This just in....

Here is the 8 minute trailer of the Kiss or Kill Documentary. Featuring the bands that were integral in its beginnings and being. Including Ze Auto Parts.

El Fin De Semana

This is truly the end. I did, I tried to end this blog a few months ago, but I went back and did a couple of new entries this month, just like an old addiction, or habits from the past, but the ghost of a past lingers here that I cannot will back in my life, and does not seem to have any room in my life now. It's weird how we move on. Without even trying it seems.

I started this blog 18 months ago, perhaps to document the moments of one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all times, ZE AUTO PARTS or maybe it was to keep the vision and the dream alive, these diaries stand in faith and testament to one band only: THE MOTHER F'ING ZEITGEIST AUTO PARTS.

The complete Motor Wilson Band Diaries can be found in my personal collection, an account named, "Rock and Roll Night From Hell," which I may someday publish, but are so not yet ready for public consumption.

As Ze Auto Parts has been on indefinite hiatus for some months now, I guess I finally decided to move on, not that I gave up hope of it ever coming back, I just tired of waiting. I need to play

I'm playing guitar in my new project, currently titled Bad Mother Motor. a bad ass project, with some kick ass musicians, and some same as before musicians and I'm in this thing for the long haul.

Motor Wilson Band Diaries may or may not be over, and Ze Auto Parts may or may not be over but whichever, where ever and when ever, I will continue to write and rock for years to come.

Thanks for reading. Carry on My FRIENDS!!

MUCH LOVE ALWAYS,
Motor Wilson

A Damn Good Rehearsal

For two days, going out of my mind, crazy, within four walls and my mind

till it hit it's peak right before I knew what it was going to do
my heart going crazy, did you smoke enough cigarettes today you crazy lady

"when i used to go out i'd know everyone i saw,
now i go out alone, if i go out at all"

no, i need a drink i say to soothe this madness but really the calm came when from within i reached for the guitar
plugged it into it's soul, sweating with fear, nauseas with fear until
the loud sounds came crashing down, out of my guitar, out of their guitars, out of our guitars, heavy like blood gushing, and i knew the words, cuz i wrote them god dammit.
there is nothing that can cure the madness cut the tension like rocking out with a band of heavy metal musicians heavy metal madness who knew it was in me who knew it'd be who i'd one day become embrace
who knew it'd fucking save me

So, I'm Writing Here Again

Because I feel honored, and lucky to know. And I don't want to fall into old patterns and the familiar trap. Now I know, Play music Mou. That is all you can do.

the suspense is killing me

Boys and legs and rain flooding these islands
the suspense is killing me and i'm tired of waiting for tomorrow
which will be here eventually

today, feeling so restless i had to release these words
some callous bitch who dared me to beg, dared me to wish
dared me, oh please,
when it's the dude next door and his sexy sexy hair it's gotta be good

so instead i drink i drink i drink margaritas with the sexy bartender boy
a piranha sister with my little secret potion that makes them all fall
right?

it's really a joke but you know there is a sea of world out there of boys
and men
i reckon i'll see them soon
cuz i wouldn't have it any other way

Official Hiatus

I am taking an official hiatus from writing on this site. I am tired of advertising every thought, daily dramas, stupid little little problems of band life when the state of affairs in this world are disheartening, discouraging, devastating. when there is so much suffering in the world. Humiliation, abuse, corporate evil killing innocent people, animals, wildlife, I just can't bear to share these thoughts anymore.

LOOK HERE GIRLS: Stop worrying about how your hair looks, how skinny you are, how this how that and please do something that goes beyond yourself. Stop being so self involved that you have to get addicted to drugs because you can't stand this world, or yourself. GET OVER YOURSELF, and go help someone, i don't care if you walk to raise money for AIDS or Breast Cancer, or if you join the Peace Corps. Do something. stop being so self-involved. stop fishing for accolades, for adoration, (sometimes art can seem so superficial). create art for others, not for fame. not for money. Really do it for the greater good. I am so discouraged by the self absorption of mankind. Get out of your head for once and do something good even if it's just a smile to your neighbor on the train. Day 1. Day 2 do something bigger.

In search for selfless art and to focus on the real work I do, and to do it better, I am taking an official hiatus from Motor Wilson Band Diaries, but will continue to write music,lyrics, social commentary, etc...

Please read on for all the past song entries and chronicles of band life in various form in the city of angels, Los Angeles. A city which has gripped my soul with fear, burned my heart with hate, but has allowed me to grow as an artist and a person. I love you Los Angeles.

some part of the journey

and sometimes i wanna walk away, figure it'd be easier that way
since i idnetify your way
not their way
but my soul my soul my soul i say
doesn't look at politics and anatomy and body parts
it feeds on true instinct and knows the road
though my head would like to aruge it too knows
there is a reason for every season
even though it would seem
busy or perhaps preoccupied, even hiding
hybernating? and everyone else seems to know it think it
that this is just part of the journey
and sometimes it hurts to breathe

she's just busy

i'm over the wishing well.
the biltmore bravmore hopemore stale
when i'm here because the health of my soul is well
a plane that the lipstick ladies panty parties did not bode me
sure i miss and i envitize and wanna answer every call and be social and
free and sunshine gal, many late nights every night who wouldn't wanna be
everyday laughter and wine outdoor festivals and parties
and the disappointment in your voice that maybe i don't hear
or maybe i do
that i just can't let settle
"she's just busy, she's just busy"

i've had to pick my battles, my priorities
but in the end i'm happy
in the end i'm happy
that i didn't keep going until 7am
that i wasn't fighting the demons at 10am
that i'm not sitting around anxious and confused
needing a glass of wine everynight and a fluctuating social life
she's just busy

and though my existence to you seems a series of arms-length friendships
to me they're more, mean more, you're more, though i don't see you every day
i don't need to and this you know
and sometimes i guess it doesn't settle well with you, you'll settle for seeing every few months for a blow out party extravaganza, she's just busy you tell yourself, you know i'm still around, you know i'll always be around

because i reside with my soul
settled in this cove
of course i'm still trying to make it all work
because i identify as something slightly else

my bed is made

there is a realization i am coming to perhaps again needing to revist the old dreams, old relationships, because there was something there
and i have to be there for someone else who didn't allow me to breathe before
"that's nice of you" i'm told when i speak of my plans, my day
and another laughed, he said, "just thinking about what you must have gone through motor." but unless i feed i don't get to go where i want to go. this is my bed, and maybe there is a balance. we'll just have to see.

