placebo

i wish i could just go away

go away, go away, out of everyone's reach

nothing is beautiful

beautiful is nothing

placebo - need more be said?

more wants to be felt - even in the morning sunlight

in the comfy space

i need to go away

oh, wouldn't everyone love that luxury

those who've really dug deep into the game

bought in, or sold out, or just played real hard

they'd love to go away

well, i'm just expressing your love

which is my need, i'll call it

i want to go away, out to the pasture

that place, take me all the way

i have no shortcuts, here, only a love

a reverie, a wanting, a need

like michael albert needed a helicopter

i need sleep - any way

i need pills - sleeping pills

i have some garden variety soil

it'll suffice, for tonight, i guess

i need dreams

or that oblivion, that part i don't remember, that maybe didn't happen

and an OCD schizo cuts in like a corvette, not chasing, straight, down the desert highway

i would do anything for drugs

i would do anything for love

they're pretty similar

but better, morally, or in some strange sense, perverted along with the rest of this fabric, is the quotidian babymakers and their relevant relics... their traditions, even though i may acknowledge it's beauty and truth, and something more obviously something that i won't mention for fear of bringing it down with my empty words

like i can see it as god and the devil, what i may use of those words, blunt as they are - but positively charged with, well, whatever you call meaning when you don't want to cop to pale and narrow semantic stuff - guess it's stuff and nothing, from the bathtub where the baby is born, to the bathtub, where you slip into your last coma, the big sleep to be stupidly hep about it

yeah, i'm crawling on my hands and kneepads... for oblivion, i mean even given the saturated fats i live in, all calories marked on the guide, to whatever we want, we, god, i gotta reign in these all inclusive arms of mine, but like i was saying, even given that, it still counts for something, COUNTS, that word i keep using lately, using, and if you can use it, then you can abuse it, and if you can abuse it, i USE it, and that counts for something, it's gotta, right? even given the...

oh, i'm good at slapping fritzy TVs on the head, but i can't really give myself that paroxysm, and i guess that i just don't know, like that guy said - but i can still amble on and off, into the woods, and take comfort in writing about taking comfort in writing, and the peripherals, that trail off the words, in tear tracks from the compound eye, compounded with guilt and a gestalt of sin - i guess it's about time to borrow christian symbolism, and make an insincere obeisance to, well, good, it's a tree now, like it was then, like in that so overdone photo album, on a mantlepiece, the rifle, the mount

just a chewing exercise in, not even writing, not even typing, it's kinda a cause and effect thing, and i don't think i have to believe in free will, but i do anyway, sorta, like it's my choice, but well, i don't "believe" in it, for fuck's sake, i just bend to that free will, that free floating will, as it inhabits tyrants and evil geniuses and free spirits, and occasionally, often on a certain frequency, works out to my benefit, if you can call it that, if de construct is everything

good lord, it's ethereal up on this joker trail, but not enough to make me bond with oblivion, but that will come, it always does, it always does, it always does, doesn't it?

and i won't demand a rhythmic cadence to end whatever, good god, i worship the word now that i see it in the serotonin -- yeah, Sarah Tonin is a harsh mistress, but she's not the only game in town - just the best, yeah, she runs the best brothel, and it'll leaving you feeling clean and next to godliness, beside the marquee that says, nelson sucks donkey dicks - kids playing, riffing, and wisdom is a footprint on the mini golf course, like we were saying when you weren't paying attention, also similar to the crackhead who was looking over his shoulder, clenching up in pointless paranoia, heart-taxing claptrap he was perfectly aware was a chemical consequence, and post traumatic bullshit stories, and real places that i still say i saw in her face, and heard in her voice, and nevermind memory, hey?

nevermind memory