| In A Way |
[14 Sep 2003|01:00pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 nostalgic |
] |
The old classical minds made up music in their heads...
To live on through out time, those beats cheated the dead...
But were there any beats? 'Cause it was mostly without drum...
(There was that boy named Ruba who played tuba with his thumbs)...
A symbol crash near the end, (melody in half time)...
Before true music is created there is nothing of it's kind...
Ideas come to me when I have no pen to put my chickens in...
counted them before they hatched with a bag to store my pick'ns in...
dissect my thoughts like a butcher who should have been a nun...
preach to the converted about making life more fun...
Tear this world apart and find millions of little devils...
push away the soundman fix all his messed up levels...
Tell you all that means all to me but then I'd have to lie...
A far cry from myself when I first met the catcher in the rye...
world full of so called phonies all trying to get by...
And me pretending mostly that I've got something in my eye...
People mean so much to me but I can't keep up with all of them...
What would the world be like if we were connected at the brain stem...
At home within your own head...
Alone when you're in mine...
Shit! Was this a race?
Anybody keeping time?
Take three steps facing backwards...
And I'll catch you when you fall...
Place you on the ground and start you off in a slow crawl...
Send me off with altered mindset and backpack full of spraypaint..
Dress me up in woolen clothing, I'll be looking like a stray saint...
I'll find my first blank wall and sign my made up name...
My task will be complete when all walls are the same...
You don't know the half of it...
And I don't know the other...
Will you leave me alone if I begin to mutter..
When you're not in front of me I put you in deep freeze...
So that you will never change unless I hear your name in the breeze...
In a way we're all blazing our own trail
Making our chain mail
starring past the window sill?
In a way we're all writing our own tales
waiting to exhale
hitching rides on widowed snail
In a way we're all claiming to be fine
Following street signs
Filling in the outlines
In a way we're all dimming our own shine
rolling down inclines
using up the coal mines
In a way we're all walking on thin ice
searching for gold dice
stopping here to think twice
In a way we're all setting our own price
cooking our own rice
picking a new vice
In a way we don't know what we're doing...
in a way we do...
I'm not sure which scares me more...
so I'll slip out sideways through this open door.
|
|
| (Guilty) Invocations |
[21 Apr 2003|05:31pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 relaxed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Dining Rooms - Invocations |
] |
How did I get from the womb
to this room?
Why can't I spend all my time
watching the flowers bloom
I don't like the feeling of wasting my own time
then I watch the others and they don't seem to mind
My path not set in stone I chose at such an early age
I'd rather watch the others from outside of my made up cage
So I growl and scowl
'cause I'm in a fowl mood
I want to laugh at my situation
'cause I think I'm getting screwed
In comparison to others
I don't have it all that bad
But I'm sick of these comparisons
sick of feeling guilty when I'm sad
Even now I should be working
On a project that I hate
If I thought like my co-workers
I'd be staying in 'till eight
I just spent more time on this rhyme than I ever have for work
It's enough to make you smirk
'cause I could have been a clerk
a soda jerk
or an artist with a quirk
It's too much for me to handle
as I burn the middle of the candle
When the flame has burnt right through it
there will be 4 sides to burn
Then I'll split myself in half
and ask for nothing in return
One side of me will go to work
the other side will play
And we'll divvy up our treasures
at the end of every day
He'll bring the cash and the commitment
I'll be the reason to his rhyme
As I search the world for answers
he'll be punished for my crimes
Is there no rest for the wicked?
I sleep fairly well at night
But sometimes I get nightmares
these are fears my mind recites
I'm really not this bitter
I just need to get this out
If I didn't have this medium
I'd want to scream and shout
So how did I get from the womb
to this room?
And how long will it be
'till I'm lying in my tomb
There are so many things that scare me
in this world designed for hate
I'm not a morning person
So I'm destined to be late
The path of least resistance
wasn't chosen by my fate
Apathy took over
as I waited for my soul mate
If only I was selfish
I'd get so much more done
But life without the others
wouldn't really be much fun
I wish my voice was deeper
and I wish it didn't squeak
But it's the one I've got
so with it I will speak
I try to understand them
the others in this world
The things they do (the way they act)
is often too absurd
They tie themselves in bullshit
and ropes not made of twine
They mute their lips with anger
and gargle turpentine
It's not a competition
we're all trying to get by
But you can really hurt me
with those daggers from your eyes
Friendship based on circumstance
and love that's based on looks
And what of those of cops and clergy
turning out to be the crooks?