why this writer must create music

if writing is the art then music is the vessel in which to transport the art. i thrive on the interaction. writing can be such a lonely activity. through music we can communicate on a more universal plane. though it is a much harder process indeed. to write a song, when these simple words come out so easy. just throw a rhythym behind it, and i'm happy.

for whom it really doesn't matter

another weekend of way too much partying
at least I was with my city girls, all the way from san francisco
y' know tattoed sex toy freaks, where there are no rules. there are no rules to follow so no one recognizes when you break them, or do something traditional
no one notices no one recognizes no one comments just praises because you are who you are you do what you do and you recognize sexual freedom whether in action or state of mind. it really doesn't matter. and i love them for that.

we sat and talked for hours about the years that passed behind us. not knowing what is ahead of us, but proud for where we've been, what we've done and for recognizing what most do not, for there are no rules, and the rules really don't matter. i love them this.

and i now today come to acknowledge this different life out here, that often i feel forced to live because of who i love, trapped by love so often i feel, and even though it's so not me, so not me to be so love-lee, i'm here and this is how i've been living, sometimes frustrated, but mostly safe and happy, working so busy. and these words wouldn't come so easily if everything were perfect and shady. at least these words have come from this to gain.

inspiration comes random

inspiration comes random like Sarah from Marla Hooch who has her paying talent her livelihood designing buildings, architect, on a shoe string budget, but its her own thing. she plays bass in the band by night and it brings her joy.
the double job. the day job and the night job is the only way i can and want to exist. for i seek happiness and to be in my own skin, to do what comes natural to me.
if you don't like it go sit your ass down somewhere and worry about your own self my pretty
for i know what i need to do, and i can't explain it any better to you, and yes, i know it makes me tired, and i wish there was a different answer, but this is me, this is what i do.
inspiration comes random, between the pages of a society magazine, i read the stories of the the beatnik, living urban, creating realities based on intellect and idealism, not money. and i know i must work. i must continue this work by day and by night, two distinct realities, doing what i can. every spare moment i can i will sleep.
inspiration is no longer a glass of red wine, or endless nights hanging out with the trendy kids, who all moved here from somewhere, drinking, smoking, filling up time with the social bill. inspiration comes random and resonates within you for days to come.

everything is wrong with everything that was perfect before

if i could have it my way, i'd never step foot in another one of those fany upper-echlons of high class and short skirted, techno beated, silky straitened hair, french-tip manicured hussied hip house hollywood dance clubs packed with the corporate tie sausage basket, just as i could never sit in blonde-bimbo playboy mansion villed, except that we're all suckers for a pretty face, who is the one you love? he's gyrating on the floor overdosing on pills. it was in the news. that's not my scene either.

the club scene is where i was born where black lipstick met fishnet met red pumps and sex pistols, but the club scene changed overnight and all the country farm fed girls got a taste of the city when they came to hollywood to become a star or famous by association or money, not where i grew up at all. not at all. and now it's circa 2007. they own the shit. all we have left are a few measly dive bars in this city, the alcohol drenched dive bars with the tatted bartendress, that's all that is left.

remember the lipstick lesbians who danced with the drag queens next to the long haired tattooed rocker boys circa 1988, that's where i would go. that's where i will go. late at night despite my mother's fright. and take designer drugs by moonlight. high forever. high all night.
who do we have to fuck to get a bed by the window?

indecisive

feeling so indecisive today what to do
should one continue to drive and drive and drive
or should one merely sit back and enjoy the countryside
is it possible to drive and enjoy, but maybe not when someone else is behind the wheel
and when you wanna be in a different car
with different people
when in actuality that is not even the truth
the people in this car are quite fun indeed

feeling so indecisive today where to go
a million things piled on my plate
and last night a sugar coma ensued

do all 3 you may have time indeed
or just take it easy and wait....

i love

to spend a quiet afternoon at home, in the shade, in total silence
after the house had been cleaned, and make myself dinner, write a song.

shifting gears

and in reverse, but not for this gal and not at this time, unless it's a mere two steps back to go one step forward.
but during this retrograde it's time to sit and think they say, so they say, which is fine i say

and it's really a matter of time and of money
and it's really a matter of time and of money
and art cannot exist without the latter
art cannot exist unless you can subsist
you need to make money
you need to make a living
how can you make art if you can't feed yourself

that's what my father always says

that's what the fathers always say

and can we incorporate art and humanity while balancing your beauty sleep and spending money livelihood and livability she cries as she drives on the freeway down the mountainous stretch, overpass. the sun glaring on her skin arms and face, the greenhouse effect should get her light on her feet but the other day got her down.

dead weight

don't get caught up with dead weight
one that is all three spiritually, physically and mentally sinking

because they will deadpan and hold you back

when you come together for a reason, it can only be art and passion
otherwise there is no reason

people getting greedy, when their limitations really don't match up, and it's painful and away far but it's even harder when they strike out, it's really truly odd and ungrateful behaviour.

the latest destination

in the front yard bits of pieces of cars and furniture strewn,
inside the laughter of people, smoking and drinking, and a microphone
on these barren valley streets, the sun goes down
at the walgreens the high school kids lolly around
theres overflowing garages and many friends, some high density chaos
teen pregnant mothers and working class men
hanging out on the streets into all hours of the night
it looks like a quiet working class suburb but it's really a rock and roll destination
with long hair and half japan, half oakland and out the closet, the rock and roll dream all subsiding together together
let's go over the hill, or not, where all the pretentions beautiful people dream
here on the other side people live life simple to be simple and never never clean

i've been pulled away from the city and into this wasteland again
but i brought myself back here 100% on purpose, only 7 miles away, knowing it's rock and roll black smoke cloud is in my bones, and the vast desert space allows our energies to flow. though seemingly stark and infertile, arid and dry, it's comfort and sun and impoverished cactus plants on the dried up lawn, motorcycle parts, broken air-conditioners, some picket some barbed wire, if you try real hard you can smell the methamphetamine in the air, and the scent of the virgines maria, while you squint at the illegal aliens, scraping food from the bottom of our plate, mmm vegan mexican miss Leonore, it's all here in the valley of the dolls.

