Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.



Monday, August 31, 2009

in the fall. (loud/quiet/loud symphony)

"Now 'the end of the world' is an abstraction because it has never happened"
-Hakim Bey

where the ocean meets the river we are
bound and gagged by some sadistic motherfucker named history.
where the quarries meet the rocks
you'll see the proof,
people who'll steal the sky from above yr head
ground from below yr feet
and meat from yr bones,
like a bad lover, the heart outta yr chest.
but the ocean see
she don't care much for the legacy of american dust.

all these shiny suits do they make ya feel less alone
as you drift quick thru a sea of motor oil slit wrists
guiding the future present of despairing nothingness come listless

drowning in that muck-water fear
does yr technology make ya see more clearer
in a selfish slaughter
puttin yr fire out with beer.
but the ocean see she don't care much for the legacy of american dust.

i have shut down i am no man you'd want to see
bound and gagged by some sadistic sonofabitch named history,
we have no home free to roam in a chasm of autonomy undespairingly
the arson in my backbrain swat drop of acid rain in soaked membranes.
i swear, i was hear before but i done shut as the door
in this room listening to that freedom beast comin
ears to the floor

clowning desperation to go farther
don't spurn the yearning burn to any sense of before.
the ocean she don't care much for the legacy of american dust.

the end of the world never happened
it's just a dissolution of formerly gilded colors
and rebirth beyond any sensibility of mothers
fucker are you listening, or merely shaking yr head?
watch as we raise the dead and murder history,
these sights to make ya joy-weep
now find breathe
open yr moth and speak.

you don't own me
the ocean meets the river and no longer are we lonely,
we are children again,
us
us sediment kids.

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