(production)
Half lives
Half emotion
Half blood
Half scar
Production
Anything for production
You cant be
Why should you?
Dont you want to produce?
Take everything off
All that you are born with
Half courage
Half Intuition
Half bond
Half community
Production
Forced for production
No need for god
No need for fulfillment
Why should you?
What about production?
No Roots
No Heart
No Force
No Man
Production
Bleed for production
You cant be
Why should you?
Eliminate me
When I cant produce
I dont want to be
I never wanted to be
Production is me
Eliminate me
(the house of passionless regret)
The house of passionless regret
It all whips tired moans
At sealed, inexpensive walls
No one home to listen
Forever a cold, bronze grip
Where the warmth of humanity
The warmth of family
The warmth of love
Should be known
The house of visionless tries
To roll uphill
Towards any form of plateau
Leaving many nave souls
Bruised and alone below
The house of shadowless guilt
My mistakes are small
But always grow with time
And I pay dearly for being born
And I pay dearly for breathing
And trying to stay alive
No one looks past
All of the wrong paths I choose
The house of canonized evil
Is where I pay my fine
Is where I work off my sentence
The crime of love
The vile criminality of having a heart
The crime of conscience
The vile criminality of being in love
Is what they say
While my flogged body hangs
Like a widows linen
Over the town halls center of mercy
The house of passionless regret
Nothing to feel so strong about
After being beaten and rung
For every little thing before
Life and its putrid sacking of itself
Has taken the possibility of hell from me
I could freeze the gates
As the spires and pits drown in the ice
Of my exasperated breath
I tried to love
I tried to bring peace
To those whom I share space
I pay in all houses
This all new Dead Condors material. The medication is starting to work less. Although it brings me much misery, I really enjoy the things I write. Especially where I came from and the fact that no form of creativity was ever nurtured or encouraged in my house. Reading was mostly Tom Clancy, TV Guide, or the back of a Totino's Pizza Roll box in my house. Although my writing is pretty sophomoric, I'm proud of it. It gets across what I'm thinking and feeling. I suppose that's all I need. Maybe if I read more, I would have more interesting forms of poetry and such. Here's the cover picture for the next record
I'm still torn betweed two titles:
THE HOUSE OF PASSIONLESS REGRET
YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO LOVE IN ANY WORLD
It's fun for me to just hit record and let the shit fly. Something's gotta come out. We're not gonna be here much longer, if you couldn't have noticed.
SOUNDTRACK OF THE DAY
Antony & The Johnsons
The Swans
Neurosis & Jarboe
Edith Piaf
John Zorn's Painkiller
I thank all of you for coming by and spending your time reading my journal. I appreciate any and all comments you folks leave here as well.
Half lives
Half emotion
Half blood
Half scar
Production
Anything for production
You cant be
Why should you?
Dont you want to produce?
Take everything off
All that you are born with
Half courage
Half Intuition
Half bond
Half community
Production
Forced for production
No need for god
No need for fulfillment
Why should you?
What about production?
No Roots
No Heart
No Force
No Man
Production
Bleed for production
You cant be
Why should you?
Eliminate me
When I cant produce
I dont want to be
I never wanted to be
Production is me
Eliminate me
(the house of passionless regret)
The house of passionless regret
It all whips tired moans
At sealed, inexpensive walls
No one home to listen
Forever a cold, bronze grip
Where the warmth of humanity
The warmth of family
The warmth of love
Should be known
The house of visionless tries
To roll uphill
Towards any form of plateau
Leaving many nave souls
Bruised and alone below
The house of shadowless guilt
My mistakes are small
But always grow with time
And I pay dearly for being born
And I pay dearly for breathing
And trying to stay alive
No one looks past
All of the wrong paths I choose
The house of canonized evil
Is where I pay my fine
Is where I work off my sentence
The crime of love
The vile criminality of having a heart
The crime of conscience
The vile criminality of being in love
Is what they say
While my flogged body hangs
Like a widows linen
Over the town halls center of mercy
The house of passionless regret
Nothing to feel so strong about
After being beaten and rung
For every little thing before
Life and its putrid sacking of itself
Has taken the possibility of hell from me
I could freeze the gates
As the spires and pits drown in the ice
Of my exasperated breath
I tried to love
I tried to bring peace
To those whom I share space
I pay in all houses
This all new Dead Condors material. The medication is starting to work less. Although it brings me much misery, I really enjoy the things I write. Especially where I came from and the fact that no form of creativity was ever nurtured or encouraged in my house. Reading was mostly Tom Clancy, TV Guide, or the back of a Totino's Pizza Roll box in my house. Although my writing is pretty sophomoric, I'm proud of it. It gets across what I'm thinking and feeling. I suppose that's all I need. Maybe if I read more, I would have more interesting forms of poetry and such. Here's the cover picture for the next record
I'm still torn betweed two titles:
THE HOUSE OF PASSIONLESS REGRET
YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO LOVE IN ANY WORLD
It's fun for me to just hit record and let the shit fly. Something's gotta come out. We're not gonna be here much longer, if you couldn't have noticed.
SOUNDTRACK OF THE DAY
Antony & The Johnsons
The Swans
Neurosis & Jarboe
Edith Piaf
John Zorn's Painkiller
I thank all of you for coming by and spending your time reading my journal. I appreciate any and all comments you folks leave here as well.
You Have No Right to Love in Passionless Regret
The House of Love and Regret
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting
Oops, that's been used. Kundera once said his book titles were interchangeable; you could call any of his books The Unbearable Lightness of Being or The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, etc.
Play that beat. Play that beat. BANG.