She leaves my side and heads deeper into
the apartment singing, “—if the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away… a
copper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.
Tags: life music shakespeare romance rain death dreams sex water science-fiction magic emily-dickinson amnesia sacrifice apocalypse songs empty ghosts greek-mythology gothic jazz poems ships reflections magick haunting waking piano damnation androids storms desolate masquerade abandoned tempest count spectre carrack cityisle cityspire fedora haunts horace-walpole mannequins phillip-k-dick puddles specters
That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their right
mind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’.
People would much rather say, ‘Get in my whirly-gig’. And that’s what you
should name it.
Tags: life music shakespeare romance rain death dreams sex water science-fiction magic emily-dickinson amnesia sacrifice apocalypse songs empty ghosts greek-mythology gothic jazz poems ships reflections magick haunting waking piano damnation androids storms desolate masquerade abandoned tempest count spectre carrack cityisle cityspire fedora haunts horace-walpole mannequins phillip-k-dick puddles specters
Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lost
memories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreams
play when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?
Tags: life music shakespeare romance rain death dreams sex water science-fiction magic emily-dickinson amnesia sacrifice apocalypse songs empty ghosts greek-mythology gothic jazz poems ships reflections magick haunting waking piano damnation androids storms desolate masquerade abandoned tempest count spectre carrack cityisle cityspire fedora haunts horace-walpole mannequins phillip-k-dick puddles specters
History doesn’t start with a tall building
and a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is taking
us for suckers and is playing a mean game.
Tags: life music shakespeare romance rain death dreams sex water science-fiction magic emily-dickinson amnesia sacrifice apocalypse songs empty ghosts greek-mythology gothic jazz poems ships reflections magick haunting waking piano damnation androids storms desolate masquerade abandoned tempest count spectre carrack cityisle cityspire fedora haunts horace-walpole mannequins phillip-k-dick puddles specters
Allow the light to fall across you. Shadow or sunlight. Allow it to define your shape. In its way. Another day it may be different. It surely will be. Are we ever the same? Is the light? And the way a form presses into the grass?
Jay WoodmanCount the number of times you have spoken. And really meant what you have said. Count the number of times you have chosen to keep quiet instead.
Jay WoodmanCount the inspirations. The exquisite inspirations that have whispered in the night. And swum away like fish in the cool of morning. Would any of them have altered the patterns of your life? The precise arrangement of your atoms?
Jay WoodmanTags: inspiration fish count
Money talks and I listen.
Toba BetaNever count on people who are with you but who stand by you.
M.F. Moonzajer« first previous
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