tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25972793201807308362024-03-13T10:14:14.188-04:00Black Infinity MirrorsLife through verse. And a place to access my lyrics, music, and other stuff I may need.Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-21263258375698820962011-12-05T22:07:00.001-05:002011-12-07T21:55:17.826-05:00Rock Visage and Flesh-Colored Antidotes<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <style>
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</style> <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">My head hurts because external stimuli stabs my heart</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">so I scream into space and punch walls trying to restart my emotional footing </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">I hate tears because fear is better than pity so I shrug off what appears to be pathetic embrace and yell fuck off because I’m not accepting charitable touch and grace </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">a rock is and always will be better than a drop of water when you’re trying to break windows, you see…</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">I have a hard time reading this because nine times out of ten I have to pretend like I have a finished veneer impenetrable to pain inflicted far and near</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">when all I want deep down inside me is to not be afraid of true expression absolute to me – quite frankly fuck subjectivity and camouflaged ambiguity hiding as the truth </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">But yet, here is the mask I wear and often flaunt. With flare. </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">And this mask gets more deceptive with time instead of weathering away like things actually living</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">I don’t—won’t—take it off because—wait, well I don’t actually know why</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Ironic: this knowledge actually makes it all worse because there could be a name to the face on this mask but I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">still</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">don’t</b> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">have</b> a face I can share </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">It’s called the postmodern condition of ambiguous schizophrenic egotism </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">But fuck that. </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">The blame games and name/shame shit doesn’t change the fact I’m hiding behind a front</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">This mask has more facets of existence other than masquerading fury in place of sadness </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Like how I bite my tongue when I should scream and scream when all I want is to retreat inside my mind</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">but then again, sometimes my thoughts burn too hot to hold and too furiously noisy to control </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">But in my mind I can and will and do confide her face to my thought’s eye </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">and when our eyes lock the sparks that fly and the reflection of my smile in your iris lets me see what a real fucking smile on my face looks like</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Lips that lock tear down any vague sense of self-imposed gates</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">I get a natural chemical rush that scorches my skin and heart with fiery hot bliss and there’s a unity that’s passionately peaceful when we kiss</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">and I realize I’ve been looking for this unfiltered reflection of myself for all my life </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">The coldness that I create due to a life’s worth of fronted fakeness is serenely heated to 98-point-6 when I lie embraced in your arms on a bed wrapped in sheets baptized in an internal attenuator that pacifies thoughts to loud to think about because you’re beside me</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">This is what a real sober thought feels like. </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Genuine. </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">My thoughts are not clouded by internally inflicted crucifixions when I hold you tight into my arms. </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">When I’m with you my heart feels warm </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">not cold</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Happiness comes from an external version of something else beautifully internal and almost certainly pained</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Unity – that’s figurative or literal or both – creates an escape, flesh-colored in state</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">She’ll give me strength to confront internal fractures irreparable when they’re left to me</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">because I don’t think living is an ultimately finite road meant to be travelled alone</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">Life as a truly solitary path creates a tragically fucking selfish existence in passing </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">and absolute unity in whatever love-flavored form buffers all the bullshit inherent to truly living alone </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">I’m waiting for this jigsaw puzzle piece to fall into place and I’m skimming along the surface of my thoughts best I can </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">avoiding the dangers inherent to murky pseudo-subconscious thoughts</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">balancing that with my deconstructive eye for