You know it's not worth all the trouble
The stationary on the table
Open the doors to needy families
They need their ice machines
Need their locks and they need keys
And they need chairs and beds and ashtrays
The stationary on the table
Next to the television
I was in the shower
Looking for my soap
The doors were closed, I'm sure
No one knows I was there
Kept it well hidden, then I
Did what I had to do and then I
Walked away and I forgot this day ever happened
Ever happened
It's easy to walk away just turn your head
And forget this day ever happened
It's easy just to walk away, turn your head and forget
That this day ever happened
It's easy to forget, turn around and leave
Wrap it around your sleeve and forget
Forget this day, this day ever happened
Left the ice machine
I left my locks and keys
I left my luggage and my dirty magazines
I left my ashtrays
Left my bed and my buffet
Left my chairs and my keys and
Lord, I left my "Do Not Disturb"
Left my family, left the housekeeper
And I left the ice machine
Left the postcards of the pool
Left the restaurant, left the shower
And the rooms and the signs that say:
"Soap upstairs, stationary on the table
By the television."
I stole the towels and the TV guide
I got into my vehicle, I stole another ashtray
From the bar, by the bed, by the buffet
Sat in your electric chair and thought of children
I was a clerk, I had a "Do Nor Disturb" sign on my head
And the Doors were playing in the background
About the broken families
And the housekeeper at the ice machine
Where she lost her keys, but she never could find the locks
And her luggage and her magazines
Oh, she's on the phone too much, and the pool is warm but it's closed
She's got a postcard
There's a remote chance that the restaurant is still open
But we've got the keys to the rooms
We got showers, we've got signs that say:
"Soap can be found upstairs
By the stationary on the table
Sitting by the television."
Well, I brought back the towels but I kept the TV guide
My vehicle's in the shop and the ashtrays are filled
With roaches and roach clips
And the bar of soap that I stole from the hotel
That was by the beds that were never quite made right
And the buffet that didn't taste right
And we were sitting in the chairs
We were listening to your children
Oh, that purse does not seem to like me much
I said, "Do not disturb my meditations, if you please
Turn that Doors tape off, if you please."
Gotta get home, back home to my family
I once was a housekeeper, I once was a housekeeper
Yes, I was, do you remember when I was a housekeeper?
But I never knew my way to the ice machine
And they never gave me keys so I never knew where the locks were
And I never needed luggage because the only things I'd seen were in magazines
Heard about on the phone - spent some time by the pool
Writing on the backs of postcards, suicide notes
But it's remote- this restaurant will not be the place I do it
I know I need some rooms - rooms with showers
Need myself a sign that says "The soap can be found upstairs
Next to the stationary on the table by the television."
I need some towels but I don't need the TV guide
So I got the TV, yeah I put it in the vehicle outside
Along with a couple of ashtrays
And a bottle or two that I had ordered but never paid for at the bar
Well, the beds were made this time
But the buffet still didn't taste quite right
And the chairs they gave us were much too small
Like they were made for children
But the clerk was not responsive to my complaints
She kept on saying, "Do Not Disturb me
You know the way to the doors."
If I had a dollar for all the families who were expecting me to be a housekeeper
I'd go buy the ice machine
Empty the ice and find the keys
And then I'd go look for the locks
Take my luggage cram-packed with magazines
I've got some quarters for the phone
Brought my swimming trunks for the pool
Send a postcard
But there is a remote possibility
That I might never leave here
But stay here
Eating in the restaurant
Where the rooms are not too cozy
And the showers ain't got no running hot water
We need a sign, there were nothing but signs
I should have been paying attention to the signs
I should have brought my own soap
The thought occurred to me as I walked down the stairs
That's why I need some stationary
I'm gonna sit down at the table
Turn the television off, send back the towels
Open up the TV guide, think about the vehicle outside
"faces"
My friends had no faces
I never saw the years
Wear them down
The graying hair
The crow's feet
The gradual stagnation and slowing
This would have been too much to bear
No, they were timeless, ageless
Even before I knew them
Brilliant rays of mind, one shy of infinite
Nothing but names
Collections of opinions
"Yea"s and "Nays" and "I don't give a shit"s
That was ALL some of them were
Others became more
So that I tried to give them expressions
To conjure visages
"I will fool myself into believing
This is what he looks like
That is her, yes, that is her, I recognize her
This is how I want to remember them
This is the image I will assign to each
To the memories I want to have, to hold
Each one of them."
