1. |
This Machine is Broken
04:16
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He watched from the heart of his weather, He thought from the ache of his pain, He pushed the button of his thirst, To drink the river of his rain.
This machine is broken.
He mined the core of his being, Till the Earth was a naked pit, Then the moot point of his orbit, Threw its gravity in a fit.
This machine is broken.
There was never an answer for the wearing, This machine was made for trash. And the god stamped on his coin, Was the very burden of the cash.
This machine is broken.
April 09
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2. |
Doomed
04:17
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You can use your head for thinking or banging on the wall, You can use your wings for flying or to help brace your fall, Can't tell a dreamer from a liar or the doing from the dead, And we are the flesh of the trial for all the shit that we put in god's head.
All will burn, The fire to be widowed.
The world will probe its aching to pull its last good tooth, Creation regress to claim its misspent youth, And I will stare down my doom like Shakespeare's blood-donor, While the millionaires make billions from the abstract owners.
Everyday I have to push myself forward like some kind of doubting river.
You can use your heart for blood-work or draining off the sludge, And the never of a diary for storing up the grudge, It's a world that spits up virgins and swallows whores in whole, And the more flesh you give to god's bribe the more you cheat your soul.
Doomed to build a world and not live to tear it down.
March 10
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3. |
A Man About It
04:05
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You hate to be so spineless and a ghost has no soul, An object will decline to a subject of control, The best even a king can do is be a man about it, And if god says it’s true every little devil will doubt it.
I could use a little anarchy, Like to make my knuckles bleed, I could use a little anarchy, To find a little peace.
They all love the bad-boys but they pray they’ll be good, But the neighbors are named after the neighborhood, I’ll be an angel to put the song of god on her lips, Put the light of my hot shadow to her hips.
I could use a little anarchy, Like to make my knuckles bleed, I could use a little anarchy, To find a little peace.
Your mortal-coil charged with the chronic desire of dissatisfaction, Like some kind of blank-thought looking for some action, But good dreamers make bad sleepers and this world is a war, And everything you ever wanted couldn’t solve the square-root of more.
I could use a little anarchy, Let my mandated hungers feed, I could use a little anarchy, To find a peace.
Like to break the bones of this trap but I live off the bait, Maybe over-throw the puppet regime of my pseudo-state, But I take the wine to my blood; turn it to piss in my veins, A man about it; you pay off your pains.
Sept. 09
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4. |
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“It takes one to know one” and he lowers the stethoscope,
“You manage the monster; I manage to cope”
Pours himself a whisky: puts it down clean,
Looks him in the eye and sees that world so mean.
“Yeah; well what do you know about it, I run the show”
He looks at the ground “I think it’s so absurd to think you know”
“All this strip mining; patriotic fascism: turn and cough”
They keep it so turned on they need to know just where to get off.
“Let me ask you this; do you think you invented the world?”
“I am the shadow-market around which a snake is curled”
“Ah: obscurantism; cultish moniker; your holy feed”
Brake the code of all agent's divine to lay bare this deed.
“You need to watch your diet and don’t eat too much red meat”
“You worry over my health with a whiskey tell me what do you eat?”
“Leftovers and medicine-thoughts of miracle cures”
Meanwhile the city stokes its hunger via the river of its sewers.
“All this goes somewhere even if it’s just the serpent eating its tail”
“The hubris of the devil is the honey of hell”
“Yeah; well there is no noble-prize for self righteousness you smart ass fuck”
And the machine is brought to the pointlessness of pure luck.
“It goes beyond the petty dynamics of right and wrong” he offered his bait,
“Yeah it goes straight to the false-prophecy of us and them, you rationalize hate”
“You don’t know just what you're getting at and that’s why you're scared to get there”
In the basement you hear the demons growl like only demon's dare.
“I am the equation if god’s a mathematician”
“Yeah; well what are you if god’s a superstition?”
“About the something you are but with more money”
And they place their bets on this tragedy and just milk the milk and honey.
“Well I suppose you're healthy enough to be such a sick disaster”
“Healthy enough anyway to be a good slave to your master”
“We could partner up and take souls to the road; wouldn’t that be a shocker?”