vices of the mind </div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;">There’s brightness in a dark self-imposed cave because you’ll be there</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-41765356869320904062011-11-20T22:54:00.000-05:002011-11-20T22:54:12.783-05:00Prism<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">There’s a prism that exists between us</div><div class="MsoNormal">defining our existence based on preconceived zeniths </div><div class="MsoNormal">and we mimic its reflection as we peer through it </div><div class="MsoNormal">seeing the dance we preform </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where did the heart-shattering hammer </div><div class="MsoNormal">and glass-proof shoes get off to</div><div class="MsoNormal">to break this distorted confine </div><div class="MsoNormal">and walk into passion rich atmosphere </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are no hammers or shoes</div><div class="MsoNormal">And the only time we really break out is when we look into each others’ eyes </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a dream where the penumbra was removed </div><div class="MsoNormal">and the smoke was cleared and buffers withdrew </div><div class="MsoNormal">I held you in my arms while the world burned on</div><div class="MsoNormal">the prism melted into sand and the relief felt good</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want the type of time to sit and finally inhale the warmth you give</div><div class="MsoNormal">The sparks that hover in the air when we’re alone is my daily summit </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some fight:</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’re taking flight </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So encompassing for so long </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Destroy to live</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll fragment the world until we can breathe </div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll fragment the world so we can be </div><div class="MsoNormal">This prism is so constricting we have to dream to see the source of light</div><div class="MsoNormal">This prism is so small we have to dream to see the source of light </div>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-45989946539905096802011-11-07T21:50:00.001-05:002011-11-07T21:52:32.278-05:00Scream With MeI have a complex where I lust for understanding<br />
until I understand what it means to be existent<br />
and existent means to be empty and empty means to be broken<br />
<br />
Fragmenting my thoughts--I can render my consciousness to fractals <br />
and infinitely dull the pain with blunt edges and chemical connection<br />
or maybe instead of chemical ingestion I can find someone else<br />
whose head is filled with distaste at her existence<br />
and we can fuck the hatred out between us until I Am Numb<br />
<br />
but with numbness comes coldness and coldness brings distance<br />
distance from one another; God, don't make alone in my existence<br />
I long for the confrontation and transfiguration of the threat of one: loneliness<br />
<br />
Loneliness in my head, I want to be understood by someone else<br />
always together, fuck and forget the rest<br />
<br />
But the evanescence of ordered-sonics<br />
transcribes my internal cries for connection and<br />
sends it through space, racing for embrace<br />
from others with beating hearts and bleeding veins<br />
and thoughts of joy and pain until meaning is transported<br />
into another's thought circle and breathes protection from self-inflicted vexes<br />
and now, We Are Not Alone.<br />
<br />
I know the world the best when I sing so I sing about everything<br />
with structured winds morphed from breathing and living:<br />
I can be with someone else whose heart beats<br />
and I am not prisoner in a one-by-one cell of bone padded with apathetic hate<br />
for the world I occupy because I can share the hate and so much more<br />
<br />
Expression breeds comprehension<br />
Baby, I'm so tired of living inside my head<br />
so this goes out to all the people who get lost in something else<br />
to stave off the emotional compression that reduces everything down to meaninglessness<br />
<br />
shout out what you feel<br />
get lost in the scream<br />
scream for connection<br />
scream for human heatJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-8587632727837841732011-10-04T21:04:00.000-04:002011-10-04T21:04:08.310-04:0010-77tied to the fullness of white<br />
bright, with light and turns to orange<br />
orange to black, gray -- end first<br />
working its way up<br />
bleeding mono attached building blocks of life<br />
<br />
opaque massless mass<br />
in and down and out and up and out<br />
higher and dispersing up to the clouds<br />
it looks like clouds -- foggy at best<br />
foggy at first, plumed out<br />
and up it rises<br />
again and again<br />
<br />
until brown is burnt<br />
on back to white, pace slowed<br />
slowed to a dull glow,<br />
fuel lost as flame meets fluff<br />
and then what's left is tossed<br />
or flicked or maybe stomped<br />
<br />
head slightly swimming, floating on a massless cloud<br />
shortly but surely<br />
yearning embraced<br />
<br />
mono attached building blocks of life<br />
this whole white to orange to black and gray<br />
bleeding death<br />
decayJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-48017074894531318312011-09-15T23:15:00.001-04:002011-09-15T23:19:44.912-04:00EschatonI got this friend: when we were kids we would roam around lands pockmarked with the discernable sound of copper wires hung roof bound<br />
We would pretend to run away and look for refuge in the concrete walls<br />
10 ft tall, iron gridded, and covered in color coded vestiges with what I suppose had more meaning before<br />
<br />
You see: you and me, we were born into a world geared up for emphasis on important things measured in abstract means and transmitted on some type of realm slightly less than physical<br />
