Friday, March 30, 2007


Who is Keyser Soze? He’s supposed to be Turkish.
Some say his father was German. Nobody believed he was real.
Nobody ever saw him or knew anybody that ever worked directly for him, but to hear Kobayashi tell it, anybody could’ve worked for Soze.

You never knew.

That was his power.

The wall on which the prophets wrote
Is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
As silence drowns the screams.

Between the iron gates of fate,
The seeds of time were sown,
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friend
When no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools.

Confusion will be my epitaph
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh
But I fear tomorrow I'll be crying

The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk the road, horizons change
The tournaments begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the Crimson King.

On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the Crimson King.

You never knew...the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist...and just like that...he's gone...

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

A Young Man From A Small Town

Conquer yourself and the world lies at your feet. - Saint Augustine

Circumstances of an early life forged and sustained in abject poverty, near fatal drug addiction, repentant but chronic alcoholism, discordant emotional abuse, constant physical displacements and torturous, agonizing reinforcements of a deep inherent need for supplications toward societal expectations...the true ancient history of a young man from a small town with a very large imagination.

Born with the true gifts that challenge all perceptions.

Driven by a strong heart projected to every dimension.

Guided by stealth and a fascile mind equipped for all contingencies.

Seeking and finding The Rock.

Who wants the world...? You can have it all. Your empire of dirt.

The world is not The Rock, it's just the hard place. The Rock is solid.

Born in a back street and it's a hard road daddy-o.

But my job is turning lead into gold.

Even my best friends...they don't know.

You don't even have to give a damn. But I know what's right.

I got just one life. And you are someone else.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Restless Farewell

Oh all the money that in my whole life I did spend,
Be it mine right or wrongfully,
I let it slip gladly past the hands of my friends
To tie up the time most forcefully.
But the bottles are done,
We've killed each one
And the table's full and overflowed.
And the corner sign
Says it's closing time,
So I'll bid farewell and be down the road.

Oh ev'ry girl that ever I've touched,
I did not do it harmfully.
And ev'ry girl that ever I've hurt,
I did not do it knowin'ly.
But to remain as friends and make amends
You need the time and stay behind.
And since my feet are now fast
And point away from the past,
I'll bid farewell and be down the line.

Oh ev'ry foe that ever I faced,
The cause was there before we came.
And ev'ry cause that ever I fought,
I fought it full without regret or shame.
But the dark does die
As the curtain is drawn and somebody's eyes
Must meet the dawn.
And if I see the day
I'd only have to stay,
So I'll bid farewell in the night and be gone.

Oh, ev'ry thought that's strung a knot in my mind,
I might go insane if it couldn't be sprung.
But it's not to stand naked under unknowin' eyes,
It's for myself and my friends my stories are sung.
But the time ain't tall,
Yet on time you depend and no word is possessed
By no special friend.
And though the line is cut,
It ain't quite the end,
I'll just bid farewell till we meet again.

Oh a false clock tries to tick out my time
To disgrace, distract, and bother me.
And the dirt of gossip blows into my face,
And the dust of rumors covers me.
But if the arrow is straight
And the point is slick,
It can pierce through dust no matter how thick.
So I'll make my stand
And remain as I am
And bid farewell and not give a damn.
. .