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lirik lagu twenty love poems and a song of despair – sketch tha cataclysm

i woke in a mist amidst mountains of neruda poetry, buckley praises, and snapshots from past lives, the previous evening still in the corners of my eyes. gazing upon all i own (or share) with a hint of confusion, i rustle myself to my feet, aiming my body toward appropriate clothing to go off in public. the caffeine addiction beckons me and i must answer its call

yesterday gripped the spectrum of emotion by the groin, almost as if the whole of human experience was spread out and touched on at at least one point during the day. the life of an independent musician/anti-car dealer is one drunk on thought and inner battle and it was as if i were binge drinking with a bazooka. there is no song lyrics to write about financing that could bring light to this existence, especially in these economic times; jobs hanging in the balance due to rich racists fear of a black president. as gas prices drop, so do the hopes that folks will come to their senses and leap from their twenty p-ssenger tanks into something more welcoming. the air carries the stench of oncoming doom and to compound that there is always that constant reminder that this occupation is taking time away from my chosen profession

piled on top of my frustrations and feelings that i may be squandering my dreams is the daymare that played out in which one of my closest is hustling rubber gloves through the war torn streets of iraq. the image transmorphs into one of him clutching a bottle a tylenol dodging bullets in a print advertis-m-nt t-tled “all for nothing”. i arise to find myself teary-eyed wake walking through the dealership clutching an extra-large cup of coffee that tasted like sorrow

sinking into depression at rising speeds, i grabbed hold of what resembled a bit of hope; an amalgam of words spelling out romantic sentiment. the thought of not being alone in your loneliness could bring a much needed vacation to a cold heart and melt away that tundric armor. mine, in particular, traded in its sh-ll for one of vulnerablity and honesty. i’m no doctor, but i am now sure that there is a nerve that connects directly from a warmed heart to a smile. i remember looking off into the distance, just past the highway, over the hills and trees in the fattened chance of catching a glimpse of beauty when all i had to do was look at my phone. the next tide rose with an array of images of my match draped in s-xuality, as x-rated as only paradise could be

as 6:23 spelled freedom i rode that wave to my home; immediately stripping myself and replacing my cloak of misery with the dignity that comes from my post-work dress in a black suit jacket, tuesday night shenanigans with my coffee-slingers is just ahead of me and it is time for me to catch up. these evenings are typically filled with my spots of comedic performance and forced conversations, and in this particular instance. . . karaoke. i watch someone get slapped as i arrive due to my arrival and laugh heartily. i entered the venue to a pair of six-year-olds singing “frosty the snowman”. no amount of abstract writing could make such things up. i couldn’t decide between “oh how cute” and “what the f-ck?” as a guy called to a group of his pals for a round of jagermeister shots. the battle still rages on. a stella gl-ss recalls a previous memoir and provokes a giggle or two. a conversation of hilarious past failures is painted with a horrific performance of “under the sea” by a group of drunkards as the soundtrack. each of these moments rocking emoticon-ed accessories like a pair of silver hoop earrings and i smile just a bit wider

i venture off in the slap inducer with visions of my match replacing sugar plums in my head. i want to stand at the spot where fantasy and reality converge just to watch the explosion. at this time, i feel like the very sight of her in tangible form would decide my future. each word that leaves her lips or fingertips makes my shadows cower in their shadows and we talked the rest of the night away. i concluded my day with childlike giggles, grown man aspirations, and an irreplacable smile

so. . . here i am now, clutching my current sanity, dancing through today’s own appalachians, living the abyss again. i pull out of my jacket one of my favorite books of poetry and decided that this doc-ment must be birthed

- sketch tha cataclysm

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