19.8.10
3.8.10
& the wind keeps whistling...
& there ain't much I can do but wait & wait, as if there were hope.
& I dare use 'as if' for I could never be sure.
Who wants to, right?!
I don't...
I can stay still...
Keep sipping on coffee while the notes swarm...
& I do wait for those 3 damn words to appear in a red-sky afternoon.
& I dare use 'as if' for I could never be sure.
Who wants to, right?!
I don't...
I can stay still...
Keep sipping on coffee while the notes swarm...
& I do wait for those 3 damn words to appear in a red-sky afternoon.
8.7.10
The wind by the chair
The grass will keep swinging whether you remain or go...
While the notes make a hole in the sour image which now occupy my mind & eyes, while the breeze makes the day a bit better, while the old man next to me hums & smiles at his loved one, I sip a bit of coffee. I am no bitter man, I do not condemn existence: it is just that the blueness of this sky makes it unbearable for me to think when in heavens it will be my chance to leave the sea of uncertainty that surrounds me.
It all seems better than before. The sun seems shinier, my taste has gone in new directions, people almost always greet me with a smile (as if I had never done wrong to them or they hadn't seen me in a while) Yet, I cannot let go of those thoughts of hefty sorrow. There ain't to say or do. Perhaps just sitting & wait.
While the notes make a hole in the sour image which now occupy my mind & eyes, while the breeze makes the day a bit better, while the old man next to me hums & smiles at his loved one, I sip a bit of coffee. I am no bitter man, I do not condemn existence: it is just that the blueness of this sky makes it unbearable for me to think when in heavens it will be my chance to leave the sea of uncertainty that surrounds me.
It all seems better than before. The sun seems shinier, my taste has gone in new directions, people almost always greet me with a smile (as if I had never done wrong to them or they hadn't seen me in a while) Yet, I cannot let go of those thoughts of hefty sorrow. There ain't to say or do. Perhaps just sitting & wait.
5.5.10
3
While the cracks [all them cracks] meet each other, while so much of that happens, a child plays catch with the spite he found under his bed one autumn morning...
des i dera tum
Cloudy day on sight, hurry, hurry! The thirst won't go fast, the walk seems long. A night that could catch you sitting at the pier while those dreams drift away with the waves. Blame no one, you dropped them at the sight of the sun.
The ocean won't bathe your feet. No...
Oh, Carmen! The thoughts of you walking by the men who desire you have driven my nerves as high as the white birds which look for a warm winter home. That voice that lullabied so many evenings appears as narrator in the images that accompany my sleep. Oh, Carmen... My padded room means nothing, it's no match for your arms.
A house on a hill, the ivy swinging, as the tyre from the tree and my heart from the sky. The smell of the seas swarm the living room and the bedrooms until you come out of the kitchen with a pie for two. I smile over and over till the earthquake of reality tears it all apart.
I have buried it, and I dare not use its name for the plain utterance of that word provokes the tears rolling down my face. I faced not the casket, I kissed not its face anymore, I just saw the grass dancing a two-step in my mind. So, there is now only a dirt road, for I pretend there is not a cobbled path surrounded by flower beds to my right. I sink.
I dreamt of you. You were nobody.
I swear I couldn't have seen him... I swear, I swear... When the wheels are in motion there is not much a tiny spectre like I can do, is there? I know my attempt to comfort you is vague, futile and somewhat empty, yet there ain't nothing else I can say. I only wished to go foward, to the path I believe I have chosen, to the smile I have promised my kind.
You dead! I ain't in no comfort til the wave take me far, to you.
So, you are in France. One a many night she made oaths about you. She said she wouldn't leave, she swore she could stand it all, she said she would love me...
I cannot stop the voices that tell me to pick up the phone and ring him. "The wolf`s on the loose," the newspaper read, and as soon as I could I ran to the door to see if it had spent the night by it. No voiceprints in the air or bites on the walls. Thus I am holding onto this damned telephone hoping for a call. I do not know why I bother...
I wish for two steps. To run behind dr3ams, to try to catch my non-born grandchild, to escape from my chair. I survive by the cracks, tempered and flooded. The trips come to me in the shape of winged horses. I ask for just two steps.
My desiderata
The ocean won't bathe your feet. No...
