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The Boney King Of Nowhere

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I wanna breathe, I wanna be part of the human race [22 Mar 2004|08:44pm]
I have left this place. I seek a new haven at __idioteque__. Feel free to continue indulging yourself with my mindless yammerings there.
speak to me in a language I can hear

Since your not on, and I don't remember your number, and I probably wont talk to you later... [21 Mar 2004|05:49pm]
[ mood | ...and tomorrow is to far away ]

I'm sorry I'm a sarcastic asshat. I don't know what else to say. If I think of something, I'll tell you.

speak to me in a language I can hear

There's too much noise [20 Mar 2004|07:41pm]
I'm talking to myself out loud again. It's the only way to hear myself. I don't feel good. I feel trapped. Strapped into my skin. I need to get out, but I don't know how.

Yer Blues
Yes I’m lonely wanna die
Yes I’m lonely wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.

In the morning wanna die
In the evening wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.

My mother was of the sky
My father was of the earth
But I am of the universe
And you know what it’s worth
I’m lonely wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.

The eagle picks my eye
The worm he licks my bone
I feel so suicidal
Just like dylan’s mr. jones
Lonely wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.

Black cloud crossed my mind
Blue mist round my soul
Feel so suicidal
Even hate my rock and roll
Wanna die yeah wanna die
If I ain’t dead already
Ooh girl you know the reason why.
speak to me in a language I can hear

Die for your country [19 Mar 2004|11:18am]
[ mood | I don't plan on dying ]

As of right now, I am sitting on the couch in adam's living area. If you can call it that. It's very tiny. I am watching him play Ninja Gaiden possibily on of the greatest Xbox games (next to Halo). It's about 11:19 in the A.M. I'll probably be leaving soon. I have no idea what I'm doing today. I want to go see Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, so I might go do just that. As of now, it will be just me attending it, so if you would like to join me, please feel free to say so. So for now, I'm finishing this post, and then going to sit here and watch the pwnage of the blue flamey headed creatures continue.

Much Peace & Love


speak to me in a language I can hear

A working class hero is something to be [18 Mar 2004|06:06am]
I found a penny. I was going to throw it across the room. But I put it in my pocket instead. I have a head-cold. I didn't accomplish anything yesterday. All I did was reorganize my CD's and listen to some of my semi-old mixes. I wanted to read, but I never got around to it. I didn't get any moment to myself, my little brother was attached to the PS2, so I didn't get to play X-2 like I hoped. Oh well, it's Thursday. Technically a Friday. I got 3 days to read.
7 words spoken| speak to me in a language I can hear

[14 Mar 2004|12:53pm]
yeah...Collapse )
speak to me in a language I can hear

[11 Mar 2004|09:02pm]
2 words spoken| speak to me in a language I can hear

[10 Mar 2004|08:32pm]
I still don't feel good. My foot still hurts. It's hard to walk. I still haven't done what I know I should do. I can't bring myself to do it. One day I will. Hopefully.
speak to me in a language I can hear

[09 Mar 2004|09:12pm]
[ mood | crying... ]

To Sheila
Twilight fades
Through blistered avalon
The sky's cruel torch
On aching autobahn

Into the uncertain divine
we scream into the last divide

You make me real
You make me real
Strong as i feel
You make me real

Sheila rides
On crashing nightingale
Intake eyes
Leave passing vapor trails

With blushing brilliance alive
Because it's time to arrive

You make me real
You make me real
Strong as i feel
You make me real

Lately I just can't seem to believe
Discard my friends to change the scenery
It meant the world to hold a bruising faith
But now it's just a matter of grace

A summer storm
Graces all of me
Highway warm
Sing silent poetry

I could bring you the light
And take you home into the night

You make me real / Lately I just can't seem to believe
You make me real / Discard my friends to change the scenery
Strong as I feel / It meant the world to hold a bruising faith
You make me real / But now it's just a matter of grace

It's time for me to go to sleep, And let this wash all over me. Procrastinate on the things I should do to save my soul. But I don't believe in god, so I can't be saved. I've been trying to hard to find something not there. I believe that I am going to give up, cave in, let down. I'm all but hanging on. I'm not what I thought I was. I'm not the me I used to know. Don't move to speak, for I don't think you'll reach me.

