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It’s not a question, It is the broken tooth of an answer, It’s not a cure, It is the baited hook of a cancer, It’s a world like this, That finds no flesh in the word, Does a sky like this, Deliver no wings to the bird.
Find the now in never, Time won't wait forever, Lay her unbred sex, Before her engine wrecks.
Not the myth of truth, A broken sword on solid earth, Not the mess of god, What all the strength in this pain is worth, In a mind like this, That finds meaning in nonsense and shoelace, In a dream like this, That dumps all its garbage in grace.
Find the now in never, Time won't wait forever, Lay her unbred sex, Before her engine wrecks.
She put the salt to her tongue, When the world was young, Now in this clockwise-clockwork, The glacial motion of this knee jerk, Will bury the god of this making, And crash the dream of this waking, And leave us all wondering why, She never put her lips to a sigh.
Part the rain from the river, Bare a fruit you can give her, Lay her unbred sex, Before your engine wrecks.
July 06
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2. |
Mean Much
04:28
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God and meaning and the consummation, The math of ages just an allegation, Memory the tool of compensation, For the soul of the mind and its education.
Nervous neurons and their navigation, Need clock-time heart-pumped lubrication, Can't depend on bone marrow calibration, To read this thought-summed calculation.
Fallout apple tree radiation, Tech-toy-tool puppet innovation, Blonde bombed with a penchant for procreation, Breeding impotent dead with this masturbation.
Trash heap tape-loop of information, A per diem real-life simulation, The ego’s ante for
validation, The fan of a fanatic philosophic fabrication.
A ten cent million-dollar exploitation, A blueprint centerfold amputation, Networked net-worth of false-front corporation, An iconic post ironic incarnation.
The mind's eye stained glass fragmentation, Way in way out; traffic escalation, Day in day out; dreamers-dissipation, Work-place; soul-matter deformation.
Blank sex love-locked levitation, Erotic in inertia-killed gravitation, The window of a world; first born fascination, Alter of ruins in the free-heat condensation.
Morbid motion in a big bang transformation, Mortal-meaning of a god-rhymed revelation, Beauty of a darkness-taught manifestation, Ending in a real-world realization.
Aug. 06
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3. |
Talk Talk Talk
04:35
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I stare into the hi-def graveyard of your eyes. If you had more respect for the truth you wouldn’t lip-sync these lies, Could be cola wars the way it just rolls right off the script, Could be the space prime-time continuum is ripped.
Talk talk talk, What do you say. Talk talk talk, Of the wordless way.
He’s a self fulfilling prophet; this linguistic vampire. Busy driving home the message to his white flag empire, And it’s a virulent disease that amounts to a plague, The symptoms so obvious for a condition so vague.
Talk talk talk, What do we mean, Talk talk talk, Silence the scene.
The sonic boom across the table top flats, These trifling tongues should be mute meals for cats, The whole of the dictionary is contained in the flesh if everything is all there is, Those lips could say much more with the language of a kiss.
Talk talk talk, What do we learn, Talk talk talk, When do we burn, Talk talk talk, What has been said, Talk talk talk, Didactic dead, Talk talk talk, Soulless semantics, Talk talk talk, Predatory pedantics, Talk talk talk, Detailed explanation, Talk talk talk, Sans communication.
Aug. 06
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4. |
Watching TV Together
03:58
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The deliverance of the holy grail, A kiss that turns the world to ash, A hero’s holiday in hell, The little man makes a great big splash.
You and I we change the channel, The channel changes us, You and I talk thru commercials, Commercials talk thru us.
This man holds only his rejection, Till one day she appears, Drawn in digital perfection, The focus of his fears, Did he find her just to lose her, No; she turns the night to wine, Scripted bliss could only choose her, The writer's art the actor's line.
You and I we watch the show, And the show it watches us, You and I we understand the plot, And the plot understands us.
Dreams are made and milked, Worlds are saved and doomed, Dreamers pushed from their sheets of silk, Lovers striped and raped by the moon.
Beautiful bodies dissected into little soliloquies and asides, That led the audience to the alchemy, And the expectation in her eyes plays to the happy ending coda, And we fill our test tube with this chemistry.
You and I watch TV together, The TV watches us alone, You and I fall asleep with the TV on, The TV stays awake all night long.
July 06
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5. |
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The way she wears the world's envy on her breast, You’d think this rebuilt engine would never be second guessed, But perfection is betrayed with her caller ID, It’s a nine hundred number but the first hundred years are free, All this clockwork cock-jerk sex just ain’t sexy.
Oh I can see her beauty’s beast, Feel the scales behind the silk, Hear the ring tone's s.o.s., Taste Coca Cola in the mother's milk.