Oh, Carmen! The thoughts of you walking by the men who desire you have driven my nerves as high as the white birds which look for a warm winter home. That voice that lullabied so many evenings appears as narrator in the images that accompany my sleep. Oh, Carmen... My padded room means nothing, it's no match for your arms.
A house on a hill, the ivy swinging, as the tyre from the tree and my heart from the sky. The smell of the seas swarm the living room and the bedrooms until you come out of the kitchen with a pie for two. I smile over and over till the earthquake of reality tears it all apart.
I have buried it, and I dare not use its name for the plain utterance of that word provokes the tears rolling down my face. I faced not the casket, I kissed not its face anymore, I just saw the grass dancing a two-step in my mind. So, there is now only a dirt road, for I pretend there is not a cobbled path surrounded by flower beds to my right. I sink.
I dreamt of you. You were nobody.
I swear I couldn't have seen him... I swear, I swear... When the wheels are in motion there is not much a tiny spectre like I can do, is there? I know my attempt to comfort you is vague, futile and somewhat empty, yet there ain't nothing else I can say. I only wished to go foward, to the path I believe I have chosen, to the smile I have promised my kind.
You dead! I ain't in no comfort til the wave take me far, to you.
So, you are in France. One a many night she made oaths about you. She said she wouldn't leave, she swore she could stand it all, she said she would love me...
I cannot stop the voices that tell me to pick up the phone and ring him. "The wolf`s on the loose," the newspaper read, and as soon as I could I ran to the door to see if it had spent the night by it. No voiceprints in the air or bites on the walls. Thus I am holding onto this damned telephone hoping for a call. I do not know why I bother...
I wish for two steps. To run behind dr3ams, to try to catch my non-born grandchild, to escape from my chair. I survive by the cracks, tempered and flooded. The trips come to me in the shape of winged horses. I ask for just two steps.
My desiderata
inspire
It is the soul in tiny bits what I might try to summon.
There is me, there is my skin, there is the arms that hug a few only, there is the eyes on the sky.
It is the soul in tiny bits that which I might try to summon once in a while at the hearing of trumpets. I fear the existence of nothing underneath says the tune I linger upon. Yet I dare once and again. The epic is a mirage I dream upon, within and over. I exercise the nerves and the fingers till a cascade falls upright, bathing the skyes, soothing my eyes [No one, no one] It might be I who anybody else tries to summon. The moment is mine. Thoughts about to collapse. I steal my own tricks. I imagine.
There is me, there is my skin, there is the arms that hug a few only, there is the eyes on the sky.
It is the soul in tiny bits that which I might try to summon once in a while at the hearing of trumpets. I fear the existence of nothing underneath says the tune I linger upon. Yet I dare once and again. The epic is a mirage I dream upon, within and over. I exercise the nerves and the fingers till a cascade falls upright, bathing the skyes, soothing my eyes [No one, no one] It might be I who anybody else tries to summon. The moment is mine. Thoughts about to collapse. I steal my own tricks. I imagine.
29.4.10
Π
I try...O do I try...Without dexterous enough hands, branding the flag of faith or trust or hope or whatsoever you might want to call it, finding oneself wanting; the weight I have laid upon these two trembling yet strong legs matters not, for the emotions possessed obliviate the dark clouds to come. 'I am able to infuse life,' me says, 'I swear I am able...'
10.4.10
9
I dig deeper and deeper, always obtaining the same old result: there ain't nothing underneath...I crave and long, wish and hope for a bunch of sour grapes, yet...I go 'round the Moon, pockets of liquid bliss, the prints of my forefathers, the ages preceding me, the sound in Cheshire, a poisoned hat, the forest, a pot full of certainty, a fire... As a Behemot has sung: "breaking all the nails and the fingers from my hands." Light seems far, and the air in my lungs has started to dry while my organs collapse. However, my heart lies intact. So is the aim to embrace the piece of heaven my blindness has been promised.
Creatio ex nihilo?
Creatio ex nihilo?