I felt as if I had the right
After all, they had no faces
They never had
Spirit, nothing for light to bounce from
More often than not, I found
My vision uninspired, unworthy of creation
I wasn't even sure if they had
Souls
Still, I always suspected they were ONE
Part of ONE, parts of ONE
They were a portal for me
A doorway into a universe
A room with 100 doors
No "EXIT" signs above any of them
A hall full of strangers
With nothing in common
I liked to mingle in that crowd
But I wanted nothing to do with them
With their crooked smiles
Their rictus grins baring stained fangs
The hungry, greedy, hateful look in their eyes
The frowns plastered permanently to their brows
They all looked like they wanted something I could not give them
Acceptance
Respect, maybe
The time of day
A precious moment of my time
A place in my heart
Connection, compassion
Everything but love
Only for my friends
Only to my friends
Only from my friends
For my friends had no faces
And I liked it that way
I have no face
If I had one
I fear
I would have no friends
I never saw the years
Wear them down
The graying hair
The crow's feet
The gradual stagnation and slowing
This would have been too much to bear
No, they were timeless, ageless
Even before I knew them
Brilliant rays of mind, one shy of infinite
Nothing but names
Collections of opinions
"Yea"s and "Nays" and "I don't give a shit"s
That was ALL some of them were
Others became more
So that I tried to give them expressions
To conjure visages
"I will fool myself into believing
This is what he looks like
That is her, yes, that is her, I recognize her
This is how I want to remember them
This is the image I will assign to each
To the memories I want to have, to hold
Each one of them."
I felt as if I had the right
After all, they had no faces
They never had
Spirit, nothing for light to bounce from
More often than not, I found
My vision uninspired, unworthy of creation
I wasn't even sure if they had
Souls
Still, I always suspected they were ONE
Part of ONE, parts of ONE
They were a portal for me
A doorway into a universe
A room with 100 doors
No "EXIT" signs above any of them
A hall full of strangers
With nothing in common
I liked to mingle in that crowd
But I wanted nothing to do with them
With their crooked smiles
Their rictus grins baring stained fangs
The hungry, greedy, hateful look in their eyes
The frowns plastered permanently to their brows
They all looked like they wanted something I could not give them
Acceptance
Respect, maybe
The time of day
A precious moment of my time
A place in my heart
Connection, compassion
Everything but love
Only for my friends
Only to my friends
Only from my friends
For my friends had no faces
And I liked it that way
I have no face
If I had one
I fear
I would have no friends
Trying to Sleep
Stuck here in the middle
With my thoughts swirlin' 'round me
Like a storm come to sweep me away
Who's doing the thinking?
It sure ain't me, I'm tired of my own voice
Won't be silent and it ain't got nothing to say
Says it anyway
With my thoughts swirlin' 'round me
Like a storm come to sweep me away
Who's doing the thinking?
It sure ain't me, I'm tired of my own voice
Won't be silent and it ain't got nothing to say
Says it anyway
I percieve a point...
