When the spine goes down whatayagonnado? Whata ya gonna do
I mean it aint like, like Im naw, it aint like that
IT AINT LIKE THAT!!! Like Im complaining about doin somethin everyday and haten it
Aint like that
Its getting heavier. Weighin my dreams down. My dreaming, my dreaming
Every dream I have is risky, the motions extreme. Krawl, now for my tail, backwards, collecting my curves, forward and every move is hazardous. Tripping over all the tools Im forbidden to use, distortions swarm toward my center gettin smaller, smaller, smaller...
In the anatomy of a scar escape is tatooed to my heart
Cell division, zero zero on the wall, theres a flaw in the works... a way in!
Far far away where I light a candle instead a flippina switch, and oh the dawn comes on slow and steady
before the blind army begins the mad rush and grab of pitiful comforts
What qualities make a sound, one terrifies close to the bone? In quiver, not for the arrow, but for the prey...stalked at the marrowthe tree does not block the wind, nor will the weed ever stop. We are small, fire addicted, and it never stops it just wont stop
I am terrifically positioned to examine the pain. I got my cover down, chissling away at my needs... Walk practice, breath practice, eat shit practice,WORM, WORM, WORM,
Attempting to take my time in the crosswalk, Im forced into pedestrian weaponry just trin to...hurry up
Ive torn myself to shreds, and no one knows how any of it really works. Make it up, go way back, follow elements not people. Im still what I ever was... catcher and a spider monkey climin my own tree, long tail makin the connections. Windcatcher, the grinder of letters, arranger of bones. Thats right, I aint on your clock asshole, I just aint on your clock..
Sucking on into winter
MASOKIST-AFOKATING with the slow crippling effects of the psychic torture that humankind perpetuates upon itself, from boxes within rooms within buildings within...
Reason stricknined, brittle logic. Strangled, bedangled... and Im just a stuck carcass; bloated, distorted and waiting for the maggots to relieve the pain.
You cant just play a little in this game.
Strings fastened to the population, its the grand rehearsal of inertia, the director of entropy.
Mutate now or die. Cell division, zero zero on the wall.
MOURN OR BE UNBORN
* text for a film by Carolyn Cooley for a multi media performance directed by Norman Rutherford and Marintha Tewksbury
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