Wednesday, February 10, 2010


What is to follow is not an argument: It’s an authentication of point-of-view.

Daydream delusion,
limousine eyelash,
oh baby with your pretty face!
Drop a tear in my wineglass,
look at those big eyes:
see what you mean to me;
sweet cakes and milkshakes,
I’m a delusion angel,
I’m a fantasy parade;
I want you to know what I think,
don’t want you to guess anymore;
you have no idea where I came from,
we have no idea where we’re going,
latched in life,
like branches in the river,
flowing downstream,
caught in the current,
I’ll carry you, you’ll carry me:
That’s how it could be…

Don’t you know me?
Don’t you know me by now?

Sometimes, you know, at times, there’s this feeling that you hold inside a whole lot of steam that could steam any envelope, pop it open and flood the world with the thoughts stacked inside, with the words within and then you feel that you have no envelope, it’s more like a blank piece of paper and steam unfortunately can’t create but just bring outside what’s in, and what’s about to follow is the worst thing that can happen to anyone, that can happen to you, and you know it, you feel it when you stand there doing nothing as the steam froths and fizzes into something less substantial, something relatively dim and you get to watch it all from close-by, you watch all that’s alive falling down to die, and your hands aren’t tied as it fades, they’re free but you find that you can do nothing about it. Because you’re just not supposed to.

So many trains. So many buses past, so many encounters that never were. So many places, and so many faces, and so many people wearing them. So many instances of her. At least he got her off with him, as he got off the train. At least he went to speak the things I wished to speak, to confess at times, to lure some out at others, but mostly speak his mind out, not afraid of leers, not afraid of tears, not afraid of love, yet not entirely sure of it, all the same. At least he took his chance, scoring in it, merging with her at sundown and not the midnight encounter, before the break of dawn, only to facilitate a chance to screw it all up, to lead on to an overwhelmingly messed up state of mind, so overwhelming that it could replace the one he had previously, in the mind of the world, for the world loves chaos than what’s intact, with what’s intact only inspiring a break-down to solve it all from scratch, built it from the ground than to shape it from the side. At least he did while I just dreamt, only to prove himself right, though.

I’ll never forget this film.

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