L ov E

Ah you loved me as a loser, but now you're worried that I just might win
You know the way to stop me, but you don't have the discipline
How many nights I prayed for this, to let my work begin
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin...

I don't like your fashion business, mister
And I don't like these drugs that keep you thin
I don't like what happened to my sister
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin...

(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)

revealed preference

finely wrought
marble eyes
staring from a martial mask
getting pointed to and now
you look like you
realize that there's something...
missing inaction
moment too soon
an inaudible fraction
Whom can we ask
for, Miss Direction?

The war of art

drawing room
cutting floor
you might get the point
right through the I
and though you might evade
your shield is torn
counter top
my blade cuts low
think its over, but I work slow
distributed reversals
getting you to cross, over
it's all happened already
but you're just getting the picture
painted in, and liminating
writing out the things that don't fit
I draw them back in
like a breath, waiting to expire
I'm not here to help you
but I hear you, helping
none the less,
you spoke too soon.
God has always been dying,
and always will be,
worlds without end.
The universe is the death rattle of the universe.

there is something...

the dark mask tunes
and the light reflects
we can turn the shapes
and pull off redirection
of transmission vectors
a spiral of digression
the closer we get
the more we find
it's not a limited sum
for all are not entirely one
always a step ahead
by slowing down enough
but never too much
it's later than we think, but just in time
stepping through the looking glass
as much as we need
to make it look
the way we want it