<br />
And a part of me apart from me believes in something biblical...<br />
I guess I should have been baptized in waters slightly less unbreakable<br />
<br />
And as we got older the world got colder and kept warm by a bunch of meaningless fire resembling<br />
something like language<br />
<br />
And the chatter invades my mind with every breath<br />
linking the physically vacant and breaking the presently dead<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
And so we roam around lands pockmarked with the discernible sound of multi-synthesized wires hung<br />
above our heads<br />
And we don't pretend to run away:<br />
We run away in our heads with leafy green and brass that gets too hot to hold when you apply open<br />
open flame forged from plastic and not natural<br />
And I choke back the bile that comes from my throat after I send something burning down it because burn and bile is superior to empty presence especially after so much burn when the only thing I<br />
have to worry about is staying upright on my front feet.<br />
<br />
That is simple.<br />
<br />
Every night I go to bed with a floating head and a spinning room is a night I'm not resting on isolated<br />
ones and zeros<br />
<br />
Because it is not a good thing to be well-adjusted to a sick society. <br />
No, the mark of your character is not how snugly you mold your words and hands into flexible and<br />
cold systems running on logic<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
It all lost its footing sometime when eyes focused on pixels and binary instead of breath exhaled and<br />
physical embrace<br />
But everyone pretends that it's all so profound -- interconnected but physically broken<br />
<br />
And but it is said that at least there is meaning; at least there is meaning<br />
<br />
I can't breathe with those words on my mouth<br />
<br />
There is no meaning to something set up where the concrete is measured with the abstract<br />
That's not meaning<br />
<br />
So we'll fuck the meaning out between us and lay lonely together because I'd rather fuck someone ill adjusted to a fucked world than pretend that its smooth water I'm sailing on <br />
<br />
Breathing is hard when I'm breathing in more than just air.Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-30560019997820882372011-05-19T19:56:00.004-04:002011-06-30T21:38:18.271-04:00December Time and SycophantSince you've gone now<br />
now you got rid of me<br />
you dyed your hair brown<br />
does blond remind you of me?<br />
In my heart I got a tatoo<br />
in the place you left it in<br />
I'd love to kiss you now<br />
and put out a cig on your lips<br />
<br />
Round December time room begins to spin<br />
I put a burn in my throat because you're a sycophant<br />
find tools to treat you<br />
or fuck you or whatever else<br />
<br />
Since you've gone now<br />
you got no one else - pain<br />
you can't drive<br />
but you'll get on alone<br />
Septemeber time you think your<br />
getting older<br />
you can't seem to get it in your head<br />
that you got colderJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-5291158176798883732011-05-03T00:53:00.003-04:002011-05-04T00:03:45.677-04:00GreenThis is my first legit attempt at writing in a true free-verse/free-style kind of slam-orientated piece.<br />
<br />
-----<br />
<br />
So did you see everthing of me you wanted to see<br />
when you asked through pixilated screens last spring<br />
<br />
because I think I did show you<br />
all that I could<br />
<br />
and I asked you if you wouldn't play your games anymore<br />
I didn't want your revolving door kind of shit<br />
I wanted you here in the now not in the back of my mind<br />
and in the front of my heart like before<br />
<br />
and you said that you would, you would, you would<br />
you wanted in my mind, inside<br />
so I broke the line I drew just for you<br />
because this time you meant it<br />
<br />
and you meant it because we both came out of a winter cold, hard, cynical, and loveless<br />
and you were my thaw and I was your thaw<br />
and we opened up in bloom, flumed with the colors of green and spring<br />
<br />
Green at the park, we sat until dark<br />
and I remember guardedly seeing your eyes look through mine<br />
and I felt a spark in my head and in my heart<br />
but I reservedly put it off and looked away<br />
because it wasn't going to happen, wasn't going to happen, wasn't going to happen<br />
not today<br />
<br />
and then a few nights passed<br />
and Green was my jacket, my shirt, and my eyes<br />
as I waited for you and we walked<br />
me cautionary and you unreserved<br />
across train tracks and liquor bottles, up hills<br />
and onto a couch where we talked to one another<br />
for what could have been some time, I don't recall<br />
<br />
a red couch<br />
it wasn't green<br />
passion<br />
you said something about a stupid picture<br />
and I said something stupid about the picture<br />
and you said with such a glow in your eyes and on your face<br />
"you don't now"<br />
and me looking at you with the same spark as before<br />
and you leaned in<br />
<br />
fuck<br />
I think I thought<br />
months and months and months and you just put off for four or five nights back<br />
but here I am<br />
we are<br />
together on a spring evening, outside green, spring, my green jacket<br />
and your brown eyes closed like mine<br />
and hand in your hair, behind your ear; red couch<br />
I think I was trembling<br />
<br />
a combination of a warm feeling<br />
parted with shaking joy and trembly voice<br />
we stepped outside into the spring air<br />
<br />
it's the kind of smell you forget how good it is until you step outside next year<br />
before you light a cigarette and cloud the air brown<br />
and it smells so fresh and green<br />
full of life like nature is hopeful and happy to be rid of winter<br />
<br />
you can almost smell the the new life<br />