7.4.10
º
The pollen
A grain of sand
My planet
The voice of a child
This patience
A loose feather
God's particle
Your hope
Your impatience
A word
Gratitude
The nightmares of nothing
Believing
These words
The taste of a flower
Rain in the summer
Your touch
The vastness of the heart
A tiny speck in the dark
The miniscule life
How great is the mind
A grain of sand
My planet
The voice of a child
This patience
A loose feather
God's particle
Your hope
Your impatience
A word
Gratitude
The nightmares of nothing
Believing
These words
The taste of a flower
Rain in the summer
Your touch
The vastness of the heart
A tiny speck in the dark
The miniscule life
How great is the mind
11.3.10
III
Believe I barely know anything, nothing. The infinite pages, the depth of all paintings, notes in, notes out, the pain in the horizon and the one covering one's feet. There won't be time, I mightn't choose anything, nothing. Though...It is alright. For the sun ain't mine and the ground feels warm and I'm not that blind and there's lots of leaves and a sea where to dwell, one can lie back and enjoy the breeze. There is enough salt water in my hands so far.
I have come to find out there ain't sufficient where-to-store-the-words-the-words.
I have come to find out there ain't sufficient where-to-store-the-words-the-words.
2.3.10
s
The winds,
The locusts,
A stain in the lungs,
The dark in the well,
A memory of them,
The loss of thought,
The insipid Sunday,
A name for the monster,
The doubt at the gates,
A storm on the holiday,
The ill skin,
The need,
A fall off the bridge,
The flash of a death,
A doubt at the gates,
The topsy-turvy,
The nausea,
A treason,
The inconsolable human,
A spin onto nowhere,
The grabbing,
The holding,
A thorny hand,
The run,
A footprint on the soul,
The blindfold,
The absent voice,
A demon,
The sun,
A lonely walk on the path chosen, but still afraid to face.
The locusts,
A stain in the lungs,
The dark in the well,
A memory of them,
The loss of thought,
The insipid Sunday,
A name for the monster,
The doubt at the gates,
A storm on the holiday,
The ill skin,
The need,
A fall off the bridge,
The flash of a death,
A doubt at the gates,
The topsy-turvy,
The nausea,
A treason,
The inconsolable human,
A spin onto nowhere,
The grabbing,
The holding,
A thorny hand,
The run,
A footprint on the soul,
The blindfold,
The absent voice,
A demon,
The sun,
A lonely walk on the path chosen, but still afraid to face.
19.2.10
5.2.10
And now I wonder
Grass.
Fields of endless grass.
A whisper.
A sigh.
A couple of them, actually...
Memories of the present crashing into those ones of the past.
[Cascade of notes]
The sun uphigh,
on blue canvas,
making dancing partners for the lonely,
making a grinning spectator of those thoughts of her,
while the moon slumbers,
while the walk keeps going,
the sun on sight,
scratching the green grass.
Sitting down while cigaretting,
while Elioting,
while dreaming,
while dreaming,
no wondering,
just shutting them eyes,
and,
Yet I stare blankly ahead, but no for the reasons which cracked the skyes...
Dare embrace!
Grass.
Fields of endless grass.
A smile.
A thought of the sip of the sour, so inconstant and scalding, and unexpected and booming.
One flies asunder.
While chanting for and about the only one who will understand the song.
Fireworks
and stars...
I am so glad I met you
Fields of endless grass.
A whisper.
A sigh.
A couple of them, actually...
Memories of the present crashing into those ones of the past.
[Cascade of notes]
The sun uphigh,
on blue canvas,
making dancing partners for the lonely,
making a grinning spectator of those thoughts of her,
while the moon slumbers,
while the walk keeps going,
the sun on sight,
scratching the green grass.
Sitting down while cigaretting,
while Elioting,
while dreaming,
while dreaming,
no wondering,
just shutting them eyes,
and,
Yet I stare blankly ahead, but no for the reasons which cracked the skyes...
Dare embrace!
Grass.
Fields of endless grass.
A smile.
A thought of the sip of the sour, so inconstant and scalding, and unexpected and booming.
One flies asunder.
While chanting for and about the only one who will understand the song.
Fireworks
and stars...
I am so glad I met you
20.1.10
Si la música simplemente se desvaneciera...
...la realidad podría morder muchos de los resquicios donde se puede pasar un momento de soledad.