So were these rhymes just selfish
or do you also feel this way?
'Cause that's all that really matters
at the end of every day
Interactions what I want
of the human kind
Teach me all those things
you've got stored up inside your mind
I what to learn all these ideas
that you now take for granted
Then we'll grab some from my brain
and to yours they'll be transplanted
|
|
| Honey |
[08 Nov 2002|06:10pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 optimistic |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Quincy Jones - Walking In Space |
] |
Freestyles were flowing faster than honey after a 30 second trip in the microwave.
The vibe was closer to the heart than a triple blade close shave.
A room full of best friends that just haven't met yet.
Time card stamped with more flight hours than the jet set.
An exercise to the reader is presented in these words.
We can learn to grow together like the total of three thirds.
Inspiration comes from movement (boredom comes from standing still).
I'll start my own multinational with the goal of branding chill.
Live a life of short vignettes with a million guest directors,
who will help you stay on path like civilian quest protectors.
An attempt to learn from others and our own homemade mistakes.
The past is often too rich and yet protected like chrome sprayed Swiss cakes.
|
|
| Taking Cover With Wally Glutton |
[21 Aug 2002|11:14am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 accomplished |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Dining Rooms - Sei Tue |
] |
Pepsi and Cocaine
Hair loss and Rogaine
Ultra fast airplanes and mystery back pains
Narcotic fueled joys
Really Loud Noise
A world full of toys that employs angry Boys
TVs in schools
Too many rules
Fools using jewels as their tools to be cool
Ads taking over
No time to smell clover
This musical lover is gonna have to take cover
Factory Children
Government Amens
Me once again with no ink my new pen
We wish we could know more
We wish we could score more
It's easy to stay in the room when there's no door
Plastic made land-mines
Tourist filled old shrines
I'm signing on lines to define my own confines
Some get enlightened
Bars they are heightened
We darken and lighten our skin when we're frightened
Cultural Wholesale
Sorting through junk mail
Banging the nail on this trail to my own jail
Nose to the grind.
Your eyes going blind.
You need to align your own mind. Time to unwind.
Come and sit down
Put on your own crown
Then walk through town with your eyes to the ground
Your next to bat
The landscape's all flat
I really wish that all doors had a welcome mat
A wide variety of anxieties
stealing my sobriety in this society
I want to fight back by I don't have the time
It's enough of a struggle controlling my mind
There are really long lines
and there are too many kinds
of fast food
and not enough words to describe my own mood
To the TV your glued
salivating over the not quite nude
watching as others feud
wishing it was you being viewed
I not really a prude
maybe my thoughts are all skewed
The world's in a bad mood
our morals are still crude
One day my whole body will be tattooed
with this poem and I'll still be misconstrued
|
|
| Pieces of you |
[15 Aug 2002|04:12pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 excited |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Herbaliser - The Blend (feat. what what) |
] |
Last night was another inspiration
Smiles coaxed out by others perspiration
Sound in the form of wave vibrations
The beat breaks to add anticipation
Dopey grin (too literate)
Mental garbage cleaned (don’t litter it)
Trade it in for a better fit
Like paused gold (glitter in a bit)
Live your life inside out
Sick of certainty? Try doubt
A soul sold without a shout
Lack of rain leads to drought
Word association can be a lyrical contagion
Brain scrubbed green with leaf abrasion
A world obsessed with the equation
money = happiness?
I hope you won’t be having this!
What you posses is not a sign of your success
Thoughts when suppressed build into inner stress
Giant jar sits on top of fridge
Holds ideas that don’t make it over the bridge
Some people call it an edge... some people call it a ridge
We remain essentially the same when we become abridged
Hypocritical hypochondriac (the disease is in the mind)
Like a continental solider not looking forward but behind
Eyes flung over my shoulders I am essentially blind
The closer you hold her the greater ease of intertwine
The sad dance of the lone marionette
Lines strung from limps to fingers that have only known regret
Solo shadow silhouette attempts to break from this string threat
Someone else controls your movements (Often something we forget)
Rhymes come from left field (right out of the blue)
My friends are my shield (inspired by each one of you)
So keep your eyes peeled (you can quote me... it’s true)
Once quoted (revealed) thoughts will undoubtedly skew
Peace to the pieces that were...
are...
and will be you.
|
|
| Flyer Than An Eagle |
[26 Jul 2002|03:31pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 cynical |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
EZ Rollers - In The Mix |
] |
Friday is the day
And tonight will be the night
Please don't come if you're afraid of heights
I'm flyer than an eagle (like buck 65)
Every morning when I wake up I'm thankful to be alive
I talk more shit than a mouth made of ass
my car consumes money converted into gas
Each hour on the hour I question my own life
I'll stop my own screaming when vocal cords meet knife
I'll let you in on a secret... (I know the meaning of it all)
Life ain't a meat market... more like a masquerade ball
'Cause we are all hiding in these custom costumes that we sew
patterning our lives after a television show
The show in return is a caricature of our fall
from graceland searching for the king... Shouting: "yes yes y'all!"
