Sunday, December 18, 2011

Cigar smoke, scotch sipping, and a bad attitude.

Notebook dreams, reality checks.
The rules are different, the bar is low.
You are not as controversial as you'd like to be.
You are not a star.
You are nobody, and nobody cares.
You are matter in a body, as this world is matter in the cosmos.

You are plastic, disposable.
You are a sticker on my trash can.
I can write your history, I already lived your life.
I already fought for your goals, I already fucked your groupies.
They told me I was special.
I believed them, like fools gold.

We are lost, insignificant, and self important.
Naked and loose, carefree cannonball.
As artistic as jazz from days gone by.
In a moment that is lost in a time that is forgotten.
Part of the movement that won't be heard.
A piece of language never translated, never respected, invisible.

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