Friday, June 26, 2020

Hounds. Hounds. Hounds.

Crying to Kate Bush's Hounds of Love at 4 am cuz that's what catharsis looks like tonight. David Gray told me not to freeze how not to freeze how to and the big sky is so hard to look at arms left untucked by my woobie letting the vents siren scream their its frigid breath and I always cycle back to breath. Cold air. Goldy god like feelings that dont make any sense, at least they arent as stinging as the rest. Not yet. 

First heard this songs alone in a dorm same dorm I'm sure roomie saw me Jack it into my jockies worried into frightening places while Kate got her voice all squeaks and I felt like something more than the gaping place where someone might be-- bog witch coffin hole. Shattering scattering. 80s bass. 

Cross legged in a chair as best I could 
Same spot, same circumstance 
That i got into Grace Jones and Frat X vids. Cacooned in the comfort of my ancient blanket, tucked right under my nose, (the same blanket I freaked and weeped under when Tod died, (writing shit smear poetry to post on facebook) same one I use to wipe my loads on back in those early teen days when i was too hormy to be anything but disgusting) staring at a screen with I guess the album art on it who could remember. I just remember the light. 
And the dark
All around me infinite and thick as rabid slobbering gods tickling strings on a mistuned lyre. 

Dont we all deserve less? or better? 
It's getting harder to tell them apart these days. Just saying it could even make it happen. Tumbling over the body over and everywhere in the sheet masking, peering at empty walls and needing... something. Can you see that little light out there? Where? Just there. Just there. 
Cant forget the synth over the real world strings. Or the filtered vocals heavy as sins and their pounds of flesh. Just like Operattack. The happy, upbeat songs are destructively sad to me, and the slower somber tracks are all too romantic. Most days, love songs make me cry and I dont really have a reason why. Sputtering vocals, CD skip or vinyl scratching. 

Overall a dark love a weird love a love like staring at cityscapes in the dead of night from a power broker's window while he sleeps, pleased with his vacant nut sack, while you she me chainsmokes indoors wondering just how high up this place she's at really is. 

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