Author Topic: Living on the Border  (Read 5042 times)

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Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« on: November 24, 2003, 03:01:00 PM »
Kilnfried

once upon a time I was a child   I tried so hard to please them   I save the trees and kill the people   wouldn?t it be great to die here now   nothing  they can say   but get off me   the burning bush lost its heat long ago  I lie back relax watch my life overflow  tear threw dead nutrients with a fine tooth comb  runaway in the shadows that now are my home  And the man in the can he is calling to me And the others our mothers their lying to me the parasites dropping I?m dying to be what I want but I can?t but I?m trying to see how she died now   I?m all alone no place to call home   the quizzes about who I am   I was when I could be so maybe I should be so help me I?ll pay when I can    tears are freeflowing my dark sides are showing bulletins  riped down from trees   men and graffitti   spraypaint that can speak to me   nobody wants to be hear were I am now   I scream and I holler   I wear a dog collar   I wear what I want and I don?t have a father   Holidays slip by and I never notice  and all this time I?ve been gone   Mature subject matter the pig the Madd Hatter   noodle soup dinners and lunatic neighbors   the mud that I wade threw to make my way out   I see some horses   the sunshine it blisters  and me I am nothing but look you don?t know me  so don?t try to hold me I aching to scratch my way back   so many dreams ride past me as all these days mash into one driving and driving  in endless circles not caring or sharing  as long as its further away   my buddy?s skate station  he is my salvation   I need it I already have it a back stabbing brother in a big blue van  and evil is melting me here were I am
IN A CELL ALL ALONE AND WAITING TO .....die

Cera Ouish
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #1 on: December 02, 2003, 02:11:00 PM »
vaseline running like water
razor cuts in the capillaries
AND I LAUGH
three days to soon she came
I didn?t want either one of you
black glue in the butchered hair
soak it up as I tell myself i?m normal
AND I SOAK
finger cuts deep and pulls out a line
AND I INHALE
and if I had a name
i?d give you my number
I?M SO SORRY
one more step and he?ll shoot
I STEP.
I FALL.
looks like Prozac days
I am the person bent the bowl
only trying to help myself
looks like good old Ritalin ways

ITCHING     ITCHING     ITCHING

FOR     A     CURE

so i scratch it.

Cera Ouish


[ This Message was edited by: Anon on 2003-12-02 11:12 ]
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #2 on: December 13, 2003, 12:00:00 PM »
I am just a little creep with no real big ambition
I have myself a little gun I have my ammunition
I follow in the footsteps of those whom I have lost
I loved you now I hate you like fire gone to frost
I have no self esteem. I had it then I lost it.
I drew a line of sanity and then my friend I crossed it.
So now you do not know me
Not like you ever did
I pretty much was taken
and now I can not give.

Why are you doing this to me?
Why can't you fukkin see?
Why does it give you such a High?
What happen to the You and I?
We were never nothing
You've got to know
we were always something!


Baby Blue

the wastbasket waits to recieve your emotions.  Love anger hate sorrow, all your insane notions.
I'm wetted down with ink and have no words with which to blott it.
Stay away from me, before I turn on you.
My hatred has run free, my heart truned baby blue.


SPARKLE WATER

I rage this war against myself
and I'm not the only casualty.
No ones leaving this play alive
This play of mass tranquility.

Curtain call and I walk
Curtain drops, I stumble & fall.
Tripped by my material needs
Look out to the gawking creeds
Silent whisper becomes a roar
I pick myself up off the floor

AND I WAS FORCED TO BOW DOWN TO THE CROWD LAUGHING AT ME.

I rage this war aginst myself
And I'm not the only casualty
Take ten paces back and fire
See who falls first to their knees

Cera Ouish

[ This Message was edited by: anon on 2004-01-07 15:07 ]
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #3 on: December 27, 2003, 03:16:00 PM »
The sun went down but I can't find the moon
My hands are broken
and swollen and wet
From the fight in the street last night
the room is so dark
but I can still see
I'm ahead of you but your in front of me
My eyes are bloodshot
and swollen and wet
From the fight in the street last night
I can't figure out how I got here
And even worse, how to get out
I'm happy right here where I am
But mad cause I can't break out
And the fight in the street
I was watching out my window

Cera Ouish


UP

Swallow what your thinking
sink into our world.
They fill with hard compassion
They know that you've been hurt.
So feel yourself falling
into what we say.
Leap into the pit of trends
You'll be safe that way.

Darkness drowning all that lives
Never is enough
Babies sneaking from their cribs
There's no such thing as love.
Friends stab you in the back
Watch the black blood pour.
Anyway to stay on track
Always back for more.