on being light and vague

there is no need to hurt people's feelings when you're feeling this cut-throat
like a dog in a dog eat dog world, since you're a huge opportunist rat anyway right? and up until now had to lie your way to where you are, being even more light and vague than imaginable. that was your youth. light and vague. more so than you're willing to now. people thought you were something else. someone else. maybe you even had yourself fooled. or you were just taking your time, in no hurry, wise and knowing that this what you needed to do at the time, where you needed to be, even though it left you so unfulfilled and angry. frustrated. but you took the steps you needed, the baby steps you needed. for you. i guess people didn't know. and they walked all over you thinking you weak, when you had a plan all along, a blueprint that would materialize in it's own time.

finally she says you realize your worth. finally you agree you realize your worth. finally in reality you know that that's not the case at all, but that now all your time is done, dues and debts paid, get out of jail after 3 turns on the dice. finally i guess it's time to live your life. free from the prison you yourself created, for a reason, I say. For a reason, you say.

followed by a rough and long weekend...

monday night and it's still going strong or smelling fowl of the weekend that splattered into pieces and back together again
and the holes leave me sad, such a sentimental fool, and the tables turn and the friends come home, after a long time in the other country
with long hair and unshaven legs, singing of freedom into my ears freedom into my own dirty unwashed jet black greasy hair

it's funny how when you follow your spirit into your soul, your fellow aura becomes whole, your world though feeble and scary stands on your solid ground, slightly leaning but not easily broken from the root. as long as you know, as long as you know. it's all inevitable anyway, but you'll do what is true, what you have to

the circus clowns, the songs and the semi-fairy tales, all of a sudden making sense, making sense out of mere pennies and you realize you've dreamt about this a million times, a million times over, and the night has been so long, the night has been so dark that the tears won't stop flowing. and you realize that the music still keeps playing.

presumptious

serially in tune and never missing a step
of course people go there to remind you of when you were not
but still at this age at this point of life it's the only thing i've got
that takes me towards truth and love and life
your best friend worries but it's really all for naught

being gay and loving a man is never as easy as it seems
being straight and loving a woman is even harder i'd assume, although i say just go with it and live with it love who you wanna love do what you want

but she's gotta come out someday i assume. and we need to guide her in the right direction. but lesbian bars are not her cup of tea. she is still so lonely. she falls for her superiors. her friends. she's just gotta come out, i assume, and then i may be wrong. presumptious. all our paths are not alike.

the rough and long week

they happen upon us like a sick and deadly pms
i guess you don't realize till it's over
the crap and shit you felt and angry words that spewed out of your mouth
all over
the drama of your life when there is no such thing as drama you drama queen
just trying to keep it together, trying to keep it together
when just feeling so ready to toss in the damn towel

and then all of a sudden its over
the sun shines and it's friday
all is hopeful and sleep takes over

proliteriate

time is such a commodity these days rare and arbitrary
sleep takes up most my nights
and so many people want a piece so many things need a piece deserve more than a piece
a cancellation here and there brings peace

god i hate the drudgery of the 9 to 5 even though it's slowed down
still wanting to take what i need, but somehow always feeling guilty
or afraid

not the evenings indeed for what i choose and what i decide is what will ultimately be
but too much absenteeism can never be good and i tread lightly

my blood boils hot when i think about time
and how i need this proliferation, and the notes keep coming out me
if only nurtured more nourishingly

god dammit its my time. and i want to own it. the day to day is killing me but i guess i'm still working towards it and i'm not as old and tired as i feel. so keep going. but all the million things that need me most suffer so dearly.

no more mr.nice guy?

when you are a nice person it seems that people walk all over you
and trying to be tough to be funny, or funnily tough just comes off wrong or unnatural and perhaps makes people angry. and there is an angry side to all of us, and if you're always nice then perhaps the angry side is a joke, something people don't think they should tolerate. or maybe certain people and certain situations bring out the mean ugly side of us, but to generalize seems so unfair. to pigeon hole that person to that anger to that situation seems unfair. and does it give the others the right to retaliate?

oh and the recording starts today

it's into the recording studio we go. off to see the wizard the wonderful wizard of oz. because because because because because

all these words that have been turned into songs will be turned into digitized numbers measure into measures of rhythms and beats. to go. so cool. so fun.

and the name is just a marker of where we are today. and no one knows what the future holds. so easily untold.

nature is non-forgiving

in terms like wonderment and merriment and reticent i lift my head off the pillow
the joke of the dance wish it would settle in my bones but somehow its stuck sifting through the recesses of my insides somewhere between the esophagus and the belly
how can i find sheer comfort in the natural way of things when nature in and of itself is so non-forgiving.
i'm finding it difficult to believe in the sacrament of the here and now, difficult to wait for the future which is only shaped by what you do now. afraid of the pocket.
the words of the people ring heavy in my ears not knowing what limited advice and direction they offer. there words are meant to be helpful. when in reality you know you got here for a reason. and there is no lie in the truth. but there is perception in the facts. or how they are deciphered. depicted. and somehow some other way perhaps it could be rewritten. but the journey is mine. the process is mine to discover and unfold on my own.

some songs fall off

one a million songs. not all songs are good. most are crap and need to be worked, reworked, thrown away, pulled back out of the garbage, refurbished and reworked. playing them for an audience is the true test fo what a song sounds like, feels like and looks like. but then again the audience has their favorites. everyone has a different favorite perhaps. some songs are good across the board, and some songs are not so good. if the artist does not like a song themself they can self fulfill the propehcy onto their audience. the audience will know how the artist feels about a song. when an artist is passionate about their song it will come through. some songs just naturally fall off. maybe to be revisited. although some never see the light of day again.

i quit my job

stability has flown out the window along with tener cuidado or tread safely. i quit my job. just walked out a couple fridays ago. didn't even give two weeks. i've just paid too many dues to suffer this mental health anymore. at the hands of neurotic, nit-pickers. i felt like i was 16 again, or 26. those were the other times when i just walked out on jobs without so much as a bye. you know the type where you burn the bridge. that kind. where you can't use them as a reference and you know it's pretty bad when i don't even give a fuck.

i can't give an answer as to why or how i did it. i just knew i didn't want to go back, and couldn't bear another 2 weeks. the answer was so simple. right then. and now there are no regrets. to speak the truth, that job was bad. stressful. neurotic. from day one. who was i kidding? i've been in the work force for a long time. i know a good job from a shitty one. i guess i liked the people, who are there still, convincing themselves still that the job is worth it. but i know the truth. it doesn't have to drain you like that one. plus now i can focus on the things that are important to me.....

my mother already has that role.

