Fortissimo Damashii

You're lonely rolling star * I can't wait for you, you know? * You're lonely rolling star * Now, let's face forward and go

But you're creating a precious dream * And 'til you're done, I'll be waiting here, no matter what * The starry sky twinkles like confetti * Sweet, yet painful, feelings envelope me

These feelings I hold close dance in the night sky * Will they, I wonder, plummet to the ground at your feet? * Let's meet again at our special place next month

You're lonely rolling star * Don't stop moving, ok? * You're lonely rolling star * Remember me, please?

Trail of Tears

"Tomorrow is coming. Run-run while
you can, but Tomorrow is faster. Plant
your legend deep-deep in memory. Only
way to live forever!" - Kan'ok'ticheck

The Maxx

---

"It makes me sick, even if it does sorta make an exciting climax to the story. And then, when he died, he didn't even look human at all. Nothing makes sense. And if it does make sense, then it's all gotta stop. There's nobody in charge. Adults run everything and nothing works. I have no control, and I'm sick of running from myself."

(Okay, here's the point in the story where I throw the gun away, and I have this cathartic revelation that suicide's wrong, that life's worth living and everything's okay. You know, all that crap.)

(And that's why this story doesn't work - because I just don't buy it.)

"Nobody buys it. That's not why you should go on."

"Why then?"

"Because things'll change. You'll change."

"But what about right now?"

"Right now, you wait."

---

(That's my story. I still go down to the underpass some times. I thought once I decided not to kill myself, things would be better, but I feel just as empty as ever.)

---

Pain lasts. It's how you know you're alive. Some people run from theirs, mine follows me through nightmares, and you're wading through yours.

Palm Trick

You shouldn't leave me alone.
Barefeet like a tomboy, and a crooked smile.

Forty and shaved sexy wants to do it all day with a gun-totin' trigger-happy tranny named Kinky Rene. Tired teacher twenty-eight seeks regular meetings for masculine, muscular, nappy-clad brutal breeding while his wife rough-wrestles with a puppy all aquiver on a wine-soaked strobe-lit Asiatic hall of mirrors,

and a dash of loneliness. There's no aphrodisiac quite like it.

There's no aphrodisiac like loneliness,
truth,
beauty,
and a picture of you.

Youth, truth, fame, boredom,
and a bottle of pills.

"My name is Abraxus", he said.

I was accused of being dishonest over lunch today.

"I can never believe anything you say. You either tell the unbelievable truth, or you make up plausible lies", I was told. "There's no straight way about you".

How could I simply let my character be questioned? I finished my mouthful of salad, chewed thoughtfully before responding -

"I do cheat, and I do lie, and I've never had any regrets about either. What sets me apart from the rest of the people in this room is that I make no dillusions of my bullshit being truth. Lies and truth that are exaggerated should only be that much more easy to distinguish, don't you agree?

"At least I know when I'm telling a lie. Most people lie to themselves most of all, and tell themselves that they only speak the truth rather than accept a slightly smaller lie that they've told someone else. I am quite possibly the most honest person you will ever meet - I can never lie to myself."

The rest of the people sitting around the table said nothing. The table behind me was debating Gymnopedie. I listened-in while I continued my meal.

Chasing Tomorrow

Have you ever bolted upright in bed, startled from sleep, believing that you heard some loud noise?

I've seen a night with no stars, people staring up into an empty sky waiting for the world to end. It all ends with a whisper.

Somewhere some one is dreaming of tomorrow. What are we without them? What are we if they wake up?

The Art Of Painting

Vermeer. Son of an art dealer, later became an art dealer just to feed himself. In his time he was eclipsed by more famous Dutch painters, and it really wasn't until he was long gone did people appreciate his work, his sense of humour. Look at that painting - people felt that artists were inspired individuals touched by the gods, living in lavish beauty - but the artist in the painting works in crude quarters. His ankles are even showing.

Only the son of an art dealer could make fun of painters. You have to exist outside of something to see the humour in it.