Monday, July 12, 2004
Because I'm going crazy
Words revolve in flame and keep the coliseum heart afire, reflecting orange sunken suns in the secret petals of ruined arches. Yes, the glowing asbestos thorns and whistling flame flowers reflect the cells of the scarlet heart and the colisuem burns on, without a hero, on the brink of blackness. So words have power to open sesame and reveal liberal piles of metallic suns in the dark pit that wait to be melted and smelted in the fire of spring which springs to fuse lumps and clods into veins of radiance.
So Fuzz burns yellow dahlias on her dark altar of the sun as the sun wanes to impotence and her world falls in winter. birds contract to frozen feathered buds on barren boughs and plants surrender to her omnipotent white frosts which hold all colours all cruelly locked in.
Madness has always had great visuals, its ugly affliction often creating a freakish beauty when it prays upon the young and the lovely and charmed and blessed, inflicting the bipolar image of the female grosteque: the luminosity of beauty is matched only by the stuprefaction of insanity, the opaque eyesore of sadness and despondency, a mixture of prettiness and pollution so striking and inexplicable that it is as hypnotic and paralyzing as a skyscraper burining down, so strange that mystification becomes inevitable.
I want to live each day for itself like a string of coloured beads and not kill the present by cutting it up in cruel little snippets to fit some desperate architechtural draft for a Taj Mahal in the future.

Yup. That's me, at 11, with the Taj Mahal. The photo's proof of my dad's love for photography.
posted by Fuzzy @ 00:07
monologue.