somehow people still mistake me and forget that i'm anti-materialistic, anti-manicured bullshit anti-mainstreamsociety, anti-hollywoodnamedroppingglamourgalbeauracracybull, and i wonder why i ever tried to care, believed all scenes are created alike, when they're not, and now i know because your friendship is meaningless to me and i have no more time for the lies, falseiquities, or so-called friends who don't get me or who want to change me. i've got my mother already filling that role.

history and reverie

so i spent a day and a half just lying around moping around the house or peddling around the city, visiting different people, and places, and old friends who inspire me and live off the cuff, who have done things and continue to do things against the grain despite the masses telling them to do one thing, the same thing, but then instead following their hearts instead of the other's words. and filling my head with different stories about southern baptist revival singers, and jazz trumpet players, and classical violinists and old motown r&b singers. and i smell the old vinyl records, watch their aged hands move and i'm filled with the smallness of my own youth and a growing reverie for history, and music and those who followed the dark but colorful and free path before me and i travel down these old roads that take me to places like the bayou or some island off the coast of new orleans, some brothel in nashville, or some artsy mid-western bar in chicago with a string quarter, or some lesbian sex shop in hollywood filled with latex and lube. i reckon how comfortable i feel around musicians and lesbians, and people who nourish the artist and musician in me, and the anti-corporate in me, anti-9to5 in me, i no longer giving a shit about so many things except for this anymore. and i remember i don't have any more time for the frivolity of present day society. with this wink and a wave i say goodbye to ye.

new names, old truths and the gretsch

for several years I played a mexican made fender stratocaster with 10 gauge ernie ball strings. your basic metal rock guitar. made for the american. the neck on the fender is much longer and the frets are further apart. made for bigger hands. made for men who rock. granted it's solid body gives it a strong and stable sound. it's most definitely for the rock. the traditional rock. don't get me wrong tradition is good. but now it's time for a change. because earlier this week I saw maxim's abortion of a guitar a red strat torn apart she would later tell me because she tried to add a neck or something from some other place and exchanged the original strat body. whatever. she doesn't play it, it hides under a bed hidden in a case. instead she plays her gibson-les paul heritage.

so last night, after a week of laboring over a new song, i decided to plug in my german made gretsch electromatic, a much heavier guitar, into my fender blues deville tube amp. with a smaller neck and narrower base, this is a guitar that has a hollow body. a more british sound. fuller. the pedals continue to give it a rock sound, if needed, but like i said we'll see if we need it. i'll see you when i see you when i see you attitude.

then we rock. maxim and the motor. it's a long and treacherous haul tonight. not every rehearsal leaves you breathless and amazed. but still smiling and full of passion we render ourselves of the world that deceives us, belittles us, and wants us to change. and then the brazillian boys show up, back from the surf that maintains their endless summer. or vice vers. they're the house guests of maxim but have become our loyal audience. kind and chivalrous. tipping the tow guy when it should've been my job. but it was late. i was tired. it was dark. damsel in distress.

and difficult it is for the person who loves a musician, unless of course they've been down this road before, because at some point they must come to the realization that they are competing for the love, the time and the number one position in the musician's life. as maxim says, "we're not normal." or rather, "they're the normal people." we have a passion, a drive, something internal that forces us, pushes us, shoves us and guides us towards the giant entity of music and creation that takes over our entire mind and being, to the dismay of our lovers. and in many cases our friends and family too. call it a little voice. call it a strong force. whatever it is not everyone has it. and not everyone gets it. love us or leave us. we're not going to have time to sit around and cry about it. sure. we'll feel sad. but given the hand and heart we have already been dealt, the sadness is just another hardship we must endure in this life. on top of the angry masses that we call our family and friends, because we just don't have time for them, and they don't understand, or in some cases maybe even envious or jealous, so they'll put us down, tear us to shreds with their words. they will try. they will try. to convince that what we do is wrong. bad. stupid. foolish. unnecessary. because we're trying to do it for fame or money. which is natural for people to assume we are doing it for external reasons like fame or money, rather than the internal reasons that drive us, because if they don't have it how can they possibly understand it, unless of course someone explains it to them. or they are old. and wise. and understand that eveyone has to live their life.

fickle is as fickle does....

fickle is as fickle does and i'm cleaning out the fickle pickles that linger in my trunk because the smell is getting stale. i throw 'em out little by little. until today i realized it had all gone bad. long gone bad.

fickle equals weak-le, falling tumbling in the wind, fickle is a sad state of stinky mess freakle over your self.

if getting older means getting wiser means appreciating things for what they are
then i have to love live the path set in front of me. unlike fickle which fall prey to false images of grandeur.

those images and beings that allude leave one hanging on to an empty word a sacred past just that long gone past while present whizzes by not caring if one is hurt, insecure, meek. not waiting for your fickle pickle to stickle

then i'm reminded that fickle is inbred in a lickle where living, drinking, laughing, carrying on for society's sake loses its meaning. for the benefits are no longer reaped unless balanced in a healthy breath of sunlight that presents itself in safe clean manners. and hours of dedication. serious strength. and i tell you i've become a hermit and all i will do is create music and you tell me it's ok, every flower needs a gestation period in order to bloom.

the fickle has finally left the room.

le' cottage par la plage

in the cottage on a hill by the beach, where pink and red flowers green foliage satisfying the food chain for the bees and insects line the sandy gravel path to the wooden door of hidden seclusion of a la maison blanche (the white cottage) past the aluminum kitchen to the opening where i sit planted to a white couch or a mangled bed, or standing with guitar in hand for hours and hours at end. we can't explain the madness that is growing around us as Maxim Velour scurries around hooking up this microphone and that chord. we are finally setting the PA up. Deciding which mixing board to use, one is for recording, the chaos of finding the cables, the clips, or a working 9 volt adaptor since the houseguest is a mad organzing-cleaning fiend. "just put the pedal back in the stash when you're done," she says and I am quite happy with the different rock sounds coming out of my amp and the re-adjustment of my strap and the new techniques I've picked up in the last few months.
two hours later with electricity. with a sigh of relief or happines or excitement i swizzle down my soy latte and bagel with peanut buttre food and music in my stomach easing us into the slow country road ride of our first song...