This ain’t love it’s just a masturbation martyr's crush, She could charm god’s lawyer with her video blush, It’s a promise of a promise only a liar could keep, A crop only Able could sow; only Cain could reap, This tease is satisfaction's surrogate dreamless shock of sleep.
Oh I know thats not her real name, I can guess her weight, I believe her religion is her fame, I think she would eat her mate.
Music that sounds like an advertisement for music that sounds like this, And there is no sex in the soul of this shamelessly scripted kiss, No you’ll never get rug burns and love bites from this sexless breeder, She’s just a hydroponic carrot because the man at the top is a bottom feeder, If everything is all there is well then this ain’t much, Ah but this machine can manufacture such a human touch.
Oh it’s wireless; sexless and soulless, That’s the way they control us, With these empty dreams they cajole us, With these hardwired habits they enroll us.
March 06
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6. |
The New Math
04:18
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I stood there balking at New Babylon’s gate, Collected my thoughts passed thru I’ve got a date, Take a deep breath of oxygen and exhaust, It’s hard to believe that one day this will all be lost, Man back to matter city’s bones back to dust, When all this acid rain makes the heavens rust, I guess it’s beautiful it might as well be, Shining a light directly in your eyes expecting you to see.
It all adds up; it all adds up; it all adds up to this, Fifteen minutes of fame and a sub-atomic half-ironic bliss.
Got these long questions with these short little answers, Media-mongoloids and comic-book-cancers, The infrastructure's exoskeleton has gone soft, While architects and politicians respectively sky-scraped and scoffed, That guy was a stock broker now he’s an end times preacher, If god's a mathematician the devil must be a math teacher, I need to empty the trash in my head, I can't tell memory from meaning; what I shit from what I said.
It all adds up; it all adds up; it all adds up to this, A bankers daughter’s dimes and a stem-cell-research implant-soul-church kiss.
Walking and wondering where do I fit this equation, When does an overtaxed dream become a tax evasion, When you're a child the whole world seems a working-wonder, Till you're old enough to see it for its plight of plunder, And shapeless-shadows of language-landscapes draw the city, Not even the rain-born gutters drain any pity, You're born either dumb enough to see the light or smart enough to be confused, But that just dictates the style with which you are abused.
It all adds up; it all adds up; it all adds up to this, The first thousand digits of pi and a death-squad floor-sale ground war pell-mell piss.
The wrecks that survive main street's ballistic code, Watch the buildings breed and the dead end streets erode, When the empty engines of the revolution have been embalmed in rust, These fossilized circuits will double the bandwidth of their lust, Meaningless number sets will chart meaning's empire, And the dead will be reborn upon this live wire, Now I’ve got to find my date somewhere underneath the night, Nubile and neon the city’s gradient critique of light.
It all adds up; it all adds up; it all adds up to this.
Aug. 06
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7. |
God of the Gaps
05:20
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Suffering the witless weather of uncertain seasons, We placate our senses with rhymes and reasons, Unending universe tell nerve ending's notion, That the surface of the deep is like the bottom of the ocean.
Everything is either impossible or inevitable, And the over-examined life is not worth living, Food for thought intoxicating or inedible, And these fill in the blanks excuses are not worth giving.
Taking the heat from the mindless mechanism, Is what drives the steam of this organic schism, The subject of the object of your affection, Is a way to preclude any flight-plans to perfection.
Everything is either impossible or inevitable, And the over-examined life is not worth living, Food for thought intoxicating or inedible, And these fill in the blanks excuses are not worth giving.
So the whole is undone by these faulty parts, And we can't see the photons for the light, All the blood-money pumped thru these hearts, And all the wrongs done to the left for the sake of the right, The bomb in the eyes of the innocent dead, Is a mystery unsolved at its own expense, The world used to be seat and center of the godhead, The vanity of senses can turn any babble to sense.
July 06
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8. |
Born Yesterday
05:37
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A serpent shed his soul; in the history of the device, And the secret signals left me conscience of the price, If I fall within the context of the subtext of the rhyme, I can shape-change the continuum and wring out all the time.
Born yesterday to suffer the change, On the carrier wave of a new world, A thought-museum to rearrange, Born yesterday to give the moment life, On the book of ages passing, The world to take as wife.
The bleeding stone; flowers into the pageant of all being, The light brings all colors the paradigm of seeing, In the weathered longing of the tongue April’s earth, I can find myself in empathy of this crying birth.
Born yesterday to suffer the change, On the carrier wave of a new world, A thought-museum to rearrange, Born yesterday to give the moment life, On the book of ages passing, The world to take as wife.
The stillborn consequence is the notary of Heaven’s pause, The song of winter’s heart is the “Lament of Tiger’s Claws”, A man such as myself can only reap the harvest of Cain, A world such as this has its religion of the rain.
