Sunday, January 16, 2011

Knowing Your Own Coda -17/01/2011


“Everybody’s got voices,

Some they can’t contain”

-Buddy Wakefield, A Stretch of Presence

You are living for the next time you get to open your mouth.

The off chance,
something you’ve said fifty times before
might next time
strike an open-door chord
it will mean everything to you
if it means anything
to anyone else.

You want other people to hear
your every breath a heartbreak
joie de vivre each heartbeat
share these sensations
hold their attention in tension
make them laugh
make them happy
make ‘em horny
make them angry
make them mournful
make the words make the sound
of whole
wrenched open

You want this badly
it happened to you before
some wordsmith
found words beyond words
set you on fire
chasing after that inflammable phrase
reaching for what you believe best
within yourself
a voice to speak out to the void.

You heard it
but never heard it enough
you take in so much
more than you’ll ever return
finding rooms filled with the socially exhumed
attuned to sounds of theirs, alone
you believe yourself far more intense
than these others
you can feel their fish bowl
scared you might grow their mould.

So you will breathe in roads
turn life into a long trip
eat up beliefs in the romanticism
they will suppose you to know
about whisky and women,
and shit
and you


actually don’t know very much.

Only a bit about loneliness
one so big it’s going to break you
and it did
has and still does
there will be sleepless nights on dusty floors
ceiling painted by your eyelids unfamiliar
that smell from others stale cigarette smoke
after-tasting bottles not-drunk you will pay for
mouthing your shout
screaming silent desperately oh so desperately stay quiet
down to the sound of your skin being scratched
daylight will break
wanting your own bed back.

Your bag will daily get heavier
a story smelling more stale each telling
you will retreat into silent dark space to masturbate
in desperately private moments carved out of


you can’t have.

You’ve wait for orgasm so hard it’ll shatter your metabolism
it has not came
you wanted crazy cathartic romantic revolution
it is not here
you wanted revelation-naked God calling your name beautifully profound
and you have never heard a thing.

You just want them to listen
fucking listen
want your turn
to take it further
you’re taking this all personally
so much inside you
though no way to prove it
to the rest of the room.

You will get tired and want to stop
bring it all to an end
want to taunt someone
to give you one reason
one fucking reason
not to just quit.

You will never find one beyond yourself.

So you’ll sit back down
get to work, again
wait for another day
to liquidate this silence.

And there a spark
there you find your fire
again inflammable
bear the burns to your bones

will never
even if you're reduced
to a smoulder.

Others older
will tell you
enjoy it now while you’re young
before life catches up
you will not reply to them
that friends younger already act much older
than you,

as the seasons
you will not be scared of getting old
you will be scared you won’t get old
when everyone else does
still living for the next time
you get to open your mouth.

Not scared that this will end
you’re scared you won’t know when





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