I percieve the point of nothing
That sucks and squeezes reality into it's vacuum
Always consuming, offering nothing
It is mine, I own it
I who have nothing
He seems to know this
To understand it completely
He takes it into account
As he judges me
Not entirely satisfied
He has the appearance of a man
Who has a handle on the situation
A man who knows more than he lets on
Who knew what his choices were long before he chose them
Silently observing his handiwork
Through some kind of dirty Coke bottle lens
(Maybe he lies
Perhaps I have no head)
Filing imperfections, cataloging them all
For use the next time around
Still, when he catches my eye
When our gazes lock
He knows the game is up
He can tell I have him all figured out
Frightens him
Frightens me even more
Because I have learned his lesson
I may feel, I may think, I may know
But in his flat land
I am nothing but a hand puppet
He talks to
When his empty room bores
And he gets lonely
That sucks and squeezes reality into it's vacuum
Always consuming, offering nothing
It is mine, I own it
I who have nothing
He seems to know this
To understand it completely
He takes it into account
As he judges me
Not entirely satisfied
He has the appearance of a man
Who has a handle on the situation
A man who knows more than he lets on
Who knew what his choices were long before he chose them
Silently observing his handiwork
Through some kind of dirty Coke bottle lens
(Maybe he lies
Perhaps I have no head)
Filing imperfections, cataloging them all
For use the next time around
Still, when he catches my eye
When our gazes lock
He knows the game is up
He can tell I have him all figured out
Frightens him
Frightens me even more
Because I have learned his lesson
I may feel, I may think, I may know
But in his flat land
I am nothing but a hand puppet
He talks to
When his empty room bores
And he gets lonely
LoveBirds
She had a needle prick pin for his dream balloon
He laughed at her faith
Mocked it
Loathed it for what he perceived
It had done to him
Long before she ever came around
This was something that she never knew
But what she did know was enough
She had a Mason jar for his unearned tears
She kept a wooden box full of nails
To hold up the boards
That blocked the sun
And kept the birds out
He wanted to jump off a mountain cliff
To feel free in the fall
To prove her wrong
She had a cat of nine tails and a whiplash smile
When he asked her to dance she said it wasn't her style
He laughed at her faith
Mocked it
Loathed it for what he perceived
It had done to him
Long before she ever came around
This was something that she never knew
But what she did know was enough
She had a Mason jar for his unearned tears
She kept a wooden box full of nails
To hold up the boards
That blocked the sun
And kept the birds out
He wanted to jump off a mountain cliff
To feel free in the fall
To prove her wrong
She had a cat of nine tails and a whiplash smile
When he asked her to dance she said it wasn't her style
talking to myself
I find I'm talking to myself more often these days
No one else to talk to
So I like to pretend
I'm talking to God
I call it "praying"
But I still think I'm crazy
Because I know that I'm the only one who can hear me
The things I say
No God would tolerate without some semblance of repentance
I have none
Not because I don't think I should
I should
It's just that I'm too far gone for that, knowing well the only repentance I ever knew got tossed out like a baby with bath water within days
Sometimes hours
Sometimes minutes
So if it's repentance God requires
I'm afraid
He'll have to look for it elsewhere
All I have for Him is a sharp tongue
A madman's babbling prayer
A conversation of one
A criticism and a forgiving, both exaggerated, neither meaning
A Goddamn thing
I try to convince myself that it's the SuperSoul doing all the talking, that I'm listening in, eavesdropping on a party, someone else's house where I'm not supposed to be
It takes more convincing than I'm capable of
Because I'm struck mute
When the Holy Spirit speaks
My rational mind shuts down each and every suggestion that
I may be a vessel
I've always believed that my body is a vessel
What troubles me, though
Is to know
That so
Is my soul
No one else to talk to
So I like to pretend
I'm talking to God
I call it "praying"
But I still think I'm crazy
Because I know that I'm the only one who can hear me
The things I say
No God would tolerate without some semblance of repentance
I have none
Not because I don't think I should
I should
It's just that I'm too far gone for that, knowing well the only repentance I ever knew got tossed out like a baby with bath water within days
Sometimes hours
Sometimes minutes
So if it's repentance God requires
I'm afraid
He'll have to look for it elsewhere
All I have for Him is a sharp tongue
A madman's babbling prayer
A conversation of one
A criticism and a forgiving, both exaggerated, neither meaning
A Goddamn thing
I try to convince myself that it's the SuperSoul doing all the talking, that I'm listening in, eavesdropping on a party, someone else's house where I'm not supposed to be
It takes more convincing than I'm capable of
Because I'm struck mute
When the Holy Spirit speaks
My rational mind shuts down each and every suggestion that
I may be a vessel
I've always believed that my body is a vessel
What troubles me, though
Is to know
That so
Is my soul
A Rusty Knife
Cool little blessed teddy bears
A million little blessed teddy bears
Come to the sundown ritual
Bring your spotless goldfish, just put him in a jar
And gather at the foot of the mountain
Where fools perish and prophets hide
Now my mind's gone blank as it is sometimes wont to do
I forgot everything you've said right after you said it
And it frightens me but what else can a man do?
Price to pay, eh chap?
A trollop dropped a wall-full of bricks and made an awful divide
Betwixt the things I don't remember and the fine line which sunders in two
Knowing and not knowing
Being and not being
Thinking and not thinking
Living but not living.
Dying but not dying.