The Wrong Impression

I am sorry, but I have given you the wrong impression. Whereas you want to go out and have drinks and try out a new restaurant or night club, make new friends, be seen, and enjoy life in general, I have given you the impression that I would like to join you, that somehow I need your friendship, or want your advice, or that we should even hang out. I have given you the wrong impressions, because I am either too nice, or I am afraid to put my own needs first because of guilt, concerned about upsetting you or hurting your feelings because it in return may make my life harder. Plus, maybe I'm always stock-piling for that rainy day, when I might by accident be all alone in this world, and unprepared then I need to have people to call right? Even though most of the time I am a hermit. Do you even know that I am mostly a hermit? So I guess I engage in a sort of stock piling, even though I don't share the same philosophies as you and think you to be not-so-smart or ignorant or conservative or not-so-brave. And, I figure I'm just networking, preparing myself for the day when I decide to become some uptight, career driven, manicured girl who's gonna need some connections. But, maybe I was also hoping to find something, an inch of edge even, someone like me. A new friend. But, then upon being being mostly disappointed I come to further realize you are not even being nice to me in return half the time, so on top of it all I am getting treated poorly, when i've been kicked out of classier joints, and because maybe your jealous or envious or you think rightly-so that I am judgmental or condescending, looking down my nose on you most of the time anyway, god I'm such a bitch and then I get angry when you blow me off, because clearly you think you are better than me. it's just stupid idiotic because we're not meant to be friends, so why do we even try. my world is so different than yours, but that's my point precisely. I don't want to be closed minded and a reverse hypocrite. So, i let you in, open myself up to our friendships so that at least I have some friends, despite your suburban, corporate, biblic ways, since my close friends are scattered all around the world, and are lesbians, while your friends are married with children and the husbands are accountants. or something that this society probably needs to function but shows no braveness. no creativity. no passion. no soul. yet, for some reason, i still let you in even though I am totally and overly disgusted and opposed because you are ultimately what I call straight poop when I sum it all up, and you associate with straight poop and ultimately live in fear. and then i know he is right. It's reverse discrimination. i'm guilty as charged. I guess I tried to hide it, and deny it. But the truth cannot be ignored. I am a reverse discriminator, a heterophobe. And I only like the bi ones if they are primarily gay. I hate straight bi-curious girls and boys. Why? I've been racking my brain. And I've determined that it's the strength of gays and lesbians that I admire. A bravery that most straight girls I've met lack. So, the rest of you, though, I gave you the impression we were going to be close buddies are just associates, colleagues, network buddies. We'll stay in touch, but I seriously doubt we'll ever be good friends.

seclusion

ultimately i crave seclusion and solitude. not to mention i need the solitude to create. most artists are like that anyway, preferring solitude, peace and quiet to the excessive drama of socialization.

spreading myself thin

i'm really good at it. always putting myself in a position where i have to choose. so now i'm here again.

karen love semanek (aka maxim velour) and I have been writing music on and off for 6 months. she's a lead guitarist first, as well as a drummer, and as a child she was trained on violin. she's also an encyclopedia of music. now she's got a recording studio in the works, so she's a budding engineer and producer too. wearing many hats. and she graciously pours time and energy into my little songs to make them amazing rock jigs. but for some reason i have not been 100% devoted to my own music. call it insecurity. call it fear. this last week however due to a last minute gig opportunity i was given, we have been working triple time to hone down the perfect sound for my 8 songs (plus a couple of hers). they are sounding so much better, fuller, and hopeful. i'm impressed and excited. i had forgotten how much time and energy it takes to start a band from scratch. which is what is happening here. i realize that i have forgotten how to be patient. this impending fear that i'm running out of time.

and whether I was not willing out of fear, and halfway hoping my old band would get over its ego maniacal hangups and hook back up because it is soooo much work to start over (it will be a year next month since zeitgeist auto parts went on official hiatus, and two years since we went on unofficial hiatus), those feelings are now gone daddy gone. the reality of my situation has set in.

so, when i resurfaced from the haze about two weeks ago, came to my senses that the music is in my blood, i must seek it out for it won't find me. i sent out my feelers. i reconnected with karen number one and discovered we're already half way there. and another prospect that landed in my lap was the opportunity to play rhythm guitar in a female fronted heavy rock band, just be the guitarist, learn the riffs, show up for rehearsals and shows and get to play out of town. fun. fun. fun. right? someone else's project, and vision, she does all the work, writes the song, all i gotta do is show up and play. easy peasy and fun.

now the dillema.

my heart says: be brave. forge ahead. do the project you want to do. believe in yourself.

my head says: there is no harm in having fun, putting your eggs in a couple baskets for now. getting out there and playing. getting experience and meeting people.

my heart says: true. it would be fun and good experience, but......you can play guitar in anyone's project,,,

my head then says: but beware of spreading yourself too thin. both projects could suffer. you could end up putting your own project on the back burner for someone else's project.

i think i've answered my own question.

frivolity

randomness, i guess i like it but reckon you should only keep the good ones near even when we share a phone call, an evening, an event but no reactive attachement disorder because what are you really looking for my dear? sweet revenge? a message that says i don't need you anymore. grow up that is so childish. so last season.

this place is falling apart today

the coffee was cold today the roaches are taking over the kitchen, the hallway this week, probably for a while now. "don't leave your purse on the floor." geez. duh.
there are no paper cups to heat up some coffee in the microwave at least my personal thermal cup is metal, actually it's Jenae's, but mine for now today, and not microwave nor bomb friendly but i guess it's time to buy a new one. a ceramic one and the powdered non-dairy creamer i drink has no cover perfect for ifestation of the mighty nuclear cockraoch. not to mention the toilets. the toilets are on the brink. all 3 of them? all of them she said. does that mean all 3? i guess so. they're spraying water on the flush all over the floor. flood. no where to pee anymore.
and Jenae's computer is buzzing off the brink, sounds like it's going to blow. the computer guy came over "don't die, don't die," i told him i was scared. if it starts blowing sparks we'll run. before we die. before it dies.

and in his hurt, in between his anger and pain, he insulted my friends this morning. it's an old pattern i know too well. and i used to take it personally. now i don't take it at all, but think about running away instead. running away like a preadolescent child. because his anger and pain is just all so childish and unnecesary. and holds me down, pulls me back. no more i say. no more i say. but its really not such a big deal. tomorrow it will be forgotten. overall. both of us knowing. love is a battlefield.

i kicked a boy

when the weather's fine, when it's sunny outside
think about the time I kicked a boy 'til he cried
oh, I could've been wrong, but I don't think I was
he was such a child

when I am alone, I remember so well
how merrily I tripped a boy so he fell
and I could've been wrong, but I don't think I was
he was totally wild

and I've been wondering lately
just who's gonna save me

now I have a cold, and no story to tell
and I'd marry you but I'm so unwell
and although I could've been wrong
well I don't think I was
he was totally wild

and I've been wondering lately
just who's gonna save me
you just should've been warned
our hysterical child
where'd you learn to do that

and I've been wondering lately
just who's gonna save me
you just should've been wise
oh hysterical child
where'd you learn to do that