Some say that time heals all wounds but I think time wounds all heels
of these battered old shoes that I'm not even sure are real
I look forward to yesterday's news when it's new again
I look back to tomorrow's review to debut and then
I take off the mask that I wear every day
and I put on another and sing the blues anyways
I've got so many choices, but no will to choose
sure you can pour me a coke, but please spike it with booze
watching smoke rings shoot from the back of a truck
broke all of my mirrors (7 years bad luck)
My wrist feels real strange when time isn't strapped to it
If I don't lay off the vinyl I'm gonna scratch through it...
I'd risk it all for one moment of clarity
I write all of my rhymes with a hint of sincerity
word.
|
|
| Another glance at SHE and HE |
[24 Jul 2002|03:10pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 happy |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Treble Charger - Pilot Light |
] |
THEY had just met.
HE, wearing suit, tie. Briefcase in hand.
SHE, wearing flower-print dress, necklace. Purse in hand.
"You remind me", says HE, "of you".
"So I am told", says SHE, "by you".
THEY begin to walk. HE, holding HIS briefcase like it was HER hand. SHE, holding HER purse like it was HIS hand. THEY walk without speaking like this for some time. Hand in hand in mind.
HE opens HIS mouth to say something. Nothing comes out.
SHE sees HIS open mouth and it makes HER yawn.
S
i
d
e
w
a
y
s glances.
"Look!", says SHE as SHE points.
THEY watch as a large crane slowly lowers a steeple onto a now finished church.
"Complete!", says HE.
THEY play at being cranes. What fun it is to dream of strength and amazement.
"Do you think that you might love me?", says SHE.
"How can that be?", says HE.
"Love at first sight", says SHE.
Silence. Deep breathes. Pupils widen. Corners of lips curl.
"What does love feel like?", says HE.
"Like the opposite of a stomach ache", says SHE, "only more pleasant".
"I feel full", says HE, "but I think that is lunch".
THEY play at being lovers.
What fun it is to dream.
|
|
| He Said... She Said... |
[23 Jul 2002|10:44am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
optimistic |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Josh Martinez - Nightmare |
] |
HE : One day I'll buy you a star.
SHE : One day I'll buy you a planet.
HE : Perfect! It will go with your star.
|
|
| From the company that branded our country... |
[28 Jun 2002|11:09am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 shocked |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Apples in Stereo - Dots 1-2-3 |
] |
I was drinking with some of my buddies at the Pembina Hotel, (Pemby to the locals), here in Winnipeg last night when the Moslon Canadian bus showed up. The Canadian Crew told me I could help them make a commercial on the bus. I thought this situation was pretty funny, so I decided to check it out.
When I first got on the bus they gave me some beer and donuts. I was then ushered to the back of the bus to listen to a collection of CDs at their CD listening centre. After a few minutes, I was brought back to the front of the bus where they tried to encourage me to make an, "I'm drunk... I am Canadian... drink Canadian... rah rah rah" speech to a webcam.
The reason I am writing this letter is because of what happened next:
We returned to the confines of the Pemby and one of the "Molson Girls" went around the bar with a handheld computer and gathered people's names, drivers license numbers and email addresses. I questioned her about this and she said it was for a prize. I asked her what the information was going to be used for and why they were collecting driver's license numbers and not phone numbers... "it's for a prize", she told me.
I found this all to be very interesting and just a little bit scary. Have people become numb to this kind of market research? No one seemed to have a problem giving this information out. Why would Molson want the license numbers? I guess they can get age, sex, address and phone number info from it... but what else?
I am a target market.
I am a drivers license number.
I am Canadian.
|
|
| Sometimes it's a little better to travel than to arrive... |
[17 May 2002|01:48pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 quixotic |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Mos Def - Know That |
] |
Some recommendations:
Books:
The Alchemist By Paul Coelho
A close friend of mine passed this book on to me. I was locked into the book after the first chapter. I am not a very spiritual person, (at least not in the conventional sense), and in many ways this is quite a spiritual book. However, there are many layers to the story... just as there are many layers to everyone’s life.
