Suicidal impulses and urges: "Smash that fucking car into the tree and end it all you petty bastard," so the voice commands and other people are simply 'motherfucking losers'.
The pimple bursts and frees the insect in my consciousness. Endless tick-tocking of bullshit thoughts, man, get it over with!
Fits of overwhelming self-despair then finally slamming the G-D steering wheel 95mph + passing cars on 22 West in the ice and snow.
Obsessing, crunching thoughts 24/7--omnivorous feasts, gremlins multiply in factors of ten. Feelin the thoughts isn't bad enough---beneath this you hear the futile roar and munching, feeling desperate, claustrophobic and caged.
Give me a target to hate so I can dispel my demons!
Endless futility---the human race--- pathetic enterprise full of waste.
"Try to be good, try to be nice," stupid fairy voices.
"No one understands this void, a lake of tears, stupid petty worldly concerns of everyday life and metaphysical unease.
Hero worship---Nick Drake.
An attempt to grasp some flake of something real in all of this fleeting insubstantiality.
Ghosts haunt these fields everyday
stones' heft and bulk but all is floating
without anchor---a spectral wasteheap.
My only companions: inspired poets, madmen and suicides...
"Give me a second face
give me a second race
I've fallen far down
from the people I've known...
I just need your star for the day..."
Nick Drake sings.
This is true---!
Pale figures mutter words to cross the veil
the world's ghastly bridge
dimly seen, lightly heard
barely touched in chunks of wool and caps and gloves.
"So make your way down to the sea,
Something has taken you so far ways from me."
Drake sweetly intones.
Can I buy magic amulets to waken my first face?
Can dry fingers of night pat my rainy freckles
when voyagers wake the legions of dust?
Day does not give way into night
nor night to morning---only monotony
yet words take once more to wing as
spectral wraiths,
wanderers greyer than death raptapping gates of answers
past ages and walls
into th great unknown,
drowning, flooding, gushing me
in echo.
Though ash is my beginning and
dust my end
I am caught in limitless colored corridors
in which my footsteps wend amazed...
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