-the sundays

things that break my heart

some things break my heart and there are not enough hours in the day to tell it
like the time she gave me her teddy bear hug him he's very sad you're leaving
twice two times, then quiet as she walks away, the 6 year old knows way too much her years are only beginning, but her body has seen everything, too much in it's days
like the blood she thinks is coming, and the adult man she's craving, and the little control she has over anything over anything

then there's the woman her three children, she's got these visions and illusions and her mother has forgotten everything thats been written and the father of this woman long dead in his grave cannot defend the memory though he's turning turning turning. the children are in fear what the hell is going on? and no one can control the hurricane that's brewing mom has lost her mind someone please help me and no we won't go so get that through your head

long lost sister who tells me she's still illin, still chillin though she's kicked the evil magic dragon. that one comes easy for me, she says and i'm supposed to praise her, i don't want to fall asleep she says i need another fix. trying to get her life on track but of course she's late to class, can't read music has no money, and i had to get off the phone. because it's the same story 13 years later. i tell myself i'm not the enabler or the victim. our passion for music and of course our blood it still ties us together. will always tie us together.

you know there is writing and there is music but somethings as we get older
sentiment and merriment existing and blurring together
i never went to church not even to tie the knot
but today i think it's the day, for these souls, or perhaps my own heart that breaks today i shall pray

the mission sf

the san fernando mission and she kneals down to pray
theres something in the water in the well down there today
it's 95F somewhere out here in the desert in the barren valley streets
and the bell rings its noon then the silence breaks
it's millions of people suffer and sacrifice to come here
the long way from central american cobble street mule seats

her long white dress it flows in the wind, she speaks of saint martin
who killed someone or found someones body or did some great thing
like letting Jesus' blood soak his shirt, his tears or sweat or some
masterful feat to accompany sainthood she shrieks when her carnage reaps her of this
brotherhood

the 101 freeway gliding swiftly past these streets, interstate 5 it weaves around
the blood has stained her fingers a memory she hates
and at the bottom of the north hills glaze terracota riffs and windy maze the freedom of los angeles awaits

her daughter winning winning her passion american film the son she never had fights freedom in her dreams
she walks home clutching her purse in one hand rosary the other and when the clocks strikes two she runs for shade.

drunk

i don't remember what was said today last night
you're worried because i haven't kept up with my duties
my household duties and my hair is unkempt
neglecting my face my nails my waste
er.. my waist
what a waste

i'm worried cuz your so lost in mid sentence as i so clearly answer your question
have you never known something so well within that you can only speak in tongues and riddles
your skin turns pale
the truth is ultimately hard to swallow,
just like your own drunk bile
or shit pile

so love me or leave me

because from this moment on none of the money career oriented helping profession matters anymore i don't care and i can think no more, the anger the fury has left me. the rock and roll has entered me completely, it has taken me. it shakes me and leaves me exhilerated. dizzy. my limbs feel crazy. i cannot control what i do from this moment on. my brain has ceased to work, and my mind is off duty. from here on out its heart heart heart. the music is in me.

new song

well i've finally come to claim my space, finally gonna denounce the last long days
finally gonna finish the book, finally gonna face the truth
danow danow danow

will you respect me in the face i'm in, respect me in the freedom game
danow danow danow

i don't want to follow you with your red hot blood body babay
danow danow danow

gorgeous water bugs

you seen one dirty city you've seen em all he cried that morning in Rome
he just wanted his home
wasn't he so much like that little boy that went crying to mom big rash on his soft face new orleans bayou water bug i ask, he says he was really young then
he rarely sulks and always manages to make things work by not lifting a finger, but every now and then he wonders but all answers escape him

she sits in her stylish white sports car tinted windows leather interior, long legs and a frown.
she's gonna be the belle of the ball tonight in her designer everything earrings
though she towers over the girls, she dare not wear heels for the men and she still gets starry eyed or hollywood mesmerized though there is culture and style somewhere in her mind in there, it comes out clearly effortlessly somedays, but most days she's looking cookie cutter cute and getting compliments swinging her hair around this way that way insulting herself fishing for a compliment because deep down she knows cute is a fleeting time-tested goal with a shelf life, and she wishes she could change the ways of the world to do her own thing.

you know she's a suburban working girl, married and moved there. no corporate accounts or anything but on the wagon and off the train, now the bridge and tunnel bi-curious straight girl. no shots of tequila but some remnants of betty page on her legs and feet still its a shame, because nice is nice and nice is brave but the lifestyle you choose will end up influencing your mind, your being. i know it far too well. the cookie cutter suburban will prevail her life. it already has.

even the city girl is on her same page bi-curious and simpleton and like i said nice is nice but i guess it's not enough to separate you from bessy and missy and messy. even though you say you're not, you've not yet demonstrated that much braveness

and the mean spirited city girl who started out as a small town girl, more like a sinister child who's seen everything in her dreams but somehow can't bring herself to open her mind of its rigidity rigidity her braveness gets washed down with force and it's been mostly envious to me, but somedays, like today I see past the facade.

still i watch them all strutting their stuff in their different Los Angeles styles the flashy flashy stylized iconic trend or the limo to the hollywood club or something hip and dirty and agree they look kinda beautiful in a cookie cutter catalog'd way but cannot help wonder where I went wrong how did I end up here in the midst of these gorgeous water bugs

sadness

has taken over
and cannot be shaken, because people and their egos, hurt i guess, and i'm too intuitive and know exactly what is going on, can so easily read between the lines, but have to do what i have to do what is best for me and get punished by everyone in the interim. and maybe i'm easily punished because i'm so transparently needy for these people and they know how to push my buttons, or maybe it's the opposite and i come across as not needing anyone because people just try to hold me back anyway and i'm going to do what i need to do anyway, or am i? or do i cower and feed people what they need? when do i start living for me? and i love our dinners, my groups of 3, dinner, movies and shopping. i love my dinners with my dearly beloved though we don't share the same passion for art or beauty and so many other things, but there is a lot of love. and i need to go to india soon, need to leave this behind, need need need so many things and mostly i'm just left so so so very empty. and thank you for coming and filling me on my day of need, but mostly, i guess you feel your done. is it something i'm not doing? am i really that callous and mean? and i'm going to be soo sad too when i leave, it's always so hard to start over esp as we grow older. and i don't even mind this 9 to 5 it's beauty and so close to my home, easy, peezy. and fun. but the new message i'm given is that i will be losing out, losing in these places and faces. friends that i've made conditional if only i stay. that's the message today. though you and i both know it's not true, in my case anyway, i make friends to stay. for life or longer. i do. so afraid of the dark. the quiet. the empty. and i think i know what i have to do, and i'm just waiting for the right sign or door to open.

