:: blame the extended gestation.... ::

:: Monday, June 07, 2004 ::

The long lines of nothingness. The silent pain. The double feature no go zone. Its all a song. Its all nothing. YOu go until you can't and then you go some more. Controlled the voice of a silent prisoner. A magic ride, a perfect slide, a falling down set for more falling down. You go until you can't go, and then you go some more. A man sits at a park bench. He dreams of being somewhere else, anywhere but here. This isn't a salvation story. This man, he doesn't win. This man he dies. I can't help but think you're disappointed, we all like salvation songs, story book proms, a life line to nothingness. I wanted to make this seem like something worth your time, but its just a story of a man on his last day on earth. He gets up from the park bench and begins to do summersaults, summersaults and candy dishes full of sweets, this is your life and there's nothing you can do about it. So rest. Rest and be merry, be Mary, be my sweet young thing. The song keeps going but you can't tell, you're still looking at the man doing summersaults, Marysaults, somethingsaults. Like little red editing lines on a story that didn't go anywhere. This is experimental. This is me trying to show you inside my mind. Breath. Breath. Find your salvation as this man dances in a park.

:: Jim Nichols 6/07/2004 02:28:00 AM [+] ::
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