Betwixt the things I don't remember
And the things I can't forget
You seem very disappointed that I will not attempt to describe the way these episodes feel, what's going on in my mind, how I perceive "reality", it's purpose, the fleeting nature of the whole damn thing.
I am genuinely sorry for that state of affairs, but alas, what power doth mortal man hold to fuck around with the hands of time, to try to tie them behind his back. I reserve the right to keep my mouth shut and set out to do a shaker's dance. Just out behind the church, right front of the out house. Cross that field of flowers, crushing the lucky ones, and meet me, that's what it was all about, mister, you've got no idea, and furthermore, we weren't even shakers, only two kids too young to be messed up yet. So little of it survives in my memory. I can't even remember who she was. Or what she looked like, even. I only know that the cold steel of the blade she had hidden in her "Sunday Best" skirt was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my life.
It was a sharp blade. But old. Rust stuck to it and black dirty from all the blood shed carnage clinging to the hard metal. A knife infinitely more painful than a clean, sharp-edged sword.
Okay...give me a moment...
What was all that? I seem to have wondered off
Did you say
Something about shakers?
Or did you say quakers?
Soul Shakers and Earth Quakers
Could it actually be
Thor
Who crashes his camera
He hasn't a hammer
The flash is a freaky thing
It sticks to the back of the eyelid
It burns and it burns and it burns
Thor, is that you?
If it is...stop, please o magnificent god of thunder
cease from this mental torture you inflict
Upon one only humble
Your disregard for me saddens and discourages
I've worshiped you, Thor
I've brought burnt offerings to you
The spotless lamb, a pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
This suffering must come to an end
I'll take the rusty sword that brought me here
And slice the beast's neck
And hold it above, let it drain like a fountain
A pail for the blood
So, Thor, look down and consider your worthy servant
Mighty Thor, Manipulator of Gods
Trust me, if I thought I could
I would once more wield my dirty blade
...if I ever thought that this very blade had power to slay deity...
I would thrust it deep into your guts, below the heart, so that the blade would rip hard and dull when I yank it up and cut in half the organ that pumped blood through your useless veins.
Laughing, beaming
A million little blessed teddy bears
Come to the sundown ritual
Bring your spotless goldfish, just put him in a jar
And gather at the foot of the mountain
Where fools perish and prophets hide
Now my mind's gone blank as it is sometimes wont to do
I forgot everything you've said right after you said it
And it frightens me but what else can a man do?
Price to pay, eh chap?
A trollop dropped a wall-full of bricks and made an awful divide
Betwixt the things I don't remember and the fine line which sunders in two
Knowing and not knowing
Being and not being
Thinking and not thinking
Living but not living.
Dying but not dying.
Betwixt the things I don't remember
And the things I can't forget
You seem very disappointed that I will not attempt to describe the way these episodes feel, what's going on in my mind, how I perceive "reality", it's purpose, the fleeting nature of the whole damn thing.
I am genuinely sorry for that state of affairs, but alas, what power doth mortal man hold to fuck around with the hands of time, to try to tie them behind his back. I reserve the right to keep my mouth shut and set out to do a shaker's dance. Just out behind the church, right front of the out house. Cross that field of flowers, crushing the lucky ones, and meet me, that's what it was all about, mister, you've got no idea, and furthermore, we weren't even shakers, only two kids too young to be messed up yet. So little of it survives in my memory. I can't even remember who she was. Or what she looked like, even. I only know that the cold steel of the blade she had hidden in her "Sunday Best" skirt was the most painful thing I've ever felt in my life.
It was a sharp blade. But old. Rust stuck to it and black dirty from all the blood shed carnage clinging to the hard metal. A knife infinitely more painful than a clean, sharp-edged sword.
Okay...give me a moment...
What was all that? I seem to have wondered off
Did you say
Something about shakers?
Or did you say quakers?
Soul Shakers and Earth Quakers
Could it actually be
Thor
Who crashes his camera
He hasn't a hammer
The flash is a freaky thing
It sticks to the back of the eyelid
It burns and it burns and it burns
Thor, is that you?