today i met a friend....

halfway because she seemed sad


and when i awoke from this nightmare of being unaware and wanting to go but knowing there is no more
just laying in the sun.
my sister recognized my voice today
and i'm not strong to believe this way
wanting for things everyday.

and sometimes.....

i eat sunflower seeds by a tree
party with the traveling roadside musicians till i'm weak
be the life of the party then leave

wither away in my room full of tears
run away just to prove i'm free
stir up emotions with a whif of jealousy and envy
let insecurity get the best of me

wonder why they're better friends than me
wonder why i'm feeling empty
work work work until my fingers bleed
get happy cuz it's my prosperity

miss my everyday friends that used to be
near me so that i could see
whenever i felt the need

but they're off pursuing the dreams, their life their love their things
like children i guess you have to let them go
and accept the distance as part of the show
and deep inside like our parents we know
that there is a chance
our past is our past, gone like wind
never to be revisited or seen again
and these days i still mourn those friends
like our parents musta mourned us when we went....

13

Birthdays come in 3s or maybe it's death today 13, the number of the reaper
The final gateway keeper. Someday we'll all get the call
maybe it's today oivey

homoerectus

erectus homonexus ejectus
the negativity from your life

our birth given right is to be happy
contrary to what they feed you on a platter from day one
in this aquarian age

we all have the right to be happy
and i love thee and being in your place
our place
under our sheets

though most of it ceased to make sense years ago
it makes no sense nor money
but makes me drunk even when sober
and full when empty mostly

but let me tell you for there are days when the other shoe drops and it drops so hard
leaving a gaping hole in my stomach, in my heart wondering where we went wrong why we 're meant to play this game for so long

and i can't stand myself for hating something that i also love
so afraid of it's ability to sift like sand right through my hands

and my friends a plenty who know the love shortcut all too well,
love for all the wrong reasons, love for love itself is the right reason
falling and slipping under its spell,
rock and roll for the heavy footed fighting fighting with our words
then my teacher will remind us
we have a right to be happy.

mistaken identity

break one off and i'm off and running
making this statement or that about this pending singlehood 'n it's glory
and children, like babies, you'll carry one in your womb
and i'm mistaken identity, working my way back
or perhaps into a shell of a being i once was that is now being filled being filled
of guitar strings and throw away wings flying into cliffs of fog
san francisco dreams so far away of a day about 12 years ago
of a red haired girl

singing my way into my mental health my mental wealth and for you who takes all my money takes all my money i give it to you because i buy your love buy buy buy buy buy love hahaha i laugh
as if my richness were in my pockets in my bank book holding strong
as if you're getting any part of me that's worth anything at all
the beauty in me is broke broke gold and broke broken into something growing with the days
i'm no longer old like i have been for 5 years, 19 again youth spilling through my ears but i can see now i can see now i can see me now and you and yours that which is not mine but exists in my playing field close to me, because i treat it with dignity and kindness and never smother never bother.
leaving los angeles and jealous. not a matter of time or passion but will not happen this week nor next but maybe some month down the road i'll get my bearings and i'll perform this song next to you in your ear and sing and play until my fingers bleed and my heart bleeds and my lungs bleed and my vocal chords......
un man walks home, slight limp, head heavy for it's been a long day at work, but worth it he thinks but never smiles ever so slight, walls up so high, and inside awaits his girl.....

Growing pains...

i can feel them in my hips my lower back
it hurts this much growth
so much pain and angst and suffering
but I refuse to lay down refuse to lay down

and options and oceans be prepared for opportunity
but sit still
hurry up and wait
scary winds that could blow right by
blow right by
or make a sitting duck of a joke of you
if you sit unprepared. stand unprepared.
i don't have time to prep a speech
don't have time to prep a speech
but something tells me the pain in me it seeks

because you can

sometimes when i wash my hair the color rinses all out
and i am tired just tired of using the shiner products
to achieve the right color
for it stays wet just so much longer

and there are so many things that are ok here
that are good here
that are going just great here
and just make friends so fast
in the industry here
whether non-profit direct service
your face shines through

but the door has been cracked open and swingin back and forth
so go so go so go
and then come back for your better half
or set it up good here
because you can

America

where am i?
some hippie at least tryin town
middle of the high mountain desert
surrounded by rosy red rubber neckers

some sorta college town
sorta hipster ville
cafe' singer songwriter once lived here
in this land of masses of millions
in little towns blistering down sun
tattooed cholita
short flat builidings cactus trees in gardens
don't provide any shade
wide fuel drenched streets
in my A/C suv cloth seats

how can you live here?
middle america good love it here
as you should
love hot heat hot hot heat
under my flat feet

and people so many people
the more you know the better
in this here new age flipster
college town north of downtown
but its still suburbua
dry desert vast wasteland
America
to me

the journey

in the art world
plays said band
its members they change
but your core if you had it could stay the same

all i ever wanted was the same
art and details
a life long journey, for mankind
a game of mah-jong in a dingy underground kitchen
in chinatown near columbus, the 30 stockton
yes the members they change
but the core stays the same

but it all falls apart in Los Angeles
where everyone is seeking recognition. searching for fame
no one believes longevity is the way to win the game

make music for musics sake. art. for arts sake
not push push push like this is some Olympic gold medal to be won
members shall leave
throw their hands up in the air when fate doesn't acknowledge their ideals
and not accept people in their jeans. in their genes. blue

all i ever wanted was to wallow in some grassroots
working by day in a dark sallow country with bad sewage
while sitting on the porch with my cigar at night
art
we'd still be together come push come shove
not deterred because the members change
everyday riding the train for humanity
some come some go, but if you believe there should be no question

i guess i knew all along
that this wasn't the scene for me
i won't be pushed nor groomed
for a lifestyle of image and fame
life in the fast lane some industry game
that i refuse to play
that rises and dies
when my journey
is for humanity

veganism

i stopped eating meat so many years coming coming coming
i drink soy milk and spit out the tobacco sweat jeans
they beat down the people of this country
just like the way they do the animal.s.o.s.o.s
these people need help
with their weight
with their health
just ask Oprah

