Memory

Memory Part One:

America!

our journeys 

separates

us from the land,
we become,

with every tread

o'er hallowed ground.

mother waits,  

bated breath, 

for these 

first steps

Shenandoah! 

blue mountains 

rend the clouds

oblivious.

obvious.

the smoke haze,

some distant tale.

maybe mine,

some day-seen.

for now:

just dream

Arizona!

...static hum...

(SUDDEnly 

a-m station,

reflected 

from Texan

ionosphere),

Saturnines! 

took the land.

Hide our

females!

departure

I'm trying to put the words right.
I don't know if I can.

You have set my world alight.
I want you to understand.

Turmoil lies beneath a surface, calm.
As if I were a summer sea.

On roads our tires become a psalm.
They sing of you to me.

Yet of the dark,
in my heart past,
there is another tale.

Inside it's marked,
shattered glass,
from my sullen trail.

Sometimes it's the road that takes,
our smile from our lips.

When time is ours it's me you slake.
I wonder where it slips.

I, harbinger.

I am the pac-man of the soul,
I come hungry, ready... ready to devour,
I cannot be stopped by the mere mortals of shape,
I will not be doomed to stupid destiny of space,

I have found the reason to destroy,
I am not only the thought,
I have only action,
I, harbinger.


---
Written and emailed, as a response to this insane thing: http://www.hypnoid.com/psytest2.html

My Diagnosis:

You need to help others and to be thought of as a generous and kind individual. Often you are taken advantage of and regarded as simply part of the scenery. You work best when handling the work yourself; you do not appreciate a managerial role and tend to be uncomfortable in that position. Friendship is important to you, but it is generated on a personal basis, rarely a professional one. Consequently, family life is very important to you, and is often the most important aspect. Because of a strong sense of propriety however, you will sometimes consider the eccentric behavior of your friends and family as a personal affront. Often you find it difficult to speak up about personal anguish or pain, feeling instead that it is something an individual should bear in silence. Tradition is important to you, and you feel a sense of belonging when operating within the constraints of a predictable routine.

Kismet is not Orange, But you do look marvelous in it...

Along the corner he traced his step, backward into the marginal silence of the night.
Clanging bottles. Bursts of laughter. A car horn. A siren.
And there was a silhouette, walking in a gliding, dance.
She turned and became a burst of shocking color.
A night-blooming flower, graceful and succulent.
And there he stood a flash of laughter, and 200 proof energy.
They paused briefly, for each to warm the other.
A crossing brief, tender, and light.

walk

along the virgin rock,

no highways have come to be,

patient schist lays dreaming,

centuries per second.

THEN,

at once awakened,

set aflight, then...

falling, falling.

Now,

metamorphoses of sand,

dust,

starstuff,

dream,

a second in a day.

AmplitudeAnteMeridianModulation

There is a station in the distance that only broadcasts pain. I follow it's broad highways into the wee hours of the mourning. Who hurt you DJ? Why do you keep playing 'One Headlight?'

But, that's not what you are really playing. You make pain seem like it has only brushed up against you, like the wind, silently in the night.

You smell like vanilla, a bruised and broken open fruit. What the masses call 'plain.' There is no truth in the hive, only propaganda. In truth, vanilla is the only edible orchid. A rare sustenance amongst pure desire.

But, that is where I hide; in cold trivia. I often ignore the warmth that I feel. Now to reach and confidently pluck. There I could, finally, separate myself from the vine.

Across the horizon

Here on trains:
I have loved
and lost,

learned to:
love again,
my country,

my soul again:
of motion,
here,

Appassionato.
again.

<ian::froop>