If it is...stop, please o magnificent god of thunder
cease from this mental torture you inflict
Upon one only humble
Your disregard for me saddens and discourages
I've worshiped you, Thor
I've brought burnt offerings to you
The spotless lamb, a pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
A pail for the blood
This suffering must come to an end
I'll take the rusty sword that brought me here
And slice the beast's neck
And hold it above, let it drain like a fountain
A pail for the blood
So, Thor, look down and consider your worthy servant
Mighty Thor, Manipulator of Gods
Trust me, if I thought I could
I would once more wield my dirty blade
...if I ever thought that this very blade had power to slay deity...
I would thrust it deep into your guts, below the heart, so that the blade would rip hard and dull when I yank it up and cut in half the organ that pumped blood through your useless veins.
Laughing, beaming
"Burn"
I'd just as soon burn it
If it's all the same to you
It's grown cold
A fire would do us some good
I don't think it's of much use
For anything else
You got a lighter?
Burn it
I don't want to be Plath's latest disciple
I don't really want to sing Ian's song
But I reach into the cauldron
And all I pull out
Mud covered sentiment
Blood bourne transcendence
Conscience overlaid with fat
Disgusted with what it's come to
Wanting nothing more
Than to offer up something clean
Something beautiful
That would make you smile
That would make me happy
Oh yes, it would
I hate to accept the truth
Though it was none of my doing
Still I must confess it as my own
I would keep it to stagnate
If it didn't burn
If it didn't burn a hole in me
So I hunt for leeches
In the murky bog, the scum-topped swamp
From which I pull out all of these thoughts
To suck words like blood
In hopes that a few of them
Might make someone consider
.....
If it's all the same to you
It's grown cold
A fire would do us some good
I don't think it's of much use
For anything else
You got a lighter?
Burn it
I don't want to be Plath's latest disciple
I don't really want to sing Ian's song
But I reach into the cauldron
And all I pull out
Mud covered sentiment
Blood bourne transcendence
Conscience overlaid with fat
Disgusted with what it's come to
Wanting nothing more
Than to offer up something clean
Something beautiful
That would make you smile
That would make me happy
Oh yes, it would
I hate to accept the truth
Though it was none of my doing
Still I must confess it as my own
I would keep it to stagnate
If it didn't burn
If it didn't burn a hole in me
So I hunt for leeches
In the murky bog, the scum-topped swamp
From which I pull out all of these thoughts
To suck words like blood
In hopes that a few of them
Might make someone consider
.....
Wobbling Buddha
Dirty, wobbling Buddha
I think you may have cursed me
With your eyes closed
Picking at a chronic scab
Delicately placing the detritus
Into your mouth
Ha!
You didn't think I saw you do that
Did you?
Pissed you off
Didn't I?
A wave of the hand, a well-worn expletive
And I'm dismissed
Smoking, hacking gargoyle
Glued to your grimy floor
Staring at me through tight squinted eyes
Damning each and every
Soul you've ever known
Have I been convinced
That I am exactly like you?
Or that you can send me to hell?
I think you may already have
A wave of the hand, a well-worn expletive
I'm down in the hole
But one thing must be said:
You have a wonderful collection of dolls
Every peach pink pucker-lipped face
Stares blindly
Lined up in rows on shelves
In an unused room
Their feet scuffed with black tar
Little silk dresses torn
Or naked
Nude plastic
Unashamed toys
Five gates, uncaring
Five doors, barred forever
Heads filled with air
Still they feel more than you
Still they feel more than you
Do
I think you may have cursed me
With your eyes closed
Picking at a chronic scab
Delicately placing the detritus
Into your mouth
Ha!
You didn't think I saw you do that
Did you?
Pissed you off
Didn't I?
A wave of the hand, a well-worn expletive
And I'm dismissed
Smoking, hacking gargoyle
Glued to your grimy floor
Staring at me through tight squinted eyes
Damning each and every
Soul you've ever known
Have I been convinced
That I am exactly like you?
Or that you can send me to hell?
I think you may already have
A wave of the hand, a well-worn expletive
I'm down in the hole
But one thing must be said:
You have a wonderful collection of dolls
Every peach pink pucker-lipped face
Stares blindly
Lined up in rows on shelves
In an unused room
Their feet scuffed with black tar
Little silk dresses torn
Or naked
Nude plastic
Unashamed toys
Five gates, uncaring
Five doors, barred forever
Heads filled with air
Still they feel more than you
Still they feel more than you
Do
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