<br />
and we walked to an empty bus<br />
and went to the back<br />
plexi leather underneath my head<br />
with yours above mine, my neck straining to keep our noses side by side<br />
not thinking about anything<br />
bliss<br />
<br />
and there was a moon above the metal canopy over our bodies<br />
full with white light that made the night bright through the foggy windows<br />
and my neck hurt but I didn't care<br />
<br />
sweet and bitter taste and I couldn't smell the spring air inside the buswarmth<br />
I was beyond her flowery lotion; I could only feel her there<br />
and with care we stayed for a fair bit of time sharing whatever we could<br />
her hair would stray into my mouth until it would tear away<br />
<br />
hot<br />
<br />
I fell away from that night lost somewhere between transverse and irreversible <br />
irreversibly together, or something like it<br />
and there was so much I wanted to say and ask before we left<br />
and I laid in bed flipping moonlit thoughts with - for once in a night - a clear head<br />
not spinning and not twisting and not fuzzy<br />
and not a want for it<br />
<br />
sometimes when you go to bed you get a poetic idea through your head<br />
or melodic and lyrical and instrumental and transcendental<br />
but they get shaken up with your dreams and you wake up thinking you know<br />
know that you had something important in your head<br />
but that you forgot it somewhere between the lightswitch and the pillow you rest on on your bed<br />
<br />
and I'm sure that I had something like that<br />
that I could say the next day when I saw your face and would make you brighten <br />
and I could get close enough to you again to get past the flower lotion<br />
bitter and sweet taste <br />
***<br />
there is an end to all this because there is an end to most things<br />
and it isn't good but not much else is<br />
so I can immortalize you in a good way with words<br />
and I can leave out the rest of the bad<br />
because putting that aside<br />
times spent on grass under trees watching a street cleaner sweep white flowers off the pavement <br />
while I sweep wet tears off your face with ethanol on our lips<br />
and nights passed lying under the same roof on the same couch<br />
with the windows open while a thunderstorm rages outside<br />
with enough force to spray mist through the window-screen over our eyes<br />
but the rest of us covered with blankets and our arms and petrichor <span style="color: grey; font-family: Arial,Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style,Tahoma,Verdana,Arial,Helvetica; font-size: small;"><b></b> </span></span><br />
warm because we're together and nothing else matters<br />
makes all the bad worth the wait...even though lots of bad came after<br />
I call it fate<br />
<br />
Hindsight is a rosetinted glass<br />
painting the past in brighter colors because time moved too fast<br />
<br />
I don't know if I love you<br />
I don't know if I loved you<br />
I don't even know if love can be in past tense <br />
but I know that I love the way you made me feel<br />
and you might have been the love colored space holder in a place in my mind or chest that needed filling<br />
but whatever it is or was it was real<br />
<br />
You make me think of spring<br />
and spring reminds me of green<br />
The problem with it all I guess is that my eyes were green and yours were not <br />
and I was doing a good job not thinking about you too much until the leaves started blooming again, in green flumeJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-7334407076612364892011-04-03T02:47:00.000-04:002011-04-03T02:47:14.708-04:00Give Me SomethingWake up to the sound of your innocence going<br />
I didn't take it, you took it from yourself<br />
You need to realize, sweetie, you live in a cold world<br />
and there's no one to protect you from it, and no one to protect you from yourself<br />
<br />
So give me something, love<br />
or give me something I can hold on to<br />
but don't give me yourself<br />
because I need something you wouldn't give to somebody else<br />
<br />
When you were open for that while I loved you the best<br />
you just don't need to drink to escape, you'll use someone else<br />
We're all fucked up in so many ways<br />
but if you told me how I was fucked up, I'd change that day<br />
(for you)<br />
<br />
So give me something, love<br />
or give me something I can hold on to<br />
but don't give me yourself<br />
because I need something you wouldn't give to somebody else<br />
<br />
I used to think I wrote these words down to clear you from my head<br />
but now I know I write them down to keep you there<br />
<br />
So give me something, love<br />
or give me something I can hold on to<br />
but don't give me yourself<br />
because I need something you wouldn't give to somebody elseJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-23164922648033713622011-03-28T22:49:00.000-04:002011-03-28T22:49:14.315-04:00Who Is In Control of Who #2Mesmerize, paralyze, criticize, fratricide<br />
Did you forget you were supposed to protect us<br />
Insurrection, resurrection, hesitation, convalescence <br />
Did you forget you were supposed to respect us<br />
<br />
Social contract or contract the social<br />
we were all born in to this contract that you were to uphold<br />
<br />
I won't forget and you won't relent, but<br />
I won't relent and you won't forget<br />
So we'll stand on different tiers<br />
You up on marbled steps and column piers<br />
and us on graveled rocks wanting you to hear:<br />
that we're standing with signs and try to strike fear<br />
<br />
From the top, following the drop<br />
to the bottom, hopefully we caught them<br />
off guard, en-guard<br />