Now I'm The Imposter. And The Real On Is Lost Forever.

speak to me in a language I can hear

One more cherry cola... [08 Mar 2004|09:50pm]
Glass and the Ghost Children

To the center of the earth
Or anywhere god decides
Full of fever pulling forth
We hear our call as all

And to the center of the earth
As if written in
Dna is reaching out
To your frequency

I want to live
I don't want to die
I want to live
I want to try

All in prayer
Prayer in all
All are scared
Scared of all

Black rooms are calling
To men in leather coats
White labs are cooking
Up the silver ghost
The glass migrates under
Her translucent skin
And all the spiders wonder
What we've got us in

All is you
You are all
All with you
You in all

I want to live
I don't want to die
I want to live
I want to try

So, it's all very obtuse
because it's all like, like, I don't know
so, like, I started thinking
that everything I operate on
is based on what I believe god was telling me to do.
God could be my intuition or whatever
but I always assume,
I always assume that the voice I hear is the voice of god.
Then I started thinking
"what if I'm insane?"
So I'm operating on the premise
that I'm hearing the voice of god
or what I perceive to be god speaking to me
or through me.
But maybe I'm completly in...
so all my...
demagoguery in my life about me thinking that my life has importance
my, my...
thinking that my life has importance
my, my, my thought of it
and the fact that I believe that I'm following my intuition
which in and of itself may be completely false.
So then I started freaking out thinking...
...of itself may be completely false...
and again this creature that believes that he's acting upon
heavenly intuition, but meanwhile he's totally rampant.
And I started thinking maybe this is the cause
of all the negativity against...

So beats the final coda,
Of our vinyl storm.
Ane more cherry cola,
To lift up her dead arms.
A dream of soft focus sunsets,
Filters through the din.
We are losing contact,
As she dials it in.
She can hear glass calling,
Or is it someone that looks like him?
She eyes tv reflection
And nods a knowing head.
She says it doesn't matter,
she'd never liked her looks.
I have seen a thousand fractures.
I have seen everything.
Cause knowing is its own answer.
Love something in a book.
There's not much left to ponder,
Not much left to cook.
As she counted the spiders,
As they crawled up inside her.

As she counted the spiders,
As they crawled up inside her.
speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - Part VII - A happy ending? [08 Mar 2004|09:31pm]
and so our story draws its final close, a million miles, a few smiles, and a pocketful of tears...all of it earned and burned strong into a consciousness like every living flashing star...all that was was left as perpetual myth, to twist in the wind laughing and wheezing until all could point and remember their stories, their movements, history as a claim they could all bear their own witness to...the body now ravaged but the spirit translucent and very much alive...like all poetry it would lose its place of meter over time, the rhymes and reasons would stale, leaving only pretty prose of frozen sentiment for a simpler, bygone era...it's paper now, and you can do with it as you wish...no one soul need debate the dizzy purpose of the exercise, or the confusions that led them all thru thicker jungles...it is as it was, simply yours...
the kids came and stole the show, naturally of course, when upon that hollowed stage the band strode as if any year, any time but now, but the final collapsing point did go noticed...weep your years and slit your wrists, curse your heroes and kick in the screens, the image stands...image upon image superimposed until all that was left was but greasy blur and a dull ache...but as each song tore each resonant after-image down, all that was left was very clear to see...the blueprint, the tabula rasa, the prayer as hymn had been in your palm all along...

...we never left...

Among these theories of delusion lay the simple heart of a simple man...maybe you know him, maybe you don't, but it needn't matter anyway because the tale told a thousand times was but one chapter in the long road...the fable that must know this end, in this moment had spun this simple man as gold, as eternal cold stop, as spinning fire-child, and as forever grasping animal...for even in war the most gentle of souls will let out a cry stabbing and cutting with all the passion a human being, all but dead, can muster up from rusty gut ...let this tale end as it began...a soul alone in this world... heart connected to mouth, mouth to song, song to the heavens if only to tickle the very real ear of our divine creator... may the creator always spin back endless possibility and infinite potential...with this vibration in the timeless space, a mark is made to begin, so let this be the mark to end...in the void moments of madness, seeking and clutching, our simple man laughs out loud for all the world to hear...the drab crowd said shush and be quiet but it only made him laugh harder...for it really was funny, not because of a dumb joke or the wittiest remark but because he was having fun...it was all too simple and he really couldn't believe his eyes...now. here. always. you. "thank you God for all I am" ...so at the last chord, in the last fade of sound, a stillness came and a peace they had all waited for for so long...one could dream that they would know what they would want now, and with good honor may our hero forge ahead... with love on your side anything is possible, even love... all wounds would hope to heal, the machines could stand down and sing their singsong whir to the wind, trees, and mother earth...it was a good day, and the night will hold quiet...his mother in dreams of good things...