“Step right up to the medicine-show and meet doctor Frankenstein’s doctor”
Oct. 10
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5. |
Christ Complex
03:35
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It just works on me the way she negotiated that corner,
The way her breasts made that shirt look expensive,
Yet I still feel the blood of my suicide drive the engine of my arousal,
The world’s stage become just the living death of me.
Let me take her limbs to the tongue of my soul,
Maybe if I was worth it,
Maybe if I was.
You give me something worth saving and then you don't let me save it,
Now give me something worth killing and let it kill me,
I swear I can feel the spin now if I could just get a grip on this orbit,
God are you dead; have you really left me here alone.
Let me take a grain of sand from the beach of my moon,
Maybe if I was worth it,
Maybe if I was.
Are these laws to be the strips on the back of man,
Oh my mind drifts thru the soul-shifting detritus of the fall,
And I am an animal breathing the loose discharge of her,
And I know not what I am and you offer only what I may be.
Let me take the religion of moment to the hunger of ages,
Maybe if you were worth it,
Maybe if you were.
Sept. 10
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6. |
Solitary Confinement
03:53
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Father of a loose shadow,
Some numb pulse to drive my guts,
Determined void reduced to empty discipline,
Proud loser's highlighted scars,
Inspired arbiter of outsider ethics,
The unused format of utopian thugs,
The linear swell of history’s quite killer,
I hang from the tusk of my nothingness.
The honey-drained drip of rusted poetry,
Good day to die weather from the window,
Skull cursing; unweeded Eden of endings,
Dumb-days scatter like bugs in light,
Lift my shadows for soul cleaning,
In the numbing echo of my god-gone head,
And this silence that feeds my being,
Can urge me to the outskirts of my future.
Let the mood of the junk-man trigger my fate,
The electronic antiques of my memory charged,
The woe of my caged now,
The numb music of my head against the walls,
Dream induced sleep of a dreamer,
Surgery of soft-focus-regrets,
Let the run of eternity run the waste of me,
And load the lyric parameters of the moon.
Oh this cruel maker; the despot of my days,
Bend just to break my bones in a billion different ways,
Just to wet the will of every meal I can't afford,
Oh to cash the coin to break the bank of the dreamer's landlord,
This world jukes the stats of self-loathing to self-pity,
The vagrant of paradise; the keys to an empty city,
Victim to the status of the motion’s agonies,
Bread and water to the prisoner of the age’s apathies.
Sept. 21 2010
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7. |
A Lifetime Later
06:31
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A dam that is so strong that it can make a river seem weak,
You never get the kind of trickle that could start a flood just the kind that could start a leak,
And a lifetime later you find (from the vivid nothingness) you're still in limbo,
And the only thing you can really explain is the truth of what you don’t know.
I am here and I am now that’s the only lesson I can pass to you,
Pettiness can play so dear in a man’s life; just the brute sum of what you do,
I spent the moment’s monies on the why of it all when I should have studied the math of how,
Because I am the only human-being that will ever be right here; right now.
Oh my information; oh the information of me,
Will it be in my lost particles or gathered in the soul of me.
I know the meat of a starving-artist is good food for a hungry-critic,
Though the ergonomics of this appetite are strictly analytic,
I am butchered and bakered but I bear my cross and walk my lord,
I live by the soul’s surrender: the god content the beautiful things I can't afford.
A lifetime later here I stand my fall to be a not to be,
Still forging thru the dog-shit duties to make the glorified guts of me,
Still a negative number in search of the divine integer that solves my divided self,
To be fitted in the book of ages but not fitted on the shelf.
Aug. 10
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8. |
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Chronic desire of dissatisfaction,
This weather acquires a taste for the rain,
I was born at the end of the world,
Where you cannot tell your meaning from your pain.
Symbols that rub my subconscious raw,
But it was never more than it seems to be,
I think-dream the stations of night,
And make believe the molecules of me.
So I turn my hunger from its meal,
And the hunger pangs make their meal of me,
Placated in these blank philosophies,
They don’t tell you what you are just what you’ll never be.