coup de grâce, c<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">oup d'état</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">We gave you permission to rule</span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">but we will yank the pedestal you sit on </span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">and watch you fall into your own blood pool </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Because we will change our signs and cameras </span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">and replace them with bombs and AK-47s</span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">We don't care if you don't forget, </span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">but for your own sake you should relent</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Remember this:</span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">you put us in a hole and expect us to dig you out</span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Governor or the governed you</span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ask yourself:</span></span></span><br />
<span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Who is in Control of Who?<br />
</span></span></span>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-23822983662875522342011-03-27T17:35:00.002-04:002011-03-27T17:35:32.746-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://gamovr.mx981.com/data/images/2009/10/house-of-the-undead-by-mishinsilo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://gamovr.mx981.com/data/images/2009/10/house-of-the-undead-by-mishinsilo.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-704972582919788912011-03-20T23:32:00.000-04:002011-03-20T23:32:27.571-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">I wrote this sometime in June, because that's when it's dated, "Some time in June, 2010." I don't like to publish stuff this personal, because it is personal. But it is, in my humble opinion, a good example of some of my lyrics. I might change the privacy of this post at some point. Dunno. </div>----- <br />
By the time day breaks<br />
we'll make our escape<br />
and you'll be out of here<br />
<br />
I spent all last night<br />
looking for letters you write<br />
scattered somewhere in my room<br />
<br />
And I was stoned all last week<br />
because I couldn't speak about<br />
the sentimental mood I've been in<br />
<br />
And every song's the last<br />
one I write about you<br />
Until something else comes new<br />
<br />
I'm trying not to think about you<br />
But every sign I see and song I hear<br />
Pulls me back to that March weekend<br />
<br />
In day I wake and hold it straight<br />
but at night I still dream of you<br />
like I did that weekend thenJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-47650505589026526952011-03-20T23:21:00.000-04:002011-03-20T23:21:20.038-04:00HighspeedI wrote this in Stats class sometime in later January or perhaps early February. It's lyrical, not poetical. <br />
------------<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Watch the high speed camera run </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>at twice the speed of light</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>just to catch you at your worse</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Never turn it off, never turn it off</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've been sleeping with this silence</div><div style="text-align: center;">that alone is enough to kill me</div><div style="text-align: center;">and all I see is enough to numb me</div><div style="text-align: center;">but she, she fuels me</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So I've been awake in this sunlight</div><div style="text-align: center;">and all it does is freeze me</div><div style="text-align: center;">and all I can think about is who will fuck me</div><div style="text-align: center;">but she, she warms me</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>You still right the way you used to be</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>running from bare tree to tree</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>on the mountain top we used to sleep</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>And watch the high speed camera run</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>at twice the speed of light</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>just to catch you at your worse</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Never turn it off, never turn it off</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And no one will listen to me say</div><div style="text-align: center;">this will never work because you never let it</div><div style="text-align: center;">if you're feeding off me like before</div><div style="text-align: center;">the problem is I let it happen </div><div style="text-align: center;">the problem is I'll let it happen</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But let your grace run down on me</div><div style="text-align: center;">all I want is to make it there</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>You still right the way you used to be</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>running from bare tree to tree</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>on the mountain top we used to sleep</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>And watch the high speed camera run</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>at twice the speed of light</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>just to catch you at your worse</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Never turn it off, never turn it off</b></div>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-92025516661240954332011-03-20T22:47:00.000-04:002011-03-20T22:47:14.607-04:00<span style="font-size: x-small;">Tonight's a good night</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">to get a warm feeling </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">down left and right</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">it's summer time</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sink lips and sink