GUY FAWKES NIGHT (1)

GUY FAWKES NIGHT.

(First impression.)

"I think that absolute truth and statistics are two different things. Statistics for the most part suggests truth but doesn't really always tell it. Hence I'd say that statistics and absolute truth are completely independent of each other."

I never do drink at these parties mother...I really only think about how these lonely solipsistic thoughts are effervescent; like soulless and friendless clouds muttering about other sad lights in the dark, shining sadly in distress and writing things on this phone...People are around him.

And now I eat a slice of pizza, which will of course remind him of you soon- laughing about in your cute little dress while I pretend the night was restless and breathless. He couldn't hear the whispers then. They were drowning in the rhythmic and pounding vibrato of young and don't give a fuck, let's smoke a blunt.

Even the cigarettes and beer bottles were drowning as well; in the incomprehensible bass of my apparently misunderstood generation...He couldn't hear the whispers then. I however am typing now and do. I can see your smile; I can feel your hair, skin, breath, no. He hadn't even wanted to go until he saw you. He hadn't even wanted- I can read my novel now.

Everyone's gone home including me. I am now busy dawdling past midnight and finding words and stories. I obviously have nowhere else to find adventure but in dead and silent screens- why are we asleep? Are we not moved by today and tomorrow? Is no one interested in yesterday?

Though everyone had gone home except him. It didn't take much for him to start thinking. He just needed to be walking or talking. If not talking then simply just not talking- sorry, what did you say? Oh, yes, he does think those last fireworks were rather pretty. Did he mention you are too?

I think that perhaps he is still there, wandering and meandering...looking for places, looking for people.

Have I Mentioned Before That I Can Rap?

Well, have I mentioned before that I can rap?

***

Opus. 1
Bruno Smet, Tawanda W.T Mulalu, Roger Waters.


I.

('Is There Anybody Out There?')

Individuality of heartbroken causality
The chest muscle ripped out in bloody fatality
Existence a game that can't even channel my
Code, my blueprints, not part of the lie
Tossed to the other side of the equation
I; the variable to be eliminating
Aware of complexities in calculating
The difficulty in the truth that I am stating
A heaven that aspires and desires to possess
The soul and the mind of my intellect
That speaketh beyond the mundane dialect
To the core of the issue through the soft tissue
But locked up, choked up, pretending not to hurt too
Still, on goes tomorrow like a visual reel
Feast for the eyes, leaving out lies and real
I am a closed system with ethereal addiction
To the stars of the universe and beauty of fiction
But contrast in reality, burden of my entropy
Fissures in my mind reveal that I am faulty


II.

('Swinging Sadness' [Trance])

Distant dreams where I can't find
My ambition and my peace of mind
Aimless wonderings through reality
And lost in words and numbers concurrently

(x2)

III.

('Is There Anybody Out There?' cont.)

Ignoring the need in our precious little moments
For cold, hard logic and all of its importance
The Burden of proof long cast out the window
And result in tumult with its reverbrating flow
Endless, soulless ignorance results of that
And countless, amountless, verbose combat
Our centers struggle to keep rhythm to the score
Therefore, henceforth Muzak played ever more
Sad black credits rolling quickly down the screen
Lack of medics showing swiftly crowns our dreams
To the dirt, and of course your heart hurts
Back to the floor, as your pathetic pressure soars
Everyone has answers but you know they aren't sure
Resolving the problem simply by believing
We find instead the opposite unearthing
The dirt that once covered our lowliness
Has drifted apart, revealing loneliness
The burden of proof- brought back to light
We can now only set our own souls alight


We're dying as we're burning
And we're trying as we're yearning
And we're crying as we're hurting
And I'm sighing as I'm learning.



***


Copyright to Pink Floyd for the song 'Is There Anybody Out There?' from 'The Wall.' 
Credits to Bruno Smet constructing the 'Swinging Sadness' bridge with his awesome guitar.
Oh,
 I wrote the lyrics.

Of course I'm not moody!