born of a broken man

''Like autumn leaves
His sense fell from him
An empty glass of himself
Shattered somewhere within
His thoughts like a hundred moths
Trapped in a lampshade
Somewhere within
Their wings banging and burning
On through endless nights
Forever awake he lies shaking and starving
Praying for someone to turn off the light''

don't

Don't let me die in an automobile
I wanna lie in an open field
Want the snakes to suck my skin
Want the worms to be my friends
Want the birds to eat my eyes

Rain

Rain
by Don Paterson


I love all films that start with rain:

rain, braiding a windowpane

or darkening a hung-out dress

or streaming down her upturned face;



one long thundering downpour

right through the empty script and score

before the act, before the blame,

before the lens pulls through the frame



to where the woman sits alone

beside a silent telephone

or the dress lies ruined on the grass

or the girl walks off the overpass,



and all things flow out from that source

along their fatal watercourse.

However bad or overlong

such a film can do no wrong,



so when his native twang shows through

or when the boom dips into view

or when her speech starts to betray

its adaptation from the play,



I think to when we opened cold

on a rain-dark gutter, running gold

with the neon of a drugstore sign,

and I’d read into its blazing line:



forget the ink, the milk, the blood—

all was washed clean with the flood

we rose up from the falling waters

the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters



and none of this, none of this matters.

i never knew you from the sun

school and exams are over and i have too much time, i can't even handle it. when i look out of my bathroom window i can see a few kilometers away a towering housing development board flat. geez just to think of it, there are probably more than a thousand people staying in just that one block, people with a thousand different occupations, hundreds of families, lots of sex and lots of cooking.

there are a few obvious things which pleases men. beer, soccer or some other sport, women, and automobiles. though it is not mentioned in the list, it should be. riding a bike.
riding a bike is fucking awesome. truth is, it doesn't matter whether it is a bicycle, or a motorbike, it could even be a fisher-price tricycle that you are riding. the machines are just a big plus. the heart of riding is being in control of the machine and taming it. getting from a to b, using the route of your choice, in anyway you please. picture it, today while riding home the sun will beat down upon your face, traffic would be smooth and you would reach home twice as quick. if you want to, you can stop at the rain shelters under expressways and smoke a cigarette and watch the different faces drive by. faces of purpose man.

has the song changed?

people change
love breaks
the days roll on by
but the song remains the same



david judah