Lead singer Thom Yorke said, " Street Spirit is our purest song, but I didn't write it. It wrote itself. We were just its messengers; its biological catalysts. Its core is a complete mystery to me, and, you know, I wouldn't ever try to write something that hopeless. All of our saddest songs have somewhere in them at least a glimmer of resolve. Street Spirit has no resolve. It is the dark tunnel without the light at the end. It represents all tragic emotion that is so hurtful that the sound of that melody is its only definition. We all have a way of dealing with that song. It's called detachment. Especially me; I detach my emotional radar from that song, or I couldn't play it. I'd crack. I'd break down on stage. That's why its lyrics are just a bunch of mini-stories or visual images as opposed to a cohesive explanation of its meaning. I used images set to the music that I thought would convey the emotional entirety of the lyric and music working together. That's what's meant by 'all these things you'll one day swallow whole'. I meant the emotional entirety, because I didn't have it in me to articulate the emotion. I'd crack...
Our fans are braver than I to let that song penetrate them, or maybe they don't realise what they're listening to. They don't realise that Street Spirit is about staring the fucking devil right in the eyes, and knowing, no matter what the hell you do, he'll get the last laugh. And it's real, and true. The devil really will get the last laugh in all cases without exception, and if I let myself think about that too long, I'd crack.
I can't believe we have fans that can deal emotionally with that song. That's why I'm convinced that they don't know what it's about. It's why we play it towards the end of our sets. It drains me, and it shakes me, and hurts like hell every time I play it, looking out at thousands of people cheering and smiling, oblivious to the tragedy of its meaning, like when you're going to have your dog put down and it's wagging its tail on the way there. That's what they all look like, and it breaks my heart. I wish that song hadn't picked us as its catalysts, and so I don't claim it. It asks too much. I didn't write that song."
Our fans are braver than I to let that song penetrate them, or maybe they don't realise what they're listening to. They don't realise that Street Spirit is about staring the fucking devil right in the eyes, and knowing, no matter what the hell you do, he'll get the last laugh. And it's real, and true. The devil really will get the last laugh in all cases without exception, and if I let myself think about that too long, I'd crack.
I can't believe we have fans that can deal emotionally with that song. That's why I'm convinced that they don't know what it's about. It's why we play it towards the end of our sets. It drains me, and it shakes me, and hurts like hell every time I play it, looking out at thousands of people cheering and smiling, oblivious to the tragedy of its meaning, like when you're going to have your dog put down and it's wagging its tail on the way there. That's what they all look like, and it breaks my heart. I wish that song hadn't picked us as its catalysts, and so I don't claim it. It asks too much. I didn't write that song."
Horrour
Noun [C,U] A misspelling changes it not...Sulphur mocking dawn, burning corneas, exhaling maniacal freedom, crying for help in laughter, whilst all deemed impossible parades by the windows...A dark den where the only thing to haunt could be yourself...Those three words you could only wish you had not heard...A sip of Schadenfreude...The voice of the person next to you calmly turning into a fountain of blood and thunder...A smiling vertigo staring at you without contempt, singing your name...Seizures of sounds without arrangement, of words stricken with blunt ideas of longings of liberty and poetry about the epics of one's common life, of tunes without notes and notes without tunes, of placid thoughts of paranoia...A red, intolerant eye watching your sleep...False salt from false tears...Deafness or blindness?...
14.1.10
A glide
So...
An interstellar glide. I got my trip companion: a whale. By the Butterfly Nebula and all the stars I've seen in dreams. By a cloud in the shape of the head of a horse and a planet that might have given birth to me. By the skin on her back and the stars in her eyes. A curved Universe to travel with her. The uncertain space and the inflexible time. As fast as bright light in search of a sea by a field of red and purple tulips.
So...
An interstellar glide. I got my trip companion: a whale. By the Butterfly Nebula and all the stars I've seen in dreams. By a cloud in the shape of the head of a horse and a planet that might have given birth to me. By the skin on her back and the stars in her eyes. A curved Universe to travel with her. The uncertain space and the inflexible time. As fast as bright light in search of a sea by a field of red and purple tulips.
So...
25.12.09
oh
Drums of war.
Then, the drums of war. Everything is coming on you, on the rest, whether it has been forseen or no one has stopped to think about it. What's blood now but the commonest of the liquids, laid to waste & taken for granted as part of the landscape, the view? What's a life but a tonic, whose effect fades unexpectedly, a tonic which is consumed by the imperviously strong as a formula for eternity, and by the uncontrollably lost as the gates of salvation, both wishing it to fade out since what lies ahead (what actually does not, does never, ain't at all) shines harder?
So go grab a gun & shoot & fight for the false well-being & the status quo that those who are deemed as your fathers brought wrapped in a tiny box of gold. So then slash all flesh in the search for forgiveness & a ticket to grace & the infinite love & drink & food & smiles of one who has supposedly made you.
