Discount Album

eight hundred miles for you. eight hundred miles for me. what can i say? it's not so hapless. it's not so harsh. i can take it. so i sit on the porch and i listen to traffic. i read the paper. this is water. this is wood. this is your living room. this feels good. half fiction, half documentary. i'm right on. no. i don't know. there is distance more than miles. but our ideas are adjoining canals.

it's raining on the other side of these walls. the thunder reminds us of the times we hoped for nothing but storms and creepy fishing boats to sink. we wave sometimes to pretend that nothing is changing. but you've gone on and i've gone off to get lost and devistated. the lightning is lighting up the land. the bright light reminds me that my night life is crumbling when the pitch black begins to lose its pitch. but devistation is not the same thing as disaster. one's all smiles, one's all laughter. top it off. clap and cough. feel the rough. this is the little stuff. trees are snapping. trash is slapping my windows. i'm mapping out the stuff that the wind blows. he's blowing kisses. she's making fists. he's sinking boats. it's sinking in. she knows that things are changing.

you've had those torn jeans on for days. you keep humming that same song. we never argue but they say it's bad if we get along. on the phone you dry your eyes. you know i can't explain regardless of the direction the earth turns we've got to walk the other way. if you've got to say it i won't mind. i can't justify your pain by saying it's just a matter of time. i got your letter in my box and i was almost ashamed to read it with a smile when i knew i ought to toss it away. i never knew what horrible destruction could happen to this place. it's all silent and defying in our heads, in this case.

am i missing something in the way you said to me
"we're missing something, let's find the vacancy."
the object shouldn't be to be on top of things.
we agree that falling off is more interesting.

together we've come to the conclusion that all
is won even if we're losing. all is successful
just as long as we're smiling.
together we're lost in confusion.
which is fine, our perilous delusion.
camp fire, hill top excursion. explosions.

it's funny how it happens after so many distant years.
you find an outlet in a pair of once distant eyes.
fears and rules and fences blow away in our wind.
finally there is nothing left to cage us in.

together we've come to the conclusion that all
is won even if we're losing. all is successful
just as long as we're smiling.
together we're lost in confusion.
which is fine, our perilous delusion.
camp fire, hill top excursion. explosions.

am i missing something in the way you said to me
"we're missing something, let's find the vacancy."
the object shouldn't be to be on top of things.
we agree that falling off is more interesting.

i climb. you dive. i slide. you drive.
the proof shatters windows. yeah, we're still alive.

am i missing something in the way you said to me
"we're missing something, let's find the vacancy."
the object shouldn't be to be on top of things.
we agree that falling off is more interesting.

you bleached the night with your headlights. blinded and caught fire to all my secrecy. and now i'm burning down. can you take one good look around. there's more to see in this rain. i'm having trouble listening on the inside. there's too much going on. on the outside in the sun shine. gravel in my coffe again. headaches for a friend, from a friend. mutual flame extinguishing. and it's because of you. because of you, because of me. we'll never sleep again if we follow the creases. pick up the pieces and sift the gravel from my coffee.

thought of you yesterday, think it's illegal. but i'm running free otherwise, free as a bird. there's no breaking point, no barbed wire army waiting patiently. i sit in a million pieces. who planted the bomb in my coat pocket? spread out, and we move around in the hissing green garden of steam. and yes, i am entirely radioactive you know. the ground melts under my feet. who planted the bomb in my coat pocket? you planted the bomb in my coat pocket. and now we'll both explode.

i read in the paper that another man made a difference today. column thirteen explained the reasons they had to put him away. but i can't stand here staring all i want in dismas. tomorrow's paper, the same face, different day. regardless, everyone's so indifferent down town. the conversation's still the same apparant run around...

don't come home like that. home isn't where we should be hiding. this room is echoing terrifically. your tongue is slipping instinctively. it's a shame true feelings run from your bottle. was i nothing more than a part of your foundation? a beam in your scheme. a seam in your creation. and you don't hesitate to hammer us in to the concrete. and you watch us bend because you can't wedge your way into nothingness. don't come home like that. home isn't where we should be hiding. this room is echoing terrifically. your tongue is slipping instinctively. it's a shame true feelings run from your bottle. this is how my house moves and breathes and as awkward as it may be. it's my house and i am breathing its toxicity.

when reason makes a trip to the other side, we slip under the cover, swim in the town's tide. let go just to discover how little we know about each other, how often we avoid each other's eyes. it's like hail on our backs. we're digging up nothing but broken bones. we determine too much over the telephone. it's like stale laughter and fake smile soup. this tastes like shit. you taste like shit sometimes. you'd be more fun if you weren't so afraid of getting a little salt in your eyes.

awake and pacing, preoccupied by the clattering trays, stuck in a daze by the fuzzy ceiling radio and rusty hangings that say, "you love us because we love you. p.s. did i mention there is nothing else we can do?" what's there to say? what's there to do with four kids at home and a husband that drops by every couple of days? what's there to think when there's plenty to forget? it's all about numbing the senses, never getting visibly upset. well, maybe you're right. maybe it's like this everywhere but that's no reason not to leave, just go anywhere, just get out of here. you've been here too long. we don't mind these awful uniforms. we smile when they touch us in the back room. we laugh at their sick jokes and curse them under our breaths...act like we don't know they're standing too close, but any close is too close. always saying, "that one was a close call." awake, and pacing. preoccupied. fuzzy feeling inside. blowing smoke and dodging looks and cursing jokes. well i am visibly upset.

i dreamt this was a castle. i was stuck by the washing machine. you slept by the television. somehow, i couldn't sleep. eventually you woke up and i apologized. you asked me over next to you. i stared at the static lines. your ability to terrify just one lofty night...i tried to move, i tried to sit tight, but in dreams you can never run. you said, "i think i like this." i said nothing. i was shocked...i just stared at the room. the tv flashed those static lines. the room became such a confusing place, as if i didn't know. driving along the highway we laughed but i can't remember where. you said, "i think i like this." i said nothing. i was shocked. the tv flashed those static lines.

put the cans safely back on the shelf. take a breath, grab a hold of yourself. if i had a headache for every other bad day you're dragging around, i'd fall dead on the counter. i'd fall dead on the counter. happy to be lying down. your face reads like a horror flick. eyes react to every movement. it's just, it's just motion. it's just, it's just movement. you're seeing things in malformation. your projection is kind of hazy. it's kind of funny how you're sort of lazy about getting it fixed.

left me on the edge, looking over. you said i was wild but i just felt tired. it's hard to care, just like it's hard to remember, somtimes. and you can't help but drag me into the hall when he is standing right there. everyone can hear you talking. i'm turning inside out. i'm sinking into the floor. i know he's listening and he's following a lot more than you or i. there's holes in the carpet but that's not why we're here. i was getting ready to throw a bunch of garbage, about to say that he might care, about the holes in my outfit enough to thread my life together. needles are flying around the room. welcome to a museum i can't explain. there's no guides today. today. i refuse to speak. my impression's pretty weak. sometimes the past seems way too present.

is it ok if i don't go out i know i promised i would. is it ok if i leave you there? i really think i should. is it ok if i unplug the phone? is it alright to lock every door? is it ok to make rash decisions over nothing while i'm half asleep on the kitchen floor? answer me tonight or never answer this and walk away. take this thought and hold it together. otherwise don't look down...