Born yesterday to finance all tomorrows, The ghost of now enters its mother, To haunt us; senses and sorrows, Born yesterday to put to sleep what is not dreaming, The agent of the actual, To deconstruct the world of seeming.
Aug. 06
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Of shadows and sunshine; I know the point of the light, Vision and heat and a stop for the nothing of night, This weather has a plan to save the rain from the river, But this dream first has some sleep it must deliver.
The only man left on the flat Earth, From here you can still see what it’s worth, A beauty beyond the microscope's ken, The theory of all that might have been.
Breathing and bathing in beatific senses of now, The why of all reasons; unfolds to the product of how, And the milk of her tongue feeds this unbridled suck of desire, This poetry of planets dissolves all decisions of dire.
The only man left on the flat Earth, From here you can still see what it’s worth, A beauty beyond table-top technology, The theory of all that still could be.
The only man left on the flat Earth, The first being squared to the circle of birth, The wordless dogma of the flesh, History’s habits made future fresh.
Motion is its own cult and culture of direction, And cultivates all nonsense and notions of perfection, Her measure may always be culled from the pregnant horizon, All clockwork and cunning reduced to a new sun arising.
The only man left on the flat Earth, From here nothing’s lost to what it’s worth, Center and soul to the universe, Alive to the blessing; unborn to the curse.
Aug. 06
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10. |
My Black Guitar
04:57
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Someday we will all be equal, When our bones can no longer babble, The trouble with mistakes is all we learn is regret, And something so memorable is easy to forget.
All rivers run their course, All riders throw their horse, The mighty stand on their force, And it all means just what it means.
Blame is our favorite substitute for control, Duty is a prostitute in place of a soul, Is the truth a Republican or a Democrat, We don’t care where we're going we just like to know where we're at.
For eons peons are pulverized, Eternally idiots are idolized, While the masses are mesmerized, And it all works just like it works.
Life’s not what you make it you're what it makes you, Circumstance not freedom gives the color its blue, Armies of feelings marching across my senses, My future-free memory will pay their expenses.
The new history starts right from this day, So there is nothing yet we can say, I just want to prey and play, On my black guitar.
Aug. 06
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11. |
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Everyday the news is a masterpiece of disaster and we are agony's audience, But the news is really just some guy in the back room with a typewriter and a toothache, Days build upon the bulk of eons to turn this moment rendered, And we in the stagnate orbit of the now end up waiting in impotent homage to living.
Great big beautiful fucked up world.
Life pulsating; undulating and syncopating to the context of the rhythm and the speed of change, Laying foundation for a new church and some hands-of-god maniac just wants to blow it up, Those demonic pedestrians who traffic in fear want to shake the unknown into existence, For as many reasons as there are gods we bury the dead.
Great big beautiful fucked up world.
The grass gets no greener only the money followed by the apocalypse engine, In the garden of a ghetto dogwoods paint the pink of poverty against the riches of the sky, Evening and morning oscillate nervously it’s god shadow he’s pacing the floor of the heavens, War-babies nursed on the slaughter tap the foot to the banging drum.
Great big beautiful fucked up world.
Agents of April work their cruelty; decay the working essence of the mechanism, A beauty-beyond; a tangle of woe-born worlds and working parts collide and caress, Mankind's ditch like a war-wound on the pacific and proud bread of earth, White noise of routine pandemonium jams the silent signals of ascetic angels.
Great big beautiful fucked up world.
A voice singing of itself in the enthusiasm and wonder of this mandate of song, Yet but a child to these ancient ancestors of matter; myth; life and the great blank of time, As able to implode as an unworkable model as to take the crown as glory of all glories, The exhaust of the enterprise of the idiot hours dissipates the tangible oneness.
Great big beautiful fucked up world.
Aug. 06
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12. |
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The mathematics of the river’s emotions, The ghost of a dozen dead oceans, I the part where the whole is divided, Weather the fault of the winds decided.
Somewhere in the depths of atomic works, The meaning of the macrocosm lurks, All this matter tangled in the mind-machine, Only the mind to tell what the matter to mean.
In rhetorical wastelands of formal focus; we casually disconnect, Burning buildings are the odes to the codes that we reject, The sky is a graveyard for to bury our test-tube devils and gods, And we bet our pagans past and our fortune's future on the odds.
Love found in desire’s chronic guess work, Life defined in temptation's knee-jerk, Her hair the tangled divinity of grace, Her kiss the dead stop of time and space.
The pursuit of truth is so demanding, The best we can do is an enemy’s understanding, But if everything is all there is, Then why do we settle for this?
Feb. 07
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Michael McGuire Nashville, Tennessee
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