You can share yourself with someone, or you can go outside and slam your fists into the dirt..
Both seem important.
Wild step and unhinged gesticulation with your right arm , tempo and rhythm, and there’s a dead Russian lady singing in my ears.
Polushka polye..
And she was the best.
Pull your dick out and piss for the fifth time.
Let’s see them city folk..
And the moon has a white haze around it and the wind is crisp, and I am still here.
Still.
The voice shifts from female to male,the tongue from Russian to German.
Lugen…
Cry laughing in foreign languages and ripping the nerves out🎶, starting from the small in your back, and you hunch over..
In complete submission.
I was here.
I was and these forces press down from the fucking atmosphere .
You have all the power in the world..
Inexhaustible energy.
Scale that cracks your mind and your mouth has become completely useless.
The stray comes and rubs against your shins .
You can’t buy the vibe.
It is only to be earned.
And you spend so much time suppressing your own self..
Most.
Say you spend most of your time muting..
(cue the strings)
Bring the cellos..
The lows.
(enter the highs)
Violins..
Sustaining notes..
Holding tension before release..
(invite the piano)
In that old minor key, the moonlight one that makes people so sad..
End it well.
(bring it back)
Raise from the silence.
Attack the attack.
Fight the death.
Hand to hand with silence.
Fight it like Jacob fought an Angel.
And fingernails and blood and sweat and saliva..
Climbing..
Going up.
Praise all things holy.
Gliding upwards.
Feels good 😊
