FUTURE FOE SCENARIOS

We're in her car... and we're driving somewhere, forever, and we're listening to her music, her music that is our music, and is my music, but is now my music and her music. We're listening to Silversun Pickups (but only Carnavas, we don't like Swoon as much) and Fitness Forever (some French band she likes). We're listening to Yeasayer, and we're listening to Best Coast, and when the song is over we do a little acapella duet together, she's singing in key When I'm with you, I have fun, yeah when I'm with you, I have fun and we're laughing and I'm singing out of key Yeah when I'm with youuuu, I have fuuuuun, yeah when I'm with youuuuuu I have fuuuuuun but I'm drum-drum-drumming away on my knees, keeping time and doing leg-snare rolls when the silences call for it, and we're laughing and it's so much fun and I love her so much.

I look over at her and I lean over and I kiss her cheek, and it's soft and smooth and warm and so I kiss it again, and again, and again, and again, so much that she's laughing, and blushing, and asking what I'm doing, but I just tell her that I Love Her and she says “I love you too,” and I'm happy. And we're listening to The Measure [SA] and Vampire Weekend and the Aladdin Soundtrack (Prince Ali is my favourite) and we listen to Island In The Sun by Weezer over and over on my behest because it makes me happy, and we're listening to Explosions In The Sky and Modest Mouse and the light is blinding, and brilliant, and soft, and beautiful.

----

From a year ago.

23/11

And it's the thinking man that has to carry the weight of the world on his brow. Always, always, always, life is staving off the evil thoughts, the bad thoughts, the depression, the Big. Black. Dog. On your shoulders, on your forehead. I watched bees play among flowers in a sunlit glade, I watched the skinny limbs of small children as they bounced balls and laughed, my eyes followed the legs of some girl in short shorts up, up, up. Death comes, oh yes, and what is life in the meantime? Life is harsh, life is mean time. The sun shines and the bees collect pollen regardless, flying as if on puppet strings, hovering forever in frozen moments. My brain hurts, my heart yearns, my dick aches. Every girl is the same and everyone is special. I laugh, often, at my own pathetic nature, my typical mammalian behaviour and thought patterns. It only ends once, I suppose. In the meantime, there are books, and video games and music and all that good jazz. Life! How bizzarre and strange. I have said this before and I'll say it again. Life!

why won't I stop... why can't I stop........

Mulan Poop

''Stray Cat in the Australian Spring''

stray cat in the australian spring
on gentle tides the cat does sing

Uncollared
A lithe, mercurial dream
Leaps and bounds
and calming sounds
your life is better than mine it seems

but stray cat wallows in pity
and swallows herself silly
juiced in the carcass moon
awaiting a friend so soon

unfettered
no stress no rules but no roof
purr for me
what do you see
claw and tooth fearsome but so aloof

in fight or flight outstretched claws
dangling
in the spring sunrise
and dark
singing to screaming barks

thin skin
all bones
jump the fence
to be alone

cat rat
teeth bared
slink away
never scared

With melody she bites
and tender teeth
windy nights

so let it be
springy cat
walk alone
down life's
tuna path

kiss me baby
bite my neck
kiss me baby
with tuna breath
stroke my fur
make me purr
you're my pussy
I'm your Sir

So, stray cat
when worlds collide
think of me
and don’t hide
your hide

Oh stray cat
the life you lead
strange to me
you don't feed
my need

- Angelo & Lloyd

YTP - Guano 1 & 2

Twilight, Twilight

the fleeting, spattering of teardrops
on the window
endlessly and pointlessly racing towards their doom
inevitability

a brick wall of a deal--
the kind that's too small to climb over
but too big to jump over...

the last stop the tram shudders into
bells a-wailin'
the tracks are redgrey and warped
a spring not quite sprung

winter ends with a sigh
the credits roll
and the names are all but ignored
phrases only half remembered when spoken

we walk on the graves
of all of us

the music of art
leaps into the mind complete
a fairy. Finished blueprints, perhaps?
A map? An archive
of things to come or of the now?

What is art if not a snapshot of the now
what is life, but now?

Defeated, repleted
and never repeated.

We mutter to ourselves, blank faces giving away naught
enscribe and etch poems into
cloud tablets

and we frown at those who when alone
can stand to speak aloud

Alone, alone
with not a home

something into nothing into something into
learning life lessons from grinning unlions
and unlions over again...

real in every way but the 'real' one
are we not, then, the less real ones?
to exist in but one and call THAT real?
real...

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This is just a depressed stream-of-conciousness rant. It's got some good parts, but sometimes you just gotta write some crap, if you see what I mean.