im losing my mind, my heart, my soul. ive lost my girl, my sanity hangs on thin hooks.
my creativity is tucked away in a box somewhere under the stairs with the broken vacum cleaners and clothes left at parties to replace the braincells and morals that dissapeared in the mayhem.
i just wanna rage, get fucked up, fuck loads of chicks, go crazy....wild with fear and lust and weed and booze and pills of all descriptions. my wrists hurt from tapping and tapping, staring at a screen all day, flicking throug page upon page of useless shite, pointless news articles, forgettable music and movies, pornographic and hollywood garbage piling high in my mind, seeping out of my crevases and cracks, exploding out through the strain in my eyeballs and the pains of my abdomen and neck. the news keeps getting worse, recession, recession, recession, swine flu, swine flu, swine flu, terrorism, war, political upheaval, IMF take overs, artistic banalaties and discraces to musical integrity inflicted upon an outwitted and half asleep public by money hungry sociopaths.
But i keep on sitting here, like theres nothing better i could be doing, writing a song, cleaning up, walking in the garden, flinging shit against a wall....fucking anything!! just to get me out of this frustrated stupor, maybe give me a few minutes of relief, visions of her wrapping her arms around another man haunt me from morning till night and throughout any dreams that break through the veil of repression.
wasting my days, wasting my life, disintegrating in the midst of a haze of smoke which has clouded my mind.
Visions of a fresh mountain stream in the swiss alps in september, thats the way i want my insides, pure and clean and crisp and ready for anything, always aware. Instead my eyesight is getting worse and i choose not to eat, not really considering that i deserve good nutritious food.
Im empathising with travis bickles emptiness and confusion and Frank from blue velvets damaged sexuality...'ill fuck anything that moves' he screams, i scream.
I wrap up this daily toil of muscular fingers and shattered retinas with one cup of peppremint tea, hoping every night to cleanse myself and wake up renewed, vigourously dealing with reality, just like my dad....