Flannel angels blue and gray
Legs of wood and trees of skin
Hate is growing every day
Bloated clouds of sin.
Anything to make it stop
Depression is a whore.
Anything to stay on track
beg them give me more.

Never felt what we all should
Don't know if I ever could.

Cera Ouish
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Froderik

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Living on the Border
« Reply #4 on: December 28, 2003, 11:03:00 PM »
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #5 on: December 31, 2003, 01:36:00 PM »
Thanks for the links Fro -

What's True

Ripped erasers
problems
scrupels
thin skin
skinny box harmony
why wait
mistakes get made
nothing yet
wiped off
sunday manners
sideways looks
backyard bastards
possibilities
three assholes and a bassist

Cera Ouish
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #6 on: January 03, 2004, 11:14:00 AM »
Joy
If life is water, I was dry as the Tucson dirt
If it's a gamble, I'd already lost my shirt
If it's a journey, I was dazed without a clue
I flipped a "U" back to the first love I ever knew


If life's a battle, the invasion is complete
If it's a rhythm, I have found the perfect beat
If it's a renaissance, I've got a new birthday
The world don't give it
And the world can't take it away

Bowed and broken, everything's new
All that I need, you're like water to seed
And how your love, rights everything wrong
In my weakness
You're ever stronger, you're pulling me back
Where I belong

You give me joy that's unspeakable
And I like it
Your love for me is irresistible
I can't fight it
You carried the cross and took my shame
I believe it
You shine your light of amazing grace
I receive it
I receive it

 Steve Taylor & Peter Furler
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline exsafecounselor

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Living on the Border
« Reply #7 on: January 03, 2004, 11:37:00 AM »
Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you.
         --- Anon
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »
here is not a truth existing which I fear or would wish unknown to the whole world.

--- Thomas Jefferson

Offline Anonymous

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« Reply #8 on: January 03, 2004, 12:58:00 PM »
Quote
On 2004-01-03 08:37:00, exsafecounselor wrote:

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you.

         --- Anon
"


Indeed they are after us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What is Truth?

Pilate
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #9 on: January 06, 2004, 11:25:00 PM »
Mom & Dad,

I'm fine. How are you? I have joined a
small circus (that much is true). I'm a
little malnourished, but try to relax.
Could you find a better photo for the milk
carton backs?

Send money.

Runaway
where's your head?
dreamers' dreams
are grounded

 
Mom & Dad,

I'm fair. How's life? Lent the money you
sent me to the clown with the knife. My
career as an acrobat hasn't begun, but
I'm busy giving blood and shoveling
elephant dung.

Send money.

Runaway
Why so tense?
dreamers' dreams
will make sense

- Chorus -

Runaway
blowing smoke
your folks are worried
(and going broke)

after the fall
is an all-new episode
reality
is the high road

- Chorus -
in reality
that comes from above
God is calling
there's no bigger love
It's his reality that welcomes us back
Trust and obey
there is no other way


Lyrics: Steve Taylor, Peter Furler
http://www.newsboys.com/home.php
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline anon

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Living on the Border
« Reply #10 on: January 06, 2004, 11:51:00 PM »
@Target@

kick me.
that?s what it says.
this stick-on note stuck to my back.
I put it there.
and I consider the possibilities
that follow me around.
I am the target for all their unhappiness.
Outsider.
Freak.
that?s what they call me.
this uncalled for label
stuck on my back.
and I put it there.
And I wonder
what will happen next
with all this hatred.
I am the target
and they will keep kicking
until its all over.

Cera Ouish
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Invisible Boy

Don?t hunt the man that?s lost his Feelings
Cause he will die alone and waking
Waiting for someone to serve him,
but lies bite the hand that tries to feed me.
I raise my hand high above the others in call for truth
but invisible boy can?t speak
he screams awake at night
with all these feelings; can they have meaning?
What am I trying to prove?
We raise our hands for the fight, This fight in which we?ll lose.
The blind man won?t lead the blind, because this blind man knows more than you.
WE PRAY FOR CHANGE.
BUT I CAN?T PRAY.
A FORTRESS LOST IN ONE SHORT TOSS.
ASHES TO ASHES  WE ALL FALL.

Cera Ouish
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Anonymous

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« Reply #11 on: February 27, 2004, 07:17:00 PM »
The Fool?s Prayer
                                 by
                          Edward R. Sill

      The Royal feast was done; The King
          Sought some new sport to banish care.
      And to his jester cried: ?Sir Fool,
          Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!?

      The jester doffed his cap and bells,
         And stood the mocking court before;
      They could not see the bitter smile
          Behind the painted grin he wore.

