Following

Claiming names, throughout all the ages. Trapping them down and locking them set and firm; we rise to ride your spirit's name. Never ever may you leave, no matter where your goal. You run our streets, the route that we choose. You continue to peer up, but there is no way out. Instead we will make sure to drag you down with us, locking you down, keeping you down, down, down, how can you be down, are you down, down, until you're under the ground. Under the ground, where you fight the good fight. Under the ground away from big words and bright light. Under the ground, because we know what's right. Under the ground, locked up, nice and tight.

You are my star, my light in the sky. I will chase you star, until end-time. I will keep by you, now and all night. You are my star, and you shall be mine.

The Kursk

I'll always come back to you, there's no choice in the matter. I won't stop following you. You can't build a wall that's strong enough to teach me right from wrong.

Not even what I thought of a minute ago. Shoot. Dunno. I blame Matt Elliot and Dax Riggs fluttering around. Maybe it'll come back to me.

I cut her feet off and buried them beneath my home, before planting her right in my yard. The screams were nowhere near as painful as her claws raking at my window in desperation, clicking and clacking away. One night I smashed her head, smiling at the sap she sprang to me. It tasted better than any sweet, any fruit that ever could be discovered. Now she looks just like the trees all around my house. But it hasn't stopped her from clawing at my window, again and again.

Execution Habits

Sleeping on a little grave, happy, thoughtless, until you show up. "What's mine is mine, and what's yours was mine." No, I say, that's not true. "What's true is mine, and what's mine is mine." And now my hands are not my own. We long for your hair, your eyes, your lips. We'd cut ourself apart in order to get a hint of your identity. We don't care for the substitution they offered themselves. It is clear, they were right with the initial effort. They thought they could throw us out away, like such garbage.

"I survived abortion;"

Dream group: The Spaceape on VOX, Burial/Kode9/The Bug on mix, FlyLo live synths & drum programming, Justin Broadrick live guitar, Dave Cochrane live bass, Ted Parsons live drums.

Send them rolling along down the street, send them flying out the window, send them hurtling to the sewers rapid currents, send them through the windshield, through the door, through the wall, through the gates. Send them all through, piece by piece, one by one. Send them into dust filled coffins, bury them quick, and tell no one. Send them right into the packs of dogs, covered in juice from bleeding steaks. Send them right into the water, gasping for breath, and take turns shooting him until his arteries fill with sea water. Send them into space where they can't even hear a sound until they hear the life leak out their eyes. Send them into the flame so dense that they feel their bones twist and shout for them. Send them hurtling into gehenna, with such a neverending plummet, that they almost crave to land in the land of punishment; send them flying up, up, high, higher, hoping they crash upon heaven and dash their brains all over the clouds. Send them through life, confused, alone, scared, naked, stripped down to pieces and remains. Send them along, send them. And send them again.

Like Bile

Pity the Idiot Pilot didn't hack it for "Wolves". Maybe next time guys. But it doesn't look good for them...

She keeps on drowning and won't draw the hose right out. It's a joke, sick one at that, but it's laughable. There's no point, and nobody learns the lesson. It keeps replaying. People actually have learned to laugh at it. Except you. You're never going to learn. This won't end fast, and you won't end it. Your dick only digs holes deeper, it doesn't heal them. Good thing you're scared now. Too scared to touch, too scared to cave in. Building up walls now? I'd rather drown in her place, it'd make it all easier.

I'm not really this pretentious and self-absorbed. I just happen to get that way with words written out. Vocalizing this makes me seem normal.

"Los Angeles" is still good. "Third" is still good. "The Ruiner" is still good.

Tomorrow's the beginning of a new day. I hope I'm someone else. I hope I died yesterday and I just haven't woken up. I hope you die tomorrow. So I can look forward to ending today. Then I can miss the days gone by. And you. And him. And him. And him. And him. 'cause that wasn't me. And I'm not the one you saw today. At least by tomorrow, I won't be anyway.

Calls End To Quickly

Sometimes I'm wondering what I'm doing, when I get TOO idealistic. Certain things are completely unreasonable to have faith in sometimes. I have a feeling it doesn't work out in my future, and I continue. It's nothing healthy.

Don't mind me. I'm just standing here. If I steal from you, it means I love you. You worked hard to keep me alive. With you, I can eat another day. I can sleep easy, I can go hide away. Breaking down. You are my best and perfect friend. My barks are smiles, my knives are hugs, and your fear is the hope that we can still be friends. We will always be friends. I need you.

John Darnielle's 33 1/3 is brilliant. Any book that avoids masturbation and goes straight for real and honest adoration, that's a gem.

They're calling me out to sea, I can see their smiles. Maybe that's where they belong. They dream they live like princes thrown out of a kingdom made of gold. Could that really be true? And so what about me? Why don't I get a castle of my own? I should keep one foot on their neck, always and evermore. Because I'm afraid they won't share the top with me.

Maybe this will all make sense.