Friday, August 31, 2007


at night when you lie in your bed and listen, what is it that you hear; a quiet silence, a gentle hum of a dimmer switch which has passed it's sell-by date, a creaky ceiling,or was it the guest that came to stay by you a month ago and disappeared, or was it the gentle hiss and staccato of an artistic night crawler spraying your car door and other assorted paraphernalia, or was it the gentle cry of a siren, the harsh squeak of breaks, conversations loud enough to hear, too soft to comprehend, taking an evening stroll, wondering through a morass of discarded post boxes, all silently waiting in line, expecting their partner to visit and feed it with plush envelopes and the succulent aroma of fresh newsprint, overpowering the pale pink envelopes, scented in lavender, sandalwood, rosemary and just a small touch of ginger, as the paint gently peels off and slowly floats to the ground, like the tear cascading down the cheek of an estranged woman trapped in the body of a man, squealing out some justice, as the power grid shuts down, causing a yearning for the last concert of that group, DARK WOMB, with their amazing new CD, THE DARK WARMNESS, which sold over 1 million copies, as the yellow cab ambled on down to east fifty fourth, while circling down the CHAMPS ELYSEE
winging it through a dozen rice paddies, locked onto a golden M sticking out the ground, while the stench of the heap of the cities garbage grew higher, the solid sound of metal on metal, drove a spike through the head, as the hammer met the anvil, causing sensory repercussions, only tested by the electronic gidgetry and gadgetry, when honest men toiled until their brow's were soaked in sweat, whence now, the sweat drops freely,while the body cavorts through the flashing lights as the weight drops off, limply wandering into a dark corner, without having any recourse.

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