but it's in their brain the american dream
to consume consume consume everything in sight
and take it for their own
it's really their brain that needs help
and their soul has been lost to the land
the land which is in bad hands
clearly in the wrong hands

i walked through the valleys
smelled the flat lands of Bush-country
as he cried cried cried to me because he can't get out
get out get out
of the Texan badlands

as he ate that chopped chicken salad free of carbs
and i washed down my lentils semolina pasta with vodka vodka vodka
and followed it up with a cigarette even though i cough cough cough
every night

cuz it's the addictions they scoff, thinking me so vain?
why should i give a damn about my lungs
while the baby pigs and cows die the slow wretched American death
and the girls with their manicured manicures
think i do it for my health

unfortunately

waiting these slow days pass
but i gotta relish
these friends flurry

my fury and annoyance at ignorance
isn't going to go anywhere
unless i change
completely
unfortunately

where it all took place

are you serious?
as she tried to beg her way into the club
because of her looks
she's not even on drugs

is this what my life has become
where my life has come
this tainted ugly city and it's shallow standards
reminding me of that place i grew up
back to the days of high school in a town i never claimed

but where i really grew up and blossomed like a flower
yet learned that i was
still held prisoner in so many ways
by the mentality of the masses
where i just so badly wanted to embrace
where it all took place

although knowing still I am on the right path
doing the right thing
for such little retribution
and no money
cuz it doesn't matter, but it does

but religion it interferes
these people and their views
i really don't approve

and in this city here living quiet
setting the bricks up high to fall

i'm really just done and tired and all of the above
of having to forfeit the me i really love
it's all just passing time for the bricks to continue stacking
like a collector i am of art and books and people
simple minded or closed minded in my closet
let's just all go home

witnessing madness

witnessing madness within my mold
not a nice person
and would walk all over a kind soul
when they do nothing but love

working hard to be nice
to relax and chill out
accept yourself as a wild child
occasionally tamed by a sweet smile

but we've all got it in us
and we're all wild in our own ways
some just more blatant than others
some just wanting to prove it more than others
some getting the wild hair more than others

because me still frustrated after all these years
when i have to keep working to prove
because my eyes are wide open
and i need to get on that airplane
wearing the same t-shirt, dusty jeans, leatherboots
long hair a mess, with the locket that no one made
that cost you a million cheese
in the middle of the night
to write this mad little piece of white plight

while i sit in shorts and a robe
sipping wine on a sunday morning
in the los angeles desert rain
nails painted red
starving this ink

tomorrow a new day

life is lonely my love and somedays no one comes
some nights your phone won't ring and you children don't call
you sleep alone out on the lawn
thinking your progressive and all
and people think your strange and mean and go on about there business
forgetting about you they're all wrapped up in themselves

like you are my love all lonely and alone
skip the boisterous loud and obnoxious american sandinistas
i will for alone is alright tonight
even though you invite youll constantly and never be right
suckined into your corporate dreams i guess
i can't describe my hopes in my screams
my art and my color and denim and gender
i'll teach and i'll write probably another poem tonight
but words can't describe what I want from this life

sadness and sand both grab and their grip
pulling into a sand castle slip
i'll go for a walk
selling these hips
tomorrow a new day will settle these trips

beauty

god this week just went by and it just keeps on going
from a planned night of C-, to an impromptu evening that turned into an A+
if only i could sleep all day tomorrow and dream

but the work it keeps calling me like sweat from a ditch i myself dug
a mountain i reached too soon

and i woke sad for her pain
she competes with her friends, and tries to convince herself out of pain
it just gets tiring to hear
to have to be so near low self esteem

its oddly clear now, but glides easier off the wing
her words although about herself digging in
but then i look at all that is
in my arms
and it's so much more beautiful than I ever imagined
i could have ever believed
it's all here right now with me.....

work, home and the church

work work work
i wish i was at home
tucked away under a warm blanket
like her robe away from robe

please don't eat that i say as i stuff my face
hunger has consumed me
tired embraced my days

working day and night forgivness of my soul
for the pain i've caused to one many times fold
consumed by some guilt that is not driven by religion
but fear perhaps of death and an empty stretch of wisdom

there is way too much to do, but it will never go away
just giveth the best that you can and enjoy the birth of day
try to do it bit by bit piece by piece no oppression
and relax relish the moments god giveth and taketh away

for she is now consumed by the dear lord jesus' death
born again into some church of forgiveness and confusion
it's for the faint of hearted and the easily led he says
and with this i must agree
organized religion is the death of any free thinking liberal society
yet still i pray, have faith and please some day set her free

change

sometimes i wish for a change
in the wind in the weather

though this is my life
in its peaceful in its zone
but when this living
enlivens chaos i freak
know it will pass and be consumed by the calm

sometimes i wish for a death or a birth
for this is life and this too shall grow change die
i can only count on the change

but this is my life these are the people functioning together
we've all got to make it work

guitar song

hostile he grabs and tells me not to play
sneaky she hides behind her percussion and drums
guitar slipping drug world
heroin in your veins
together we walk to the beauty of the beat

it's like this disease we constantly glide
like swiftly on a cloud or a feather
guitar stringed heroine
superwomanstar

ladies of the night strapped in to the light
heavy sexy pick me up
a little to the left
she misses ever so slightly
there's really nothing out west

just more desert and more wind and lots and lots of pain
emptiness and dry wind and it never ever rains
with her guitar in hand she sings to me
another silly song
i close my ears and shutter
but even i have gone away

i'm somewhere back there on the road
somewhere i fell off
this ride and this truck of life

i brush the dust from my brow and look upon her windsheild
we sang the same damn song for a whole week
in some foreign where they only spoke arabic
or french

and i never cried until she died
hollow hole in her arm

i never cried until she stuck the needle
too far gone

i never cried that day she died
strangled by her guitar string

i never cried until she cried
and sang that damn silly song

sullenly

rock harder than you ever did
like in these ambien sex dreams
wishful thinking
trying to hold it all together

who cares what dr. seuss said
how can it possibly apply to your life when
you are constantly looking for approval

and in your glasses you study about sex
listening to Pink Floyd
toungue-tied and twisted
concerned about how you look
eating close to nothing

but the Saga continues, as it only can
because you are trying so hard
to maintain the harmony in your life
so you can fly, you work so hard to fly
because you believe one day you will

and because appearance is important
and your sucked in
when you feel this is right, on certain levels
but wrong when you've sullenly stopped living