I am just drowning now in light,
Gather darkness to realign my self and soul,
Take the razor to the throat of the world,
And summon the strength to just let go.
March 11
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9. |
Composition No.This
05:57
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I ask you to sit beside me; let me put my finger in your ego, You said "god is a dead dish"; "well let the black holes swallow it," "Why all this buzzing; why all this electric nothingness," You said "sex is the promise of death" "I will promise you anything; toss your halo".
"The absence of the human element; I seek your animal-fuck-nature," "You think in colors like some infinite infant; conjuring kills," "Put the bullet to the context and it will bleed of meaning," There was a great halt upon the traffic and at the intersection I spit in time's face.
Resolute empires crush the occupant souls, Stuff buildings of wonder into rain-water holes, And the garbage recouped into growth hormones, Machines with no pity pump fixed-rate-loans, It all goes topical underneath my skin, Where the bomb of my faith is wired to my sin, I wanted her secrets now I just want her show, Want to learn to live on what I don't know.
Alone I breed; shadows of sleep, Shed the day and the doing, Lost cargos; let them kiss the deep, The wine and bread of the wooing, Let miracles mark the pride of gods, Stop my own confusion from putting them to naught, My calculated chaos will put worth to the odds, And I will live the art I have wrought.
Oct. 10
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10. |
Black Bile
07:26
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A daylight moon always hanging in my orbit,
A midnight moon always waxing in my soul,
This instant eternity that always slakes the past,
Scapegoat's the future as a mere system of control,
And I feel like a nondescript disciple of time,
Convicted of being the victim of a crime.
Nothing but the nothingness,
The emptiness of me,
I am just a shadow,
Of the light I use to see.
Trying to negotiate this brutal landscape in portrait-mode,
Hardware junkie that never cracked the software’s code,
I feel the soul of that punk-philosophy,
That wants to hurl insults at common decency,
It’s just the bargain basement of a fixed rate loan,
They dupe you into thinking the world is something you can own.
It’s just another nothingism,
The guts of another day,
The soul stopping boredom,
The whore of Babylon makes her pay.
Meaning is a superstition but I’ll take her flesh for tender,
In every joint that I am broken; I trust that I can bend her,
God is the friction where gravity anchors my thoughts,
As I beg for directions over a map of these faults,
And it’s this killer’s alibi that makes me over to this victim's edge,
This end of the world morning always parks me on this ledge.
Stopped at centered silence,
A mystic in the mood,
The shock and motion's patron,
Over emptiness I brood.
Oct. 10
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11. |
Analog Skies
04:57
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Falling, Unknown origin, Just dreaming; dreamed; dreamt, I Want to be a rain-river, Just more dreaming, I've fallen before, My whole life, A falling, A grasping a motion whose only definition was found in falling.
I can't find myself on any map, Just a graveyard visit away from my grave, Striving to wring inspiration from this epic nothingness, Oh how many names I find for my own nothingness.
Beauty, I feel I am your victim, But if that is all you will have of me, So be it, This falling from analog skies thru the shrieks of digital loneliness, I feel those signals, They ricochet from soul to soul.
I do not know what it is that I want it to be, Any more than I know what it is, Maybe just silence; just brutal silence, The gone caresses of memorized flesh, So is this the ghost? Is this the unsolicited meaning?
So just have me, Let my doubts devour me, Let the living song of me deliver to an audience of emptiness, Let time beat its march with the bones of my becoming.
Feb.10
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12. |
Staring at a Painting
04:11
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Round-blue-ball swimming in blackness, A seeming swarm of creatures littering the landscape, I study deep; render my soul to the gathering, Put myself to the making of; and still no light culled, Maybe a reflection of a mirror; self fulfilling dreamer, Just me; I am losting; train of thought shuffling.
Resume focus; settling to my unmade emptiness, The math of my exponential loneliness defies calculation, And so I can put no standard to the issue, Meaning more imposition than imperative, The way breathing is just fragile increments away from choking, It all seems as unknowable as my own knowings.
