SHOOT OUT THE LIGHTS
It won’t be the same next time
My head is in the game
It won’t be the same next time
My body’s on the line
I won’t take these pills; they’ll just slow me down
I don’t need this shit; I’ve got a mountain to climb
The explosion in my chest shot stars into my eyes and as I fell back I saw my shot hit out the lights.
In a cold gymnasium, the roar of the crowd hit like fists and shook the light right from my eyes.
How can a heart grow too big for these bones…?
“I won’t be the same. I’ll shoot with my left”
“I don’t want to lay down.”
REMBRANDT… FROM SLIDERS
Take away the mirrors and show me the light as starry-eyed night stalkers quake at the sight of a fucked-arsehole winking back at a lens from a shit-stained mattress on a hotel bed.
I like my hands all covered in blood. I take it where I can get it. I like my hands on the pulse.
You’re a ghost in a digital burial ground and for training purposes this conversation will be recorded. Every aspect of your life will live on forever.
I’m a fucking God, with my head on a table at 4 in the morning, I’m a genius.
The guards at the door have been working hard all night because I worked out the answer for everything and then I couldn’t stop laughing.
You said that drinking was my answer to everything but no, no it’s my answer to nothing, lifeless and listless sobriety is the opiate of the masses, now what a pretty thought that is.
I’m entertained all of the time and none of it matters, it’s a practice shot right? Well I agree with the first part.
I’m boundless and falling, nothing freer than dropped from birth.
An impulse, a new thought; wholly bored.
Now my cup’s run dry.
I KEEP TELLING YOU I’M NOT A PILOT
That’s what I’m told, too cold, yes those were the words. Arrogant strut off, dead last, dead lost a slowly comprehending alcoholic. Too many words with no meaning.
There’s nothing as sad as the slapped-face of a dullard wincing at lines too contrived for his senses, his own lines.
No-one finds out how cut off we are until will meet each other and then fumble for our phones, I don’t know anyone relationships so tenuous they can be cut off in a blackout. Black out, I back out but I’m slowly forced back in…
Fracture lines of communication… sever ties in our relationships.
Head darkened space, drink in hand in a factory estate, stumbling over machinations idle all but for the memory of human hands.
Now all that lingers are the ghosts that occupied the night, the holocaust that happened between dusk and the night has taken all there is but me and useless industry.
A bottle smashes in the night; this place is too crowded now. I hit a vein and watch the re-animated casting quick glances jealous I survived; the world will be destroyed again tomorrow.
No, the sky won’t shit rainbows on flowers to weak to push up from the soil and when you truly believe in nothing the world won’t fade into white…
…And the pain in your neck gets worse than the crick in your back and the record gets stuck on the same-old track and repeats the same old song over and over again and the screens reflect the same old scene, the same old dreams of nothing gained. Like someone once told you told “we’ll somehow make sense of the shit that’s in your head you try to reconcile with reason, distilled into something that you can believe in…” Hold that thought down… My words are incoherent, my voice is getting old, my heart is growing distant and my body’s going cold. I stop and I start.