for Christmas and tell you in a million years, its going to be a diamond.

And will you wait for me 'till then?

Because thats when I'll be evolved enough to melt all the other brains of men on earth.

And maybe I've got a shot if all that remains are two gazelles in the Serengeti plains and me.

Of course, if you're willing to make sweet sweet love with animals... I'll totally understand.

I'm good like that.

I'll band together with whatever vegetation is left living.

Me three weeds and a rubber plant will spend thanksgiving saying how grateful we are that you're happy.

I want you to feel like that banana peel in a Charlie Chaplin shoot.

Cause its you that brings the house of this heart down.

Its you thats the Chamber of Commerce in a town thats got nothing to offer but everything everyone can't find everywhere else under the sun.

I'm done with all of the every-that.

I'm done thinking about where it is I'm going, I'm figuring out where it is I'm at.

And that has got to be beside the one who will stop me from trying to calculate the sum total of someone, as if this biological calculus has ever done anything for me.

Other than be the something that keeps me seeking to solve problems that don't exist.

Like a swat team sharpshooter with cataracts, I've missed the point more times than certain Americans have been elected to the Oval Office.

Which is always... once too often.

And lets face it, sometimes... two times too many.

But this time, I'm willing to pay interest on the penny for your thoughts.

Mortgage my mind, finance an expedition that will be find me a better way to get to know you, because I've read through the short story of my life and found that your name stands out on the page.

Your slightest look unlocks the tumblers on my ribcage.

And you can gage my sincerity when I lift my heart towards you and tell you in a million years, we will be less than dust. The slightest gust will blow it away.

But you'll have to listen to wind chimes say that you're still worth waiting for.

Don't tell me your not beautiful.

You're the kind of beautiful the blind would see if we could figure out some way to give them three seconds of sight.

When you tell me your not gorgeous I wanna pop out your left eye, and show it to your right.

Worth crossing whatever distance it would take.

Worth building bridges just to make a connection.

Because I've been secretly stealing stop signs. Repainting traffic lines so I can only go one way.

Because as far as I can tell, dedication is the better part of foreplay. And I admit it I am committed to everything I've done, I did it to make you smile because its been the largest part of a long while since I had someone do that for me.

You feel like comedy after three years of being on the bandwagon of calamity.

And I can't be bothered with the tragedy of not trying to get to know you.

I've been through enough wretchedness to know that some flowers can still grow through garbage, and you make me wanna take up gardening.

I've seen sadness drain the spirit out of this history, but the worst is yet to come.

Anyone who took the time to get to know me knows I don't run, partly because I'm not athletic, but mostly because thats life and I've met it head on.

I've gone the distance more times than George Lucas has looked at jar Jar Binks and thought, "FUCK".

And until I fit the bill, I will still fill my days trying because I'm yours. From the bottom, to the top.

And I'm not just saying I'll be here for you, I'm saying I'll never stop.

IKM, TML

In my last mourning I realize, I've always been the nothing I feared becoming...