"To realise one’s destiny is a person’s only obligation, "the old man tells him. "And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."
Notes To Myself By Hugh Prather
This was Mr. Prather’s first book and it was published in 1970. This book closely resembles the private diary of a very introspective individual. After doing a bit of research on the author I found out that he has now become a Minister and a bit of a self help guru. Normally the idea of taking advice from a self-help guru would be very far from being my thing… but I made a connection with his words… his ideas…
This is a book for anyone who overanalyses themselves…
"I can not 'make my mark' for all time -- those concepts are mutually exclusive. 'Lasting effect' is a self-contradictory term. Meaning does not exist in the future and neither do I. Nothing will have meaning 'ultimately.' Nothing will even mean tomorrow what it did today. Meaning changes with the context. My meaningfulness is here. It is enough that I am of value to someone today. It is enough that I make a difference now."
Links:
Making sense of the self
A philosophical exploration of what it means to be alive, (and what comes after death).
Words and Meaning
I have had so many meaningless conversations in my life… read so many meaningless words…
Some nice sketches
|
|
| Wise words sometimes feel like lies when they're heard... |
[09 Apr 2002|12:37pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 devious |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Kleenex Girl Wonder - Why I write such good songs |
] |
I wanted to help the boy from the previous entry...
This is what I told him:
the hour is half empty
your stomach should be half full
your skin could be quite itchy after that scrubbing with steal wool
but the wool was never stolen
and time's only in your head
counting down the seconds until you?re finally dead
the first meeting's at the church
the second, at the hidden hill
you bring the sacrifice and I'll bring the suicide pill
wear only the essentials
leave your ID back at home
the Armageddon suit is made entirely of foam
memorize the words of ritual
cross your heart and hope to fly
near the end of our ceremony you should see something in the sky
they are coming here to save us
bringing peace, happiness and joy
we can only take one child and it better be a boy
in their world there is no money
so before the ship you mount
remember to transfer your savings into this numbered account
on earth you live in terror
a world of fear made by your mind
you once asked me why I cared for you, (I was only being kind)
I knew you needed something
I'm your saviour and your knight
the final act might be painful but don't put up a fight
once the act is over
they will bring you into their lives
remember in their world you get to have 3 wives
so now I bid you farewell
I have many more to save
now you'll finally taste the greener grass that I know you crave
|
|
| Standing outside with one foot in the rain |
[19 Mar 2002|12:03pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
frustrated |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Awol One - Sleepin' All Day |
] |
It all started with a quest for the perfect felt tipped marker
The rain began to pour, as the sky grew ever darker
My final destination was unknown to me from the start and at the finish line
You can have your own opinions as long as they don't diminish mine
My quest became a timeline with it's own rhythmic heart beat
I?ve been taking notes along the way, written in quick setting concrete
We battle fear on every front, but mostly from within
The plastic gods we pray to, tell us to bare it with a grin
Now that I am my own worst enemy, who is left for me the blame
I?m writing up a short list and taking careful aim
You spent your life searching for the answers to the questions no one asks
You work->play->love->rest->eat->repeat all wearing different masks
You bottle all your deepest fears and store them on that shelf
You hide your quest for honesty but only from yourself
Life is one long countdown that you're running in your head.
6->5->4->3->2->1 When will you be dead?
You'll be in trouble boy
Tomorrow boy
When you meet your double
You'll be in trouble boy
Tomorrow Boy
Digging through the rubble
You feel guilty for all that you have done and for thoughts stuck in your mind.
wink-smile-chat-laugh-compliment It's not easy being kind.
You accept all your friends problems and you want to help them out.
When you?re with a girl though, one flaws enough to make you doubt.
You say you know all about the one who'll lie down there beside you
Eyes->hair->height->smile->attitude now you just have to find her
You'll be in trouble boy
Tomorrow boy
When you meet your double
You'll be in trouble boy
Tomorrow Boy
Digging through the rubble
|
|
| McMayor For Mayor... |
[11 Mar 2002|12:51pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 numb |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Dj Greyboy - Big Blunt Break |
] |
Vote for him and he'll vote for you!
Check out who will be running for mayor of Winnipeg this October.
A wrestler, a postal worker, two city councillors and our current mayor, Glen Murray.
Y'all know who I'll be voting for...
Yes! That's right... Everyones favorite candidate: McMayor!
Throughout the month of October there will be printable McMayor poster available from the stungeye webpage. Check it.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
stungeye's journal
contemplative