Desolation, yes
Hesitation, no
Desolation, yes
Hesitation, no
As you might have guessed
All is never shown
Desolation, yes
Hesitation, no
speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - Part VI [08 Mar 2004|04:45pm]
Well, the I of the Mourning is on!

Are you ready for redemption? Then read on- this is a chapter six in a series of missives designed to speak directly to your heart on an issue most important to you – your salvation!!

Many many years ago a child was born into a cold night – to some this beautiful child was blessed as any other, but not special. But to those who read the signs they knew a storm was coming! People, that child has come to these end times to deliver a message that must be heard! Do not shy away for this child is your child – for thou the truth may some times sting, eternal damnation is far, far worse!!!

He says, “Look to the I of the Radio for all you seek the eye of the radio is everywhere, the maker of all that is real + all that is unseen. Be not afraid, for the I of the Radio loves you and will always play your favourite songs."

"Everywhere you look there are reminders of a material world. It does not care about you. Why do you feel too big too small, too fat or too skinny, or are you too light or not dark enough????"

"Friends, where do you think these ideas come from? Why, a culture and civilization that makes money on our differences to exploit what we want the most – to belong!!! Let me tell you that you already do belong, for the I of the Radio made us all different on purpose, so that no two should be a like. The I of the Radio celebrates your individuality each snowflake, every flower every new dawn that brings light + life to this wonderful wonderful world. You are important!! Together we can move against these ominous forces to bring harmony to the chaos. Never forget the I of the Radio is on, it never turns off!!!"

Coming soon!! (From this ministry) – Chapter 7: A happy ending?? Love life ambition, + piece? – is it possible in a modern world?

- Is Rock n Roll bad for the soul? Or are we going to die for Rock n Roll??

- Happiness is a warm piece of bread!

- False prophets + real deceivers!

- They walk among us today!

Restless children: their desires, wishes, dreams, and how to control them.

God Bless You Friend!

