Originally Posted: 12/16/07
"Cause I need to watch things die
From a good safe distance
Vicariously, I
Live while the whole world dies."
Raw with sorrow, wracked with rage, he struggles through days that all seem the same. Its uncanny, the way the world detests you and everything that can go bad tends to. He's got Christmas wishes that won't come true, because his dearest desires always lie with you. They fester like cancer, unleashed in his blood. He grows feverish, shrieking, mad with the need to be near you and though it may seem like greed he's still human.
Recurring, concurrent, contiguous, vigorous appetites snapping like blasphemy. Wallowing deep in his madness. ragic, like magic words: caustic. And arsenic. Drowning, he's frowning. Manipulate, subjugated, hated and raped. Controlled, parolled, a temporary freedom. Liberty liberates liars. A swansong, a deathknell, God's magnum opus: unfinished, diminished, devoured, deflowered, empowered. He beats at the door. Ironic, catatonic, he screams in his sleep. Stories of insidious beauty, abhorring, deploring, distorting. The shadow of a man: berated, benighted, alighted on a tomb of pure ivory. Savoring, salivating, cackling, crackling fire. Howl at the wind, the bay of a wolf. The hooves of reindeer on the roof.
But what does it mean? That constant question resurfacing. Meaning is the quest that arrests our rest and beckons us into a journey. It wreaks havoc on our minds like addiction until we fulfill it, sate it and then we can live. Here the meaning is easy t discern for it came from my mind, I compsed the words. There are some riddles, some rhyme and some scheme but when it all boils down what you're left with is me. The man all my conjecture that dreams and screams and wishes for days, who plays in the rain and wears a bright face, who hides and lies so nefariously, the man in all of this nonsense is me. He throws his vocabulary recklessly round to cover his shame, for deep-seated affections, infections abound. Erect he walks brazenly into the world, though he bows and he swoons for the love of a girl who grasps at the moon and sings of his doom, like fantasy novels and poems.
Metaphors be with you, a wise man once said. A wiser man dropped the word play. Elvira. I enoy the song.
What's wrong? Have I strayed from the point? Allow me a moment of justafuckation. The meaning is nothing, it can't be explained. Neither by rhyming or rythmn or languages maimed. I can blend all the franglish I please, I can whip words into shape, slaves on their knees but none of it matters when whats behind it is hollow. Maybe I'll change my mind by tomorrow. For now, though, I love you. How easily said? I leave you to wonder, now, just what it meant.
Ever Yours,
Scar Rider
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