Monday, May 19, 2008

my affinity for snowglobes had left me with a strong desire to create one of my own. After obtaining all the proper materials, mostly gifted to me, I set out to create one of my dreascapes with my hands to preserve, like so many of my tragic dreams and beloved memories encased in swirling snow, untouchable and unchanged.

for the next week i spent hours upon hours pouring myself tedious and passionately over the various tasks and steps necessaryin order to complete the miniature structure. one night was dedicated to scupting the tree, the criss-cross'd arrows, spiral staircase nowhere place, where i grieve my fate and admire the grandeur of the underworld with my persuasive pumpkin friends. the next day, 6 hours of my life were devoted to the painting of the figurine. i lovingly labored over each root, each jack-o-lantern face, the colors of my guitar leaning up against the dead gray life of my lovely stair-tree. in this way it continued for days until my miniature unimportant dark illustration was realized. it was sealed, shiny, and snowed-on before it was thrust into (I thought, the certainty and somewhat permanence of) the water and glass and glitter and glycerine. Upon its completion I reveled in my accomplishment for only a moment before i began to clean the outside of the globe from the sealant glue i used to prevent leakage from it. it slipped from my wet hands almost immediately and cracked in a moment on the countertop.

my trying to prevent the accident left me with a bloody piece of glass embedded in my right hand and other tiny shards strewn about my workspace. i pulled the glass out as my heart sank, it seemed a sign to me that i shouldn't try to preserve anything, cause shit doesn't work like that.

the blood reminded me that if you try to kick through a fuckin window, you're gonna get cut.
because of the way blood ebbs and flows
it helps me to know where the water goes
reminds me of drifty nights drinking wine
aiding our bodies to aid our minds in passing time.
dark windy weather in warm earthy colors
sitting at coffee with my closest brothers
a smoke and an hour breathe in and out
before the attempts to sort the madness about

you were a songbird and i was a dreamer
alike enough to know we were both believers
it was never up to me to get you to see
and i shouldn't have wanted more
than your belief in me

but broken hearts lead to tireless tragedy
and there was enough of it around for me to persist desperately
i found a dream that i knew could never come to be
and the rest of those beautiful things followed its lead violently

i kissed a Wolf because he failed to show his jagged teeth,
and his sadness wore its way into me

i kissed Chaos becuase the Wolf's teeth glared bright and sharp.

i kissed You because of the way your silly mouth
grazed your silver harp.

I kissed the Devil because he boasted his awful ugly glory.

I kissed a Peter Pan for a neverending story.

And I kissed Death to let a life begin,
to stop her unwashed anguish,
to catalyze the darkest dream within.
I kissed her nightly until my eyes went white
so as not to see a sun so bright
after such a heavenly unearthly veil

and it might all be wrong,
so mote it be
but those kisses left such a harbor in me ...

it leaves want for a kiss of past familiarity
that if such a kiss were to depart would cause
the utmost irregularity.

that lost thing burns me through
until through the other side is you
with your stature so small and voice so far away
that there is no sign of any other way
but me seeing through the reverse of myself
so far behind
a pure and impossible fantastical scheme
that lingers in my music's mind

but without this death, in hand, it's true -
there mightn't be that hole that never leads to you

a Quiet kiss that makes me calm
"helps my sad world move along"
but those other kisses haunt me so
that I have no want for them to go.
i am under the impression that i am disallowed
from making any further vows
for the words meant for comforting explanation
are miscontrued for selfish declaration.

of all the saddest woes is this:
the desecration of that fucking kiss.
the death-marked gardenia's coiled curve
as it wilts to rot in the ending earth
and all the burning that forsakes the fire
all the yearning trespassing the lover's lyre -

it's all too true and all too sad
visions lie awake to drive one mad
it cries in pain for massive rift
that fell between two lover's lips.