ON HARP

welcome! tonight it is free-styling with don harper. ignore the pen and paper! remember the dark sights, oh the wondrous tantrum inducing and amnesiasical forgetfulness! quiet sounds with subdued lyrics unintelligible to my ears and mind escape thoughts and lips otherwise willing to articulate the most embodied of memories.

with effort? what do we try? escaping my memories with my bourbon, water, cigarettes, and purple-rimmed sunflowers. blue shades and orange fading haunt my behind with memories of spankings and abandonment! i'm SCREAMING.

Missing Things now and a most easy to forget song of poetry lost in inspiration and ignorant of our breathing ends.

hah.

i'm laughing you know. because i don't want to forget the worth of words. the weight of our thoughts that are transcribed in earnest or some forced excretion, a mental movement of supposed empathy through which we express the most dire of all experiences.

instead!! oh instead, a craziness, a crazitude. something laudible but laughable. something that lacks an all-discerning conscience while maintaining the bloodiest, the goriest of our abilities to experience. in ignorance of biology do we stand, and helpless to physics are we formed, but on the most naive sense of consequence do we move forward through the grand poetry of formative years, months, days, and times.

another song comes near to an end. this time the story of Methodism in Middle America. a place i feel privileged to share history with, a moment in time, of breadth of years, with whom my actions lend inert gas, eukaroytic solemnity.

but As Serious As Your Life may be...

i can not share this rhythm. language has escaped me and truly it has not been a witnessed element while convening with the lives in this society i share. insanity plagues and is plaguing, is tempting and has tempted, is now and will become. has'b'n.

f'r'gt th' vaughels.

*wel*well

well well.