Rock & Roll #33

I woke up at night
All sweaty and cold
It started to sink in
I am 33 years old
And so 'Good bye' my bottle
And 'Hello' my Jesus
I am trying so hard
So please, please, please!

Come play with me
Stand by my side
And whisper in my ear
That I am all right
Forget-me-not
Right by the lake
And most important
Bring me the cake, cake, cake!

My heart is beating
I am full of hope
The clock is ticking
At night it glows
And there is empty bottle
Spinning my world
Hello Jesus!
I am 