The I of the Radio Ministries Chicago, IL PO Box 57006
3 words spoken| speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - Part V - The Story of June (so far) [07 Mar 2004|08:57pm]
She drew circles around her subjects and squares around her enemies, woman eternal, restless with praise/Resentful of penetrating worship, but she often resembled a statue in a museum/June met with Zero the hero playing chess/Everytime he would make a move, she would pick up another of her chess pieces and put it in her mouth/The horses were made of chocolate which made them easier to taste, but the white chocolate queen was still her favorite/Just as he was ready to call check-mate, she ate the jellybean king and claimed her victory right then and there/She always won, or he made her think that she did/As she was drinking a glass of mercury to wipe the taste and memory, a trumpet sounded thru the rubber walls/"Oh" he said and they got up to go/"Do I look alright" she asked no one in particular as she gazed into an antique mirror/They moved silently/Shoes scuffing grey concrete as the sound grew with each step/A disembodied voice cooly announced "LADIES and gentlemen of all persuasion, please welcome to our stage tonight and tonight only, the Machines"/At which point he yawned louder than he spoke any of the words/Polite applause followed the remaining ducks as they hopped off the stage and the machines took their spots all marked with an X/Ruby took her place in the wings to see the look in the eyes of the feedback scarred/And somewhere somehow someone struck a note/After the show they beat the chess set to splinters with a railroad hammer, and rode silently back to their home/Glass blew the dust off an old forgotten vinyl record by the New Animals, while his love shouted one more line to pass the time which by everyone's watch was over/As the record ** skipped they made love as they always had/He felt her in his bones/She wanted what was his and his only/He could no *** longer tell if he was alive as before but it hardly mattered to no one in particular because everything was different anyhow/Each time he got bored with this game he thought up a better one and this gave him much satisfaction/A trumpet ****** blasted thru the thin plaster walls and they both nodded it was time to pay the rent/When the friends began to arrive they were asked by no one in particular to sit at the big oak table at all the wrong famous names/Snaky Tooth took Churchill's seat/Thunder Jack took Disraeli's seat/Namci sat wherever she wanted, of course/Billy sat at the head of the table and put on the hat pointy that spelled dunce/Everyone laughed like they were supposed to/Two twins appeared and began to saw the legs off the **** table/Somewhere somebody said "this should take a while" porcelain white from all the drugs, Daphne was now a prisoner of her own success/"Hrmphh" the father hurrumphed, "there is no such thing as success, only hard work and tears"/Of course everyone ******* agreed "once I was a little girl" she said to no one in particular, "and I had bright red shoes that my grandma, who we called nana, would shine, shine, shine all day long"/Everyone agreed that she was still that little girl/When the table collapsed from too much sawing everyone yawned and got up, except for Billy, who was still stuck in the most serious of thought/He didn't see her leave and he would not hear her when she returned/That night he dreamt of his mother, young and beautiful, and she told him many secrets, mostly about love and how it was like water that shined in the sun/"cover your eyes son, cover your eyes!"
speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - Part III [07 Mar 2004|10:06am]
without focus, without generation, without peer...come whither winters too often seen ...felt in devotion, willing in it's uncertainty...cry aloud yes! children to a child ...a crown glorious for seeing and naysing, soothsaying into prophecy in measured mercury time...this is our moment, our world, this is our church, our children, our dominion as yet undisclosed, as yet unclaimed...the universe is ours reduced to tiny portraiture... with love and fire and desire and innocence to reckon judgement upon us all...in this duality until we are truly free...this role cast and agreed upon, the child took it's hand...to know no other except in one's heart is to walk forward into oblivion...raised from sleep to be beaten, moved to non-tears from an implied violence that hung in the air at all hours..."these terrors and troubles will make you," he was told but somehow they continue to break him...a smile is always the great eraser, and the dreams of those future smiles and miles allowed a secret garden to grow, however sad true it all became...it never was you can say, but it was...and it never will be they can say, but it will...something always gets lost along the way...in translation, in memory, in vision, but that is just how it is...so to peer strong into the faces one must see their own face, to wonder reflection and not judge, but this too is impossible...for the accused will one day stand as the accuser...the cord snakes between the legs, one fist raised in power, the other fist raised in solidarity, this is the universal vision of the movement...I used to be a little boy so old in my shoes...for every face slap that imprinted itself as tattoo under my skin, every indignity that scarred itself upon my broken heart, walks with me as ghost and conscience...a boy, a zero, a hero, a goat, a ghost frozen glass, broken, this is all you need to know...the codex every moment in this war without end, the attrition constant, but the victories oh so sweet and pure...in this we drink from mountain springs and let the grand old sun soak us old...to curse one's very existence is a kind of power, especially if you can decide to make the best of that hate, to fuel that anger with the necessity of resignation and purpose...to cloak your pain and fear in the language of sound, the poetry of devotion...a child draws the perfect house with the perfect parents and the perfect hot rod car and the perfect dog, unwittingly signing into a contract bound to be broken...the choices came before all he believed, but somehow the fuzzy glow of intuition didn't seem to cover the tracks of this particular beast...glass disintegrates it all for your entertainment, his purpose to be the atom bomb unsustained and smiling that perfect smile...from the first cord came shiver and from the last cord will come peace...it is a game to be played viciously, so change the names and make up a few new verbs and there you go...this child was struck and a decision made to never never cry again...in this stupid land of the frozen ideal, WHO AND WHERE ARE THEY NOW?? the wooden idols of persecution in the glory of helpless and unending resurrection...who will be there upon your deathbed hour to hold your hand and wipe your brow...who will cast the last stone upon you, will it be the same demons, perpetrators and eviserators from long to haunt and decimate...all martyrs are dead and there going to stay that way...wave after wave of fury crossing the bow till there is little more than charred husks and winking sighs...no more to behold, no more to see, no more...the universe was contracting as quickly as it had been set into expanding malice...the first blow struck revolution, the last bell resonant silence...to match the eyes and the doll faces of the perfect parents with the perfect teeth smiling upon the perfect children. long live rock!!!! What does an outsider stand for if they stand cooly on the inside...can you exist inside and outside simultaneously? or must our heroes forever be on the outside looking in? to prove what? and to whom? a broken ideal for which no rewards are given but grudging respect...the spirit breaks but the will is strong...as soft white light caressed their faces they knew that all was good and all would be forgiven, and that their echo would ring forever on and on...in dull cascades and numb electric parades, the true essence would distill and pervert, becoming an unrecognizable new art in it's distortion...a boy holds his guitar in teenage arms and he is power...a man holds aloft a broken guitar and he is shattered... who will pick up the pieces this time? only God knows the true truth...from child to children passed above heads and hearts, beseeched to know and keep knowing...the revolution is never over, it is just beginning...funny how this revolution was televised and everybody got bored and changed the channel to what? chattering mannequins on angel dust and power prayer...whither winters past but we live on and on and on...again and again we are in cracks and rust and swinging screen doors, never to be forgotten...are you tired yet????
speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - Part II [06 Mar 2004|12:14pm]
Eyes were being scratched still and tattoos applied, but no one could or would ever hear the full secrets of glass. He was re-writing his story everyday, moving the fixed destiny point, with every triumph and mistake. Every kiss held new promise, every song a new disaster. All were sung to the ghost children, the synthetic flesh flash of ideal and glitter gash in their dreams they saw him surreal, but he was as real as they needed him to be. Discarded until he roared back into their vision. Within blood and sound, once invested there was no turning back for anyone. Plastic playmates and wooden rock rot haunted their hari hari plots in glass's obvious plays for sympathy. Or was it the other way around he was a general leading them all into war that he and they knew they could never win but still they fought to love and always die standing moving in night funerals because all the others have perished he caught glimpses of their faces every once in a while in rubble and wreckage strewn, he had fought way to long jam wired shut and now he held too long past sleeping futures and endless newscasts, seeking shelter and a place to once again call home in the dark he would fumble with food and foe, seeking contact and knowing confirmation cells sign agreement over concrete cold, always remembering and as if drawn he would lumber on, gun in hand and tears in heart he tried to keep a journal but kept losing the pages, pictures of tree's dates taped to his chest, he had gone mad, but there was no longer anyone he heard or respected to tell him so, the grass grew very fast and it seemed he had to cut it every four or five days. In radio static he waited for an order that may never come, he never wanted to be outside in the direct sun, but the tree sang him to sleep, the weeping willow out back seemed to hang it's hurt, so obvious and no one seemed to mind, out the window he stared, seeking her and them a bay would come his mind would drone, but there was no one there to agree in fact the entire weight of his surroundings seemed to indicate the exact opposite but like a dumb fish, he kept swimming upstream. There was little of beauty to guide except the sun and moon, his constant companions as majesty full the night came the daylight only providing protection for the scars laid bare the night before, the pills seemed to have fallen on the floor everywhere and no matter how hard one scrubbed the dirt was always there even the neighbors smelled the garbage and in polite realities, piled high and often, spilling over the redwood fence into their perfect yards in the morning the grass shown dew prisms in the midday sun it burned scorched brown thirst and at night held cool moon dust and starlight out here, the universe was vast only in distance it was never meant to be held here, it cried a mystery "I am and you must find me first if this game is ever to begin in faith. there is all power, in love all faith every action a pebble dropped into the clear pool of humanity, rippling forever on until the waves become indecipherable and unseen what seems like confusion becomes order of the highest magnitude". Glass had so long ago reasoned himself out of reason, anxious but not afraid, he told himself that this meant something over and over until he began to believe it the mask came off and he beheld yet another mask, like all modern men we could claim mystery over all, but it was a paper truth and he knew it.
speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - Part I [05 Mar 2004|02:59pm]
and as it was with all things, we spoke in rhyme and riddle...not for fear of detection, for that had happened a very long time ago, but rather that those who had secretly wished to be spoken to were...

