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Frannyinthepinksweats
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Name: Tod
Country: United States
State: Tennessee
Birthday: 2/11/1985
Gender: Male
Interests: Playing music, listening to music, stuff.
Expertise: Lawn managment, convience store clerk, cooking, smoking.
Occupation: Unemployed/Between Jobs
Industry: Construction
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
4/10/2003
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| Day after day,
Alone on a hill,
The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him,
They can see that he's just a fool,
And he never gives an answer,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
Well on his way,
Head in a cloud,
The man with a thousand voices talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hear him,
or the sound he appears to make,
and he never seems to notice,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
And nobody seems to like him,
they can tell what he wants to do,
and he never shows his feelings,
But the fool on the hill,
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
Ooh, ooh,
Round and round and round.
And he never listens to them,
He knows that they're the fools
They don't like him,
The fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.
Ooh,
Round and round and round | | |
| Here we are, on a Sunday, in this foul year of our Lord, two thousand and nine. Where am I, you ask? Where have I been, you ponder? What and how have I been doing, you wonder with child like anxiety? And the answer, friends: I am here.
Here is a place of dark, beautiful splendor. Here, the shadows are never steady, expanding and contracting on the walls. Loneliness and solitude meet in this place, colliding with vicious impact. Here, I am the ignored and cast aside; the leper, exiled to the desert. I am of no consequence or concern. I am the distant observer of the Wastelands; nomad and hermit, the hastily tolerated. Here, elephants move across the sky, treading tenderly in the delta waves. Giant, one-eyed angels in sacred, domed, stained glass filled rooms speak in deep ancients tones with a volume and vibration strong and glorious. Endless possibility stares into the eyes of star crossed circumstance. Joy and comfort, fear and terror in every unknowing moment. A constant discontentment, a pessimistic persistence. Faith in the magic of mystery, in the certainty of the visionary. Attempting to listen to the old, distant voices; the guidance of the Rabbit. Here, there is constant contradiction; on one side of the scale, a kindness, a desire for calm and collective acceptance of all, and a hope to express and overflow with the Light of Love. And on the other side of the scale is a thick, rich crimson anger, an irritating splinter of dissatisfaction and unwelcoming lodged deep in the mind, and a continual annoyance and unceasing aggravation that is resistant to silencing. There is a sickness with the never ending noise and nervous movements; the denial of the Virtues of patience and stillness, the cancer of the concern for 'comforting' conversation, meaningless, empty, and dead words slithering forth from slug tongues, deaf and dumb expressions filling the air with an absolute nothing. An infuriation, unbreakable and threaded throughout me, with the inability, apathy, ignorance and stupidity, selfish and self-centered ways we blindly follow. And yet, here, in this place, there is analysis. There is contemplation.
There are manifestations. The specters of this home sometimes move a picture on my book shelf. They keep some cabinet doors open. They like my room to be cold.
And now integration. Constant learning and attempting to incorporate lessons into every 'second' of living.
Revelations seen in film. Recently, "Dark City." Revelations seen in music. Recently, dredg's "The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion." Metaphorical, artistic acknowledgments of internal struggles. Insights gained from the creative and inspiring messages delivered through the Muse's mediums.
Here, there is an attempt to be free of the fear of the destruction of the old self.
Floating, floating, floating...
...further, further, and further.
From one eye, seen moving inward, and
from the other eye seen moving outward
in this spiraling labyrinth.
And from the final eye,
a pulsating source center in the dark maze of void.
Here is the struggle. Here is the battle, the war. Here is the push and pull of opposing and attracting forces. Here, there is one foot in each world. Here, there is a hope of ascension towards the balance of all facets of Being. Yet, here there is hope, and there is also doubt and questioning. Here, there must be a sanity hidden somewhere in all this madness...
