1. |
Oh, Aphrodite!
03:03
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|
One of the worst feelings in the world
is the one you get when you see a forgotten word
you used to know the meaning of.
A turn of phrase muddle when it could’ve been understood.
If only it had appeared a few years back –
If only you could’ve kept the language sharp
(I mean would’ve, we all know I could’ve).
Reminds me of who I could’ve been.
Reminds me of what I could’ve known.
Who could I have been?
What could I have known?
The choices I’ve made
have led me to be this person
dissatisfied with the form that is
me.
I’ve always been overshadowed by prodigies.
And it’s not so much a stab as
an ache in your gut
rearing its ugly little head.
Makes me nauseous,
makes me sick
yet nostalgic
for all the wasted minutes.
And I’ve spent so much of my time
actively cursing the passage of time.
So! why am I surprised
That the river keeps slipping
Through these hands of mine
Oh Goddess, it’s painful to speak again,
(Oh Goddess! It’s painful to speak again!)
And I can see your stares before you give them.
There’s a tension in me –
Bubbling and boiling and
building and building,
to put it simply:
This ache in my wrist –
This ache in my throat –
This weight on my chest is too heavy (for me) to hold!
And I’m not yet strong enough, you see,
to make the beauty I want to see –
to be the beauty I want to be.
To sow the seeds,
To sow the seeds!
Oh, Aphrodite! I would build
a temple to thee!
if only I knew how –
if only I could get the permits.
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2. |
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3. |
Fragment #3/Fragment #45
03:18
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|
Sometimes I feel so small
I’m unable to contain it. Smallness
pouring out of every fiber of my being.
It envelopes me
and in doing so envelopes everything
surrounding me.
The whole Universe swallowed up by the sheer fragility
of my being
[Engulfed in discomfort every day
just to make the anxiety go away
(Is that a fair trade?)
I don’t know
It’s the one I’m force to make]
What is this thing we call “living”?
Not philosophically, I mean literally!
What exactly is “living”
can you tell me?
Is it in our in/eternal lives or only in
the legacy we leave behind?
Are we even really alive if
we don’t live by the part we hold inside?
The small sacred part each of us holds,
does it count for anything at all
unless Others can touch –
unless Others can see?
(Oh Lord!) I think this stealth will
be the death of me.
Do you wanna hear a secret?
No, I’m not gonna say it
But I bet that you can guess it.
I bet that you can.
What is this thing we call “consciousness”?
Aren’t we all just walking bundles
of id?
Is magic not just science done with words instead?
Is magic not just science done with words?
[And I can’t mourn
the parts I’ve lost cause
the bruises their buried beneath
are still too sensitive to touch.]
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