hips</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">with your brown eyes</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">looking to strip</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">me up inside</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Before midnight</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Or before it gets light</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Let's get carried away</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">or get it right</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>And the red chemical </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>scorches through me</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>and it sears my empathy</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>with chemical burn</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>This is the coldest fuck I've ever had</b></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">And now I shiver</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">because this frigidness </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">has become so blistering</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm blistering </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">And the miles of silence </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">driven between us</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">is becoming screamable</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">rub our voices raw</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Before midnight</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">or before it gets light</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'll pack my bags </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">or strain my voice</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>And the red chemical </b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>scorches through me</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>and it sears my empathy</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>with chemical burn</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>This is the coldest night I've ever had</b></div>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-9699240972089302892011-03-20T22:23:00.001-04:002011-03-28T22:40:55.326-04:00Who Is In Control of Who?Mesmerize, paralyze, criticize, fratricide<br />
Did you forget you were supposed to protect us? <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">Insurrection, resurrection, hesitation, convalescence</div><div style="text-align: right;">Did you forget you were supposed to respect us?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Social contract </div><div style="text-align: right;">Or contract the social </div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">You put us in a hole</div><div style="text-align: center;">But you should help dig all of us out</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Governor or the goverened you</div><div style="text-align: center;">Who is in control of who?</div>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-42896251750573350002011-03-20T21:38:00.000-04:002011-03-20T22:04:02.347-04:00Unity in DissonanceInside a coffee den in Asheville City<br />
one can find a wide-range of the cultural committee:<br />
<br />
On the ripped leather of barstools they sit<br />
each talking to another, in their nonconformity, they fit<br />
men in skin tight denim jeans<br />
with ruffled hair and ruffled tees<br />
checkered flannel shirts and lenseless glasses <br />
each holding their coffee cups up and down the aisle they make their passes <br />
<br />
their mantra is rejecting what society says is the status quo<br />
they get lost in the caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol that flow<br />
with red eyes and gauged ears<br />
the mix it up between coffee and beer<br />
sitting at a table well into the night<br />
they maintain that their way to live is right<br />
<br />
But why do we hid behind the facade of underground music<br />
and act like aligning under a name or clique will cause us to lose it?<br />
What are we running from in life to give us this feeling?<br />
What is so bad in the first place that has pushed us to reeling?<br />
Because I too will admit this lifestyle is appealing<br />
The endless nights of mixed drinks and no named girls give us reason for dealing<br />
<br />
Do the nameless faces offer a contrast to the faceless Man?<br />
the one who all non-conformists wish to overthrow and supplant<br />
<br />
We may not be expatriates in a foreign land<br />
but we are part of a new lost generation, trying to understandJake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2597279320180730836.post-35422501082802566122011-03-19T23:33:00.000-04:002011-03-19T23:33:05.546-04:00Making a Square Fit Into A Circle Hole By Shaving Down the Corners<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What went awry when I looked into your eye?<br />
And what was that noise, coming from the drunk killjoys?<br />
What did you lose coming from anew?<br />
Come sit beside and tell me to abide.<br />
<br />
Bid them well and goodbye with tender hearts and sleeve-held grudges<br />
Find one more excuse and put it on your forehead for good use<br />
What did you lose coming from anew?<br />
Come sit beside and tell me who do I abide.<br />
<br />
Now here we are on open field<br />
gravel rocks underneath our shoe<br />
cameras we hold instead of guns<br />
with a fence behind our back<br />
we could be revolutionaries but we're stationary<br />
because we choose to capture and not to shoot<br />
<br />
Bid them well and goodbye with tender kiss and heartfelt grudges<br />
And what went awry when I gazed into your eyes?<br />
What did you lose coming from anew?<br />
Come sit beside and tell me to who do I die. </span></span>Jake Rickmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03309681335367603946noreply@blogger.com0