to know that these words were intended for them and theirs only...for lonely isles and windswept curses held the symbols transmuted and divined to hold within, to keep forever... only a warm heart and a knowing smile granting entrance to this mystery...for every age held it's oracles and truth tellers, it's false bell ringers of alarm, and of course the hollow spectres of complacency...so in this we sing the true echoes sown of old cloth, born to stare so ravaged by all they see...because truth is madness and madness truth truly revealed, and to see is to always see too much...to bear witness to the false and right and relay backwards and forwards that which you know...love the constant signal that heals and promotes as our truth teller sleeps inside furious walls, thrice blessed and crimson cursed...his story is the same story, and as with all without ending...a boy and a girl, simple yes but eternal always...glass plays, the machines shakes voltage, and the gaze is drawn again and again in uncertain lines...one ray catches a june eye, our angel who has waited so long...frozen to witness, we can walk around and survey this moment as close to perfection as any that have ever been, to see the joy, the exalt, the arrogance...with it's sheer violence of embrace and release slowly offering teeth gritting awareness, the song ends, the lovers arc, and in this bliss there is hope, expectation, and yes, pure and indivisible love...the girl, his love, the light that would transform any story into the moon and it's sister stars...she had no faith but that which destroys, and had only known herself in coarse mirrors, giving over and unto whatever moved her...opium eyed and gouge mouthed, she stalked a barren trail because she believed that all that was good had died long before she was named...she the reflection in glass, he in her that which he could not claim, her in him that which she so desperately needed, forever breaking...she had chased black holes of silence to find peace, and in turn that darkness swept into her a fever that was unshakable...their fates had intertwined long before they were lovers, their moment extending back before a time their eyes first met, and that bond was eternal, thru fire and chard to meet again and again until this moment, our apex and conclusion...

