Will Oldham

Get wise..

;)

http://www.morose.fsnet.co.uk/essays/oldham/human_animal.htm

...the return of the comeback kid

The sun lurched across the planes, coating the little houses, the vast prairies and the odd mountains with a tingle of deception. The same eyes he had used to greet strangers and betray loyal acquaintances and lovers.. The same two globes of fire that would ignite when a kill was ready.. when the decision had taken steps in the mind and there was no turning back.. they were there, sentient sentries eager to perform..he always felt incensed but the rage never seemed to overtake him.. he was cool for lack of a better word.. others might include stale, inhuman, unscrupulous and you could count them in under the number of adjectives he could cover himself with.. to him however, these were all coats to loose for him to wear, as for the vanity of words.. he didn’t care for these imposed sobriquets, he preferred to counter his own delusions with monikers of his own..

had you asked him at the time I'll venture he’d fancied himself to be detached, solitary, taken to his thoughts.. brooding, reflective.. he enjoyed his company and loved the innocence of his fellows humans.. he just didn’t enjoy their faults.. he didn’t agree with them.. they reminded him of his dark trimmings.. it’s hard enough to fend off the specters that inhabit your shadows.. the faint ethers of the light that give you joy and make you smile… “There’s no further need to usher forward the constant reminders of that decadence that will precede us” he’d say.. he always enjoyed a tad of the word weaving.. said you could measure a man by the words he employs, the silence he will command and the respect he will conquer.. and that all forms of non verbal communication although harder to pick up, would provide you with all the amount of information needed to shape up your awareness..before even you actually heard someone pull their weight around any exchange..and he is a good talker, a really good talker.....he can drink everyone with few words..

To be honest, do you really even believe what I just said? Me who can always see what is broken but can never find a way to fix it .. What if someone like me who is privy to this sort of behavior began acting in an entirely manner, with the sole purpose of throwing you of your scent,… this would be the perfect cover… so tie me down as cunning, sly, manipulative and subversive.. Sounds too much like the description of someone whose head is already too far up his own ass, by even so i'll indulge..after all, I’m just like a whisper (under the guise of words)..

Feeling Spiritual...

***

Enlighten yourselves !

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weltschmerz
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dukkha
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukha
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_marks_of_existence
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noble_Eightfold_Path
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Noble_Truths
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karma_in_Buddhism
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sa%E1%B9%83s%C4%81ra_(Buddhism)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prat%C4%ABtyasamutp%C4%81da
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skandha

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all the colours sleep

***

I feel the wind changing, the tide turning.. i feel... that is the first step into assuming I'm real again, not a secluded ghost locked inside the hermit body that carries out my folly..

I hear her voice, like a well kept secret, how she has the precision to be firm yet gentle, the frailty and decisiveness with which she plucks the strings... it sounds so pure, unencumbered.. full of purpose and nonchalant at the same time..

This is how i picture you, head cocked to the side, watching the rain tear up the London skyline from you Victorian Student Dorm.. This is how imagine you all by yourself, wearing a button down flannel black shirt and white hotpants - you always knew that look drove me wild - getting up and dancing with the particles of dust spread across the room, humming along to a melody you picked up years ago, the same we shared when we kissed under the rampant moonshine..

The guitar is yours to pick and when you cry inside you let go the warmest of sighs.. the thought alone breaks my heart but the look of you makes me strong again.. and you place you hair behind your ear with your free hand and you signal me to hush myself.. and you blow me a kiss and you blow me away..taken by surprise

you're there somewhere behind the eyes that scan me, the voice that melts me, the laughter that chokes me to bits, the scent that tears me apart... the beauty that broke me open.. that moment is frozen forever and i relive it everytime i think of you..

and no one came closer ever again.. and i hope you do.. but one wanders.. was it cold that night?

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Need i say more

***

Dare I say more? Look at him. But don't allow yourself to be drawn into his wake

or you will be drenched in his unique aura.. He looks like a specter, yet so full of life

I'd venture he's a demon, something outwardly, out of this realm. But how much of that is

the actual truth and how much of that is actually my inability to understand what he represents?

My brain is only wired for so little, it speaks far too much of what he understands..

How brains are the ultimate pant shitters. So coward, unwilling to take risks, dependable..

and like every sheep following the pastor, they to can go south, go against the program

go astray..be led astray.. This precludes any notion of responsibility of choice but rather

reinforces the fact that we aren't as active in deciding how much of our life’s is under how control

it's all a neatly constructed illusion, and we are the architects of this grandiose collective act of denial..

Thoughts come. Show themselves. Flirt with the possibility of being caught. then retreat to where they’ve come

or try to seek refuge somewhere else. A new head, a wilder mind, a lucid dream. Yes. Ideas are sentient.

He knows this. I know this. Because i am aware of this reality, the others take it for granted.

He sits there doing his best to hold his own with little effort. What people don't know is how much this asks of him.

Yet he is willing to give everything, if only he gets some in return or advance. Order is not of the essence.

He ponders silently, takes time to consume his words, ideas he has thrown into the fire of doubt..

Around this table as i sit here, there is far less to be expected. i don’t know where they come from.

I don't remember being here before yet it all seems too familiar. I don't recall ever meeting them,

but they all seem to know me somehow

or know of me..

…

Her legs are crossed and she poses no threat. Her sockets are empty.. someone stole her rubies long ago. Her smile is just a row of teeth and her face wears a look of casual indifference

…

The kid disturbs me more than anyone. He wears his head on his lap…

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The Haka

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Noir Désir - Ces gens-là (Jacques Brel)

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