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| Dark city- deep in the well of the greatest depression; a subculture of deceit. Around every corner- conspiracy theory day dreams suspicious eyes and dagger accusations. Lost in back alleys of hopelessness and despair, turning head searching madly for a sense of direction, some answer to a querry asked countless times. Lost in downtown bars neon slave trade sign’s sick glow; the drowning dead bloated bodies floating at the surface of every overflowing glass. Lost in ancient apartments; tucked away secret concealing the seemingly empowering powders- insanity in thick glazed eyes. We see the hyenas in the headlights, hunched over a rotting carcass. Laughing, as blood drips from a yellow tooth, and splatters from a writhing tongue over this room’s white walls. I wrote this sometime in March and made some corrections to it yesterday. I am picking myself up and out of this. I know this is true because I do feel some sense of direction, purpose that I longed for so greatly when I first wrote this. I'm sick of dwelling on it. | | |
| I forgot just exactly how much I really do love Say Anything. I've watched you all succeed with the highest marks in greed
From my cave, where you're displayed like photographs that bleed
And my teeth grind names into their ivory membranes.
I am hate everlasting with each sickly spell I'm casting.
I discard all feelings.
The stars scar my ceiling.
Sun, I won't spare you. Moon, I won't spare you.
And my pain is mine. It's become my friend with time.
Chia-like, it grows. Watch it fester for my foes.
One day, I'm gonna get up and get right back into the city with my flamethrower mouth.
You bet your life it won't be pretty.
I discard all my feelings.
As the stars still scar my ceiling (oh)
I won't spare you. (Whoa) I, I won't spare you.
Photograph (bath), photograph (bath), photograph
Why'd you have to go and take a picture of a life like that?
You aren't new enough. I give up, I give up, I give up on you.
Look at you (you), look at you (you), look at you (you).
Pretty boy floating face down in a pond of glue.
You aren't new enough. We give up, we give up, we give up on all those like you.
I discard all feelings.
The stars scar my ceiling.
(Whoa) I won't spare you. (Whoa) I, I won't spare you.
(Won't spare you, won't spare you, won't spare you, I won't spare you)
I shall grow and grow...
I'll grow.
and... Admit it!
Despite your pseudo-bohemian appearance
And vaguely leftist doctrine of beliefs
You know nothing about art or sex
That you couldn’t read in any trendy New York underground fashion magazine
Prototypical non-conformist
You are a vacuous soldier of the thrift store Gestapo
You adhere to a set of standards and tastes
That appear to be determined by an unseen panel of hipster judges (bullshit)
Giving a thumbs up or thumbs down to incoming and outgoing trends and styles of music and art
Go analog baby, you’re so post-modern
You’re diving face forward into a antiquated past
It’s disgusting, it's offensive, don’t stick your nose up at me
Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
You spend your time sitting in circles with your friends
Pontificating to each other
Forever competing for that one moment of self-aggrandizing glory
In which you hog the intellectual spotlight
Holding dominion over the entire shallow pointless conversation
Oh, we’re not worthy
When you walk by a group of quote-unquote normal people
You chuckle to yourself patting yourself on the back as you scoff
It's the same superiority complex
Shared by the high school jocks who made your life a living hell
And makes you a slave to the competitive capitalist dogma
You spend every moment of your waking life bitching about
Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
And I say yeah, what do you have to say for yourself?
Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
'Cause I’m proud of my life and the things that I have done
Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become
You’re free to whine, it will not get you far
I do just fine, my car and my guitar
Proud of my life and the things that I have done
Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become
You’re free to whine, it will not get you far
I do just fine, my car and my guitar, yeah
Well let me tell you this, I am shamelessly self-involved
I spend hours in front of the mirror, making my hair elegantly disheveled
I worry about how this album will sell
Because I believe it will determine the amount of sex I will have in the future
I self medicate with drugs and alcohol to treat my extreme social anxiety
You are a faker (admit it)
You are a fraud (admit it)
Yeah, you’re living a lie (hey) living a lie (hey) you’re life is living a lie
You don’t impress me (admit it)
You don’t intimidate me (admit it)
Why don’t you bow down, get on the ground, walk this fucking plank (yeah!)
Yeah, what do you have to say for yourself
Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah
And I say yeah (what do you..)
Proud of my life and the things that I have done
Proud of myself and the loner I’ve become
You’re free to whine, it will not get you far
I do just fine, my car and my..
Guitar, guitar go!
I drift, drift, drift, drift, drift, yeah
I drift, drift, drift, drift, drift, yeah oh
And I am done with this
I wanna taste the breeze of every great city
My car and my guitar
My car and my guitar
So you'll come to be, made of these urges unfulfilled
Oh no, no, no, no, no
When I'm dead I'll rest
When I'm dead I'll rest, lay still
When I'm dead I'll rest, I'll rest | | |
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