these lights rise to search the heavens, straining to be recognized in sanctity, purity, and insolence...to hopefully catch the gaze of a supreme intelligence, watching us quietly and nodding a silent approval...because it is with faith and faith only that one justifies the reach, with little to confirm but glimmer and awe, ritual and circumstance alike...in dreams and visions alike, so real and unreal to be imagined again and again in a reverse mindscape, was video fodder to soak in..he had his voice, disembodied with no claim...but were the sounds his? could he own these thought if they could be sold? thumbtacked to ceilings all over the world lay his schemes and praton wishes, cold flung to white light, like scrapnel of a teenage atom bomb...the kids waited their turn for their piece, and the eyes watched you everywhere...amongst these ruins our hero dies zero and finds a dead station moving static code...thru the channels and medium still he spoke only to find out he wasn't speaking at all, just humming someone elses favourite song...the voice says you are one of many more to come...in sadness and in love, in faith and movement alive
1 word spoken| speak to me in a language I can hear

Glass and the Machines of God - a modern fable [04 Mar 2004|07:30pm]
somewhere in the not so distant future, we may find a world of not so subtle torments...for amidst the rubble of urban decay and barren wastelands find wander a billion shattered souls...disconnected from themselves by impersonal technologies and personal cause...one such soul is the center of our story, and his name is GLASS...he is the lead singer of THE MACHINES OF GOD, and he believes that GOD itself has asked him to try to change the world...this poses two simple questions: “what is important in a place such as this?” and “is GLASS a prophet sage or just someone who has gone quite mad indeed?!...

but first we must go back into the decadent swirl of the past to set the stage for what is to come...you see, GLASS used to be named zero, and the band *****, at least until zero convinced the band to change the name of the group...they were the biggest band in the world, so this was a very courageous move to make...one day zero had been alone in his house, quietly listening to the radio when a voice began to speak slowly and clearly to him...it was the voice he had heard in his head since he was a child, but now it spoke to him thru the radio...this voice, which came to be known as the I OF THE RADIO, told zero that his life was predestined, and in order to fulfill his destiny he would need to devote his life to a much higher calling, one that would look beyond the material trappings of the occluded world...this epiphany that he was indeed important was a life changing and soul shattering experience, giving him newfound confidence and spiritual purpose...he finds sudden clarity in his spirit, but can now see the utter shallowness of his real (and particularly) public life...this sudden change causes many around him to distrust where all of this is coming from...but his band stands with him when he changes his name to GLASS and rechristens the band the now aptly titled MACHINES OF GOD...

in his heart however, GLASS secretly questions why he has been chosen...he is both enamoured and flattered by the idea, but at the same time is innately resistant to the responsibilities that this will bring...in his mind, god has aligned himself with GLASS, and GLASS has aligned himself with god...a messenger he shall be, but is he just a c.o.g. within another c.o.g. within another machine?...he decides to use the instrument of his band to spread the truth of life and that love and only love can be the answer...so our story begins with GLASS AND THE MACHINES OF GOD at the height of their material powers, with the most devoted fans in the world, and having just changed the name of the band, releasing their new album, entitled MACHINA...

for years our hero has searched for his true love, the woman of his dreams, JUNE...he called her by many names hoping that there somewhere out there she waited for him too...so one night after a concert, he saw her, and right then and there he knew he had finally found her...JUNE was his perfect reflection, everything that he was not...she brings to him the universal truths of life and living, and a life he has never had... what he does not realize then is that he has fallen in love with a reflection of himself...she embodies the darkness he can only write about...she lives the life of flesh and bone, one he can only think about...so for one short period of time, our hero once zero feels complete and whole, with god and a woman by his side...