But I am captive; oh mighty muse, Like a man of faith yet I call no god to bear, Who could put the worth of a woman’s moon to equation, She like this before me; a total being apart, A mystic somethingness that creates its own reading, I know it moves the money of my soul.
Outside the soul-pending-trance of this singularity, The world passes; negates with indifferent eyes, And I am ended at the origin; a vacuum of information, Seems there is no tellings from your own workings, But the hot-wired Heaven is the ground wire of the soul, So I turn claiming no eternal truths just the deep breath of a moment's respite.
July 10
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13. |
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Objectified un-nothingness, Intimate aching of a familiar pain, A shared alienation, Soul-shopping on a worldly plane, This is to speak of or to the fates, In a tongue of void, Weary day-pushing, Pre-apocalyptic-post-Freud.
Action subordinated, Frozen in thought-prison, Map of absolute direction, Misdirected and emptied by indecision, Corrupted animal natures, Manifested envy of grace, Every god for his Heaven, Every man for his place.
In the resolute oneness of union, A duality of friction, Held to the orbit of fantasy, Proofed in the science of the fiction, I see before me a story, That has no measure in the length of words, A pictorial laboratory, A dissection of the absurd.
Jan. 10
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14. |
iThink
03:12
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The intrinsic confusion of this hardwired-software,
Computation passes for thought,
But her naked body sure looks good in that dress,
Now you’ve just gotta pay for what you already bought,
The emotional-embargo of this gilded ideal,
How you act the surrogate for how you feel.
iThink,
No you don’t you stupid shit,
Buy this,
Buy this.
This secular inventory is a lost soul’s religion,
Vested in the busy nothingness of it all,
God is the most common side-effect of consciousness,
And the wet-tee-shirt-baptism at the mall,
The pills the doctor gave me to take,
To help me sleep keep me awake.
iThink,
No you don’t you stupid shit,
Buy this,
Buy this.
It’s all here in your self-help-guide to suicide,
Arrogated authority in high-definition,
How wrong can you be without losing your self righteousness,
Live the epic experience of innocent acquisition,
So a well-fed-starving-artist takes the stage,
Now this trademark malnutrition is all the rage.
iThink,
That it doesn’t matter much what I think,
iThink,
That I can feel her naked body under that dress.
Nov. 10
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15. |
Is This Thing On?
04:42
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I'm not sure this thing is working,
I'm not even sure if this thing is on,
To have the ambitions of a king,
Can turn you into such a pawn,
Seems every answer ends a victim to its question,
And so the self the victim of its self-expression.
I see that bomb behind your back,
You see my train leaving the track,
The only real thing left to do,
You save me I save you.
Skin myself alive to flesh out these words,
Introduce the sky to a bunch of flightless birds,
These sighs could revive the sorrows' of the dead,
The bow of these heart-strings make a fiddle of my head,
You have to really want something in order not to need it,
Have to really milk it in order not to bleed it.
I hear the ring of your hollow lies,
You see the hunger in my empty eyes,
The only right thing left to do,
You save me I save you.
All these wounded details,
Absorbed in the healing whole,
The actor a mere scripted agent,
Of the demons of control,
Now in the wastelands of the star of my order,
Forced to my knees for the mercy of this border.
The contingent build of this landscape,
Is sculpting this bulk to a new shape,
Where one can't survive; only two,
You save me I save you.
Lee Barry/M.M.
Sept. 10
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16. |
Thanks For Nothing
04:47
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This is the barking-night of the new-nothingness,
Hey girl I watched you leave my soul in pawn,
You only liked it when we came at the same time,
You took the money but I got your number.
You showed me such a good time sometimes,
But all I can think to say is; thanks for nothing.
Always walking into walls; falling over my meaning,
I’m gonna take the fifth; nurse the injuries of night,
All that’s left for the boy nobody knew,
Is this narcotic-nurse and a tequila fuck you.
But I keep forgetting that it just doesn’t matter,
Yet I still wanna say from the bottom of my art; thanks for nothing.
Sept. 10
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Michael McGuire Nashville, Tennessee
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