QOTD

March 24, 2009

some days I want love and some days I don’t
sometimes I can feel it then suddenly it’s gone
some days I can tell you the truth and some days I just don’t

only a change of mood, sun goes down
someone says something too quick or too soon
a touch not made, one made too late
armies of words cannot hope to contain

that it comes and it goes and I have no control

some days I can think clear and some days I won’t
sometimes I can feel it then suddenly it’s gone
some days I’m strong and some days my skin’s broken and thin

it arrives when it feels and it takes what it needs
and it leaves before I get to know
it’s only a step away moments
that armies of words cannot hope to contain

that it comes and it goes and I can’t make it hold
and there’s nothing I own and it breaks me when it goes

some days I want love and some days I don’t
sometimes I can feel it and suddenly it’s gone
some days I can tell you the truth and some days I just don’t

only a change of mood, dream comes out
someone does something too quick or too soon
a move not made, one made too late
armies of words cannot hope to contain

that it comes and it goes and I can’t seem to hold
and there’s nothing I own and it breaks me when it goes

Dido – It Comes and It Goes

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ingenting nej ingenting (and i love* you)

February 20, 2009

*wakeup wanttosleep
want nothing but
thedreamisdead longlivethedream
may be youll see her to day
so getup

bathroom disinfectant like putrid chestnuts
sit and shit and ponder the meaning of life
and forgodssakes keep your eyes closed when brushing your teeth
(thirld wolrld)
out

food minus taste
add mustard or ketchup or mayonnaise
not nonsweet sugar but
sweet sugarfree sweetener
and filteredwater with a distinct taste
the taste of chewinggum overchewed

blur
free hugs sorries and thanks no thanks
freewithafineprint
blur
unblur
her eyes smile
but she dreamsnot what youdream
(first world)
blur

outofphase ambulance wails
twelvestrobes in fivedirections
smilingfaces on the website
of a mental hospital
cheerful noises
onholdonthephone
and a twentyfourseven funeral service

albino squirrels
pin ging stree tlights
walk inwhite stop inred
newspeak in the t station

noise repeat
blur repeat
depth of field decrease
in stay(up)
and pull the shades down

planes taking off at threeinthemorning
surroundsound fire alarms
sweaty feet under nylon sheets
the sound of ventilation is your lullaby

overload not sensory synesthetic
colors of france britain russia and the czech republic
despair brown. cells abcdeeing you
hope not from above from the underground
from the grave of beethoven

stomach rumbling like a badharddisk
to forgetsomeone is as easy as removefromcontactlist
the wood texture on this nonwood desk is p i x e l a t e d
(beculeţeledelamodemclipesc) thereforeIam