      He bowed his head, and bent his knee
          Upon the monarch?s silken stool;
      His pleading voice arose: ?O Lord,
          Be merciful to me, a fool!

      No pity, Lord, could change the heart
          From red with wrong to white as wool,
      The rod must heal the sin: But, Lord,
           Be merciful to me, a Fool!

      These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
         Go crushing blossoms without end;
      These hard well meaning hands we thrust
          Among the heartstrings of a friend.
   
      The ill timed truth we might have kept -
          Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
      The word we had not sense to say -
           Who knows how grandly it had rung?

      Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
        Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
      That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,
      Be merciful to me, a fool!?

      The room was hushed; in silence rose
         The King, and sought his gardens cool,
      And walked apart, and murmured low,
        ?Be merciful to me, a fool!?
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Anonymous

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« Reply #12 on: February 27, 2004, 07:20:00 PM »
The Racing Man
     by
                            A. P. Herbert

My gentle child, behold this horse -
A noble animal, of coarse, but not to be relied on!  
I wish he would not stand and snort;
Oh frankly, he is not the sort you father cares to ride on.  
His head is tossing up and down,
And he has frightened half the town
by Blowing in their faces,
And making gestures with his feet,
While now and then he stops to eat in inconvenient places.

He nearly murdered me today,
By trotting in the wildest way through half a mile of forest;
And now he treads upon the kerb,
Consuming some attractive herb, he borrowed from the florist.
I strike him roughly with my hand; He does not seem to understand;
He simply won?t  be bothered, To walk in peace, as I suggest,
A little way towards the West - He prances to the No?th?ard.

And yet, by popular repute, He is a mild, well-mannered brute,
And very well connected;
Alas, it is a painful fact,
 That horses hardly ever act as anyone expected.  

Yet there are men prepared to place,
a sum of money on a race,
 in which a horse is running;
An animal as fierce as this, as full of idle prejudice,
And every bit as cunning;
And it is marvelous to me, That grown-up gentlemen can be,
 So simple, so confiding;
I envy them, but, Oh my son,
I cannot think that they have done a great amount of riding!
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Anonymous

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« Reply #13 on: February 27, 2004, 07:25:00 PM »
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
       by
               Rudyard  Kipling

As I pass through my incarnations, in every age and race, I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers, I watch them flourish and fall, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn, that water would certainly wet us, as fire would certainly burn: But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision, and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas,
while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Sprit listed. They never altered their pace, Being neither cloud nor wind-born like the Gods of the Market-Place; But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come, That a tribe had been wiped off it?s icefeild, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch. They denied the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch. They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that Pigs had Wings. So, we worshipped the Gods of the Market, Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace. They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease. But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe, And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:
?Stick to the Devil you know.?

On the first Feminian Sandstones, we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbor, and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:
?The Wages of Sin is Death.?

In the Carboniferous Epoch, we were promised abundance for all, By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:  ?If you don?t work you die.?

Then the Gods of the Market Tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew, And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true -
That all is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four -
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings
limped up to explain it once more.


***********************************

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man - There are only four things certain since social progress began -
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool?s bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, As surely as Fire will burn, The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »

Offline Anonymous

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« Reply #14 on: March 31, 2004, 04:00:00 PM »
A Friday night affair out in the city heat.
Always a party there along the sordid street.
And it was guaranteed the place to be was Rocketown.
The drinks were two for one inside the crowded bars.
The girls would make their run out on the boulevard.
It was the idol place we lived the ways of Rocketown.
Hang around by the street light in the heart of the night life.

There came a certain man a stranger to the crowd.
We didn't understand what he was all about.
He walked a different pace so out of place in Rocketown.
They made a fool of him they teased him when he'd speak.
But when they knocked him down he'd turn the other cheek.
He told me I could find a life outside of Rocketown.
Hang around by the street light in the heart of the night life.

Some didn't like him near, some laughed and turned away.
But me, I longed to hear all that he had to say.
He had a peace of mind I couldn't find in Rocketown.
And when I reached down inside me I could feel the emptiness.

He said it's in the heart this change that comes to be.
Now he had done his part the choice was up to me.
As we were standing there he said a prayer for Rocketown.
As we were standing there he said a prayer for Rocketown.
He walked off silently - and prayed for me -
and Rocketown...

What was his mission? Where was he going?
Why was his heart light always glowing?
All I was missing he stood there holding.
What was his secret? Could I know it?

Michael W. Smith & Wayne Kirkpatrick
« Last Edit: December 31, 1969, 07:00:00 PM by Guest »