A Place Where Time Never Ends

I Want to Laugh in the Face of Death

i want to laugh in the face of death 

get inked up, dead man walking across my chest 

I want to laugh so loud that my face turns red 

scream so hard that my cat drops dead

you see, im passing through, so how bout you

with our bodies worn no sign of youth

destined to become what we always knew

like worms in the soil twisting and turning

a stupid rusty screw loose in your head 

waiting to maybe take you on that fateful dance 

a long slow waltz

with deaths hand gripping your beautiful ass

your drowning in black and white

while i'm freezing in multi-colour baby

of all the sweet joys of life 

imagine music lost and unheard

For on your fatal day, betwixt two worlds

suddenly abruptly rudely wrenched from your dreams

one finds the world not destroyed but continually reborn

for what is crushed in an instant  

is destined to eternally recur 

musing on ideas in Zarathustra

Dry your eyes, there's no use in crying
we all live under the moon at night
were wolves howl and nightmares roam
that is until the flaming sun comes out
bringing life renewed to those who wander 
like scared animals being hunted we hide
praying for one last day to feather our nests
before our bodies decompose under moss covered trees

i wish i could fall asleep in a sky full of pillows with you by my side drunk on last nights purple rain

i wish i could fall asleep in
a sky full of pillows
with you by my side
drunk on last nights
purple rain
slumbering and snoring
while still wide awake
i would rise from the depths of illusion
in the middle of the night
to check upon you
the object of my desire
my love personfied in womanly form
I would caress your angular face
with my own
make sure you were still soft and as supple
as i remembered
finding tension in your neck
I would massage your shoulders
a token of helpless love
with no recompense necessary
let alone asked for
gently resting
I would smile like a hyena
your body undressed
like the flesh of a kill
with more curves than a Greek bronze statue
i would greedily run my hand down the side
of your body above your beating heart
until suddenly hit by a bolt of pure inspiration
I would traverse rocking oceans finally
resting my right palm across your flank
the battle of all 3 parts of my soul complete
reason buckling and swaying seduced by vice
I would grip your round excess in the tendons of my fingers
like a wild and reckless matador
overcome by the cries of the crowd
shining with allsorted coloured beads
drapped in blood
I would dutifully kiss your milk white forehead
and sing inaudible sonatas played on stringless violins into your ears
Like an aged man
Only then would I return to Apollo and his realm of dreams
dancing in fantasy and de-constructing my own insanity
Finally I would then resign to the cracks of destiny and fate
crawling underneath stone
intoxicated by the Dionysian vision
that Aphrodite is mine

The masses do not sway my fellow creators, For we are like blazing diamonds, In the worn rock face that is humanity

 
    Words that fell into my head after reading Nietzsche

Chilling in a white room with a Bengal Tiger dancing on all four walls - How Morality affects Shopping on High St in Auckland

Chilling in a white room with a Bengal Tiger dancing on all four walls. Introspective wandering thoughts slowly swimming backstroke in my mind. I trooped around the city today an army of one. I was on a quest to find a new bag to fit my basic natural goods in. The first store had cheap Chinese knock off bags for 25 smackers, the next had the same bags with a brand for triple the price. After feeling astounded at the lack of quailty backpacks on offer in the metropolitan I live in I eventually stumbled into an upper crust refitted Barkers on the corner of High st. The store resembled a manicured James Bond film they had two bags the one I liked was 279.00$. No one seemed remotely interested in selling a bag to me although staff were courtesy and kind so I left. I then took a gamble on a Fairtrade store a few shops up the high st populated with fashion stores and dozens of office workers. They had 5 bags the bag I liked made of leather was priced at 279.00$ exactly the same price. I thought back to Barkers and how it was most likely made with slave labour the other I was told was crafted by a fairly paid person in India. The first bag was much nicer, but I bet the conditions it was made in  certainly weren't. It's so strange how Moral issues are even entwined with what we purchase. It's so easy for us to be caught up in our lives and block out how someone who makes something or supplies a service for us is hurting or being exploited a human being with hopes and dreams just like you or me. Well that's what I thought about today!