Pests osmosed into, thus unto each soul on the planet, tore greens & bleus & reds & tunes & motion & ignition & that which cannot be counted as matter.
Oh the Earth trembles.
And I am by the grass, sipping & inhaling, with eyes on the skye. I've hidden horrours in my pockets & sores behind my ears, while keeping nightmares handy. You should know why...
There are dreams of contradiction and ones to contradict.
O so trapped, overwhelmed, disregarded, welcomed, sunk, flown, flowing, dreamt, nightmared, day-slept, numb, so numb, speechless, smiling, attacked, unharmed, torn, born, free...
And I am by the grass, holding onto somebodies, hand in hand with her, hope in mind.
Re-direct...
Then, the drums of war. Everything is coming on you, on the rest, whether it has been forseen or no one has stopped to think about it. What's blood now but the commonest of the liquids, laid to waste & taken for granted as part of the landscape, the view? What's a life but a tonic, whose effect fades unexpectedly, a tonic which is consumed by the imperviously strong as a formula for eternity, and by the uncontrollably lost as the gates of salvation, both wishing it to fade out since what lies ahead (what actually does not, does never, ain't at all) shines harder?
So go grab a gun & shoot & fight for the false well-being & the status quo that those who are deemed as your fathers brought wrapped in a tiny box of gold. So then slash all flesh in the search for forgiveness & a ticket to grace & the infinite love & drink & food & smiles of one who has supposedly made you.
Pests osmosed into, thus unto each soul on the planet, tore greens & bleus & reds & tunes & motion & ignition & that which cannot be counted as matter.
Oh the Earth trembles.
And I am by the grass, sipping & inhaling, with eyes on the skye. I've hidden horrours in my pockets & sores behind my ears, while keeping nightmares handy. You should know why...
There are dreams of contradiction and ones to contradict.
O so trapped, overwhelmed, disregarded, welcomed, sunk, flown, flowing, dreamt, nightmared, day-slept, numb, so numb, speechless, smiling, attacked, unharmed, torn, born, free...
And I am by the grass, holding onto somebodies, hand in hand with her, hope in mind.
Re-direct...
24th
Desde algùn lugar de la ciudad hace un año:
"Compras, despilfarro, corredera...Gente, niños lloriqueando, adultos enfadados...Tráfico, claxonazos, calles vomitantes de tanto tránsito...Pavos de pocos kilos a muchos pesos, comida preparada por los cielos, una en verdad buena cena por los suelos...Tacones, corbatas, ropa nueva...Mensajes imposibles de mandar, llamadas que no llegan, felicitaciones muertas...Lágrimas, abrazos falsos, desencantos...Tiendas vacías, tiendas llenas, hartas tiendas...Romeros, bacalao, ensaladas...Vino, sidra, algo de tequila...Robo a mano armada, robo a casa-habitación, robo de automóvil...Juguetes, dulces, ponche...Borrachos impertinentes, borrachos enojados, borrachos meados...Dormir acompañado, dormir en cama ajena, dormir en una silla o en el suelo mismo...Aquellos a quien amas, aquellos a quien no, aquellos que te valen madre...Aquellos quienes no te entienden, aquellos que apuntan con el dedo cada vez que pueden, aquellos que te ignoran...Uvas perdidas, cenas resueltas, cenas inversas...Demencia senil, palabras chuecas, películas sin terminar...Regalos dados antes de tiempo, regalos pensados, regalos amados...Regalos a tiempo, regalos previos, regalos y al fin regalos...Árboles, adornos verdes, musgo y muérdago...Cierto es, el 24 ha llegado. No se ustedes, pero a mí hasta lo amargo se hace peculiarmente divertido."
Chale...Nada ha cambiado...Podría decir lo que me ocurrió a mi fue algo mejor.