GLASS finds himself increasingly torn between his new love and his true calling as a messenger...he doesn’t realize that he really doesn’t have to make a choice between the light and her darkness...he tries to find balance between his humanity and his spiritual pursuits...unknown to GLASS, the hedonism and electric energy of GLASS’ accelerated world fuel JUNE’s ever increasing secret drug problems...GLASS comes home one night to find JUNE in a drugged haze, a vinyl record hissing endlessly on the out groove...JUNE is so out of it that she doesn’t recognize GLASS at all, as he calls to her to come back to him...the truth revealed, GLASS sits next to her and, in a rare moment of candor, reveals that god has been speaking to him thru the radio, knowing full well that JUNE probably won’t remember the conversation...despite that, GLASS reveals that he has doubts about the validity of the messages and wonders if he is going insane...

GLASS decides because he loves her so, he will try to save her as he is trying to save everyone else, with the power of his healing...GLASS is now on a crusade to save everyone in his life; his band, his girl, his audience, and consequently the world...the only problem is that he has forgotten to save himself...

GLASS begins to lose his balance on both ends when he becomes over righteous and indignant in his beliefs, alienating those who already believe in him and turning off potential new converts...GLASS sees himself as some sort of cosmic preacher, and if he just shouts loud enough the message will somehow get thru the din...JUNE, finding the solace and power in GLASS that she couldn’t muster on her own, begins to believe that she does not need him anymore...she has taken her fill from his light, and like so many others that have taken from GLASS, question whether they ever needed him at all...GLASS begins to bitter at the prospect that he is being toyed with and used by god and JUNE... slowly, GLASS begins to lose faith in his seemingly unshakeable beliefs...he becomes paranoid, believing that everyone is out to get him...the new album is released and is not well received by the fans or the general public...for the first time since the band began, GLASS is publicly humiliated...he begins to question the validity of the messages, thinking perhaps they are from a false god or that his filters of perception are misaligned... he begins to descend into madness, accusing JUNE of disloyalty...in one final argument, she admits she never loved him at all, and that she did hear him tell her about being spoken to by god, and that she believes he is insane...she tells him goodbye for the last time and storms off into the rainy night...she loses control of her car, and is killed when it skids off the road...GLASS blames god for the loss of JUNE, idealizing his time with her because he can not let go of what her vision means to his faith...he blames the fans for their betrayal at not supporting and following the bands new direction...inconsolable, and without informing the MACHINES, GLASS impulsively tells an audience one night that the band is going to break up and will only play one more final, and sadly tragic show...

the night before the final concert, GLASS has a prophetic dream that he is a soldier in a war...he wears a uniform, but does not know who the enemy is or even what side he is fighting for...he wanders the empty streets, gun in hand, looking for anyone at all...in a dark starewell he meets a faceless soldier who takes him by the hand into a dusky basement...the soldier does not speak, and together they sit underneath a single hanging bulb...he is just an animal, seeking shelter, warmth, food, and love...this dream, and the MACHINES final concert send GLASS into a disturbing tailspin...he feels truly and utterly alone...

after the final concert GLASS is quickly forgotten by the public, and he takes to living in an empty warehouse away from anyone at all...he has always felt alone, but now all of the things that gave him strength, focus, and identity are gone...he faces his own doubt and mortality for the first time...he begins to walk by himself at dawn thru the waking streets, and slowly finds an inner peace with his spirit...he begins to forgive and accept the things that have happened to him, and understand that his desire to find perfection above his own humanity led him to things that he did not really want or need...he begins to love and empathize with others without fear of consequence, and so in his aloneness realizes that he was never really alone at all... GOD has always been with him, and always will be...and so in this moment he fulfills his destiny, both for himself and for GOD...
speak to me in a language I can hear

[04 Mar 2004|03:56pm]
Does anyone have my Johnny The Homicidal Maniac Comic? I was just wonder. I believe I loaned it to someone. I'm just wonder who has it, and if I can get it returned.
1 word spoken| speak to me in a language I can hear

Bulletproof... I wish I was [02 Mar 2004|04:39pm]
It's redundant and overdone, but this is the only way I can say anything.

Don't bother, you know you're not going to read it anyway. Just keep goingCollapse )
speak to me in a language I can hear

It makes me smile [02 Mar 2004|06:11am]
Love is Soviet Russia
Love is Soviet Russia
1 word spoken| speak to me in a language I can hear

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