Split Step

Three taps and the dust will fall
...and lyrics without a song.

or the truth:

It's hard to write against our own will.

But what's harder is to be the very one forcing yourself, to write against your own will.

i'm a lover - not a fighter: but i love to fight.

in this timeless front,
where casualties are thoughts
and provocation; attacking in preemption,

we are all soldiers in idle warfare.




my general commands:



"it is not death, nor life.
conrad, comrade.....it is the un-life!"

"fear all quotations, bombarding you with useless-ness!

why?
brother why!!?

do you need to be reminded of existence?"


"does not the words that spill over conversation, satiate you enough?"

words don't spill.

they flow.


the river:


if its up, through it,
then i am beneath it.


if its down, across,
then i am above.


this is where i drink:

i fill my lips, like a cup's brim.

pouring enough ,
giving back my excess to the flow.

with this,
i know, that i can never take too much.
because when i am full,

the water knows.
the body knows.

everyone, everyone.
you, everyone.

truly knows.

pulped.

pulse, quick.
it's the new york stock exchange

the jazzy profession, with less rhythm
but needing you to be cooler than miles,
and smoother than coltrane.

and when it all comes out up,
it's enough to let out,




*running a line*

:

"I say goddamn!"

is that wallace's wife?

I dont care, nor does she.
it's not like girls like her
give invitations like this to just anyone.

quit it,
her feets not hurting, dont rub it.

and as my act of god,
i'm sorry,
i'm sorry.

i meant...

and as if the act of god
came down upon me like vengeance
and a furious anger,

i will bestow upon my brother
his righteousness,

truth.


so thats word.

Happy new year...

Oh wait...am I too late?





it's going to start again.