"Compras, despilfarro, corredera...Gente, niños lloriqueando, adultos enfadados...Tráfico, claxonazos, calles vomitantes de tanto tránsito...Pavos de pocos kilos a muchos pesos, comida preparada por los cielos, una en verdad buena cena por los suelos...Tacones, corbatas, ropa nueva...Mensajes imposibles de mandar, llamadas que no llegan, felicitaciones muertas...Lágrimas, abrazos falsos, desencantos...Tiendas vacías, tiendas llenas, hartas tiendas...Romeros, bacalao, ensaladas...Vino, sidra, algo de tequila...Robo a mano armada, robo a casa-habitación, robo de automóvil...Juguetes, dulces, ponche...Borrachos impertinentes, borrachos enojados, borrachos meados...Dormir acompañado, dormir en cama ajena, dormir en una silla o en el suelo mismo...Aquellos a quien amas, aquellos a quien no, aquellos que te valen madre...Aquellos quienes no te entienden, aquellos que apuntan con el dedo cada vez que pueden, aquellos que te ignoran...Uvas perdidas, cenas resueltas, cenas inversas...Demencia senil, palabras chuecas, películas sin terminar...Regalos dados antes de tiempo, regalos pensados, regalos amados...Regalos a tiempo, regalos previos, regalos y al fin regalos...Árboles, adornos verdes, musgo y muérdago...Cierto es, el 24 ha llegado. No se ustedes, pero a mí hasta lo amargo se hace peculiarmente divertido."
Chale...Nada ha cambiado...Podría decir lo que me ocurrió a mi fue algo mejor.
15.12.09
la mer
"The Sea looks for itself and finds itself and shouts and flees."
In a Summer afternoon I spread into the horizon, able to caress the shores where people gather to sip on dreams of infinity. Breath infused waves with the beat of my heart, going to and fro in an eternal dance with the attentive Moon. Fish, monsters, reefs, whales and every single particle swarmed with life lay dormant in the wait of the explosion of percussion and brass. With the wind as accomplice I used each of the clouds as bows to play on strings of blue skies what a Frenchman composed to serve as a companion for the sound of the ocean. On the 23rd day of the infinite month I shrouded my world with the joy of a sea that as vast as it is could fit in my soul. There was nothing to fear inasmuch as time lost itself in the eyes that reflect the shine of the stars. There was nothing to doubt because of the might which drifted madness and sanity into a crack in the floor of the sea until each note had faded. For twenty-three minutes those three sketches brought into existence by a virtuoso man drove me abstracted and lonely, omnipresent and embraced, complete and asunder. For those twenty-three minutes I could finally sense I am green and humid.
Animé et tumultueux...
A paroxysm of water...
'An empty seat to the left and one to the right regarding wherever she might have wished to have sat...'
In a Summer afternoon I spread into the horizon, able to caress the shores where people gather to sip on dreams of infinity. Breath infused waves with the beat of my heart, going to and fro in an eternal dance with the attentive Moon. Fish, monsters, reefs, whales and every single particle swarmed with life lay dormant in the wait of the explosion of percussion and brass. With the wind as accomplice I used each of the clouds as bows to play on strings of blue skies what a Frenchman composed to serve as a companion for the sound of the ocean. On the 23rd day of the infinite month I shrouded my world with the joy of a sea that as vast as it is could fit in my soul. There was nothing to fear inasmuch as time lost itself in the eyes that reflect the shine of the stars. There was nothing to doubt because of the might which drifted madness and sanity into a crack in the floor of the sea until each note had faded. For twenty-three minutes those three sketches brought into existence by a virtuoso man drove me abstracted and lonely, omnipresent and embraced, complete and asunder. For those twenty-three minutes I could finally sense I am green and humid.
Animé et tumultueux...
A paroxysm of water...
'An empty seat to the left and one to the right regarding wherever she might have wished to have sat...'
to the other J
O the essence I wrote about some time ago...
The talks about the thing which matters not and matters most have been told to crash down. The shouts of rebuke cause of this or that have been said to be nawt but two mouths just babbling, yet entertaining they wore. The silence in notes and the one for themselves will turn actually silent. The voice of whatsoeveriwontjudgeyou shakes itself of pride and turns and goes
Ired me,
Heard me,
Wore me,
Huggled me,
Thrusted me,
Affectiont me.
You'll be there I reckon,
Yet..........yet,
The talks about the thing which matters not and matters most have been told to crash down. The shouts of rebuke cause of this or that have been said to be nawt but two mouths just babbling, yet entertaining they wore. The silence in notes and the one for themselves will turn actually silent. The voice of whatsoeveriwontjudgeyou shakes itself of pride and turns and goes
Ired me,
Heard me,
Wore me,
Huggled me,
Thrusted me,
Affectiont me.
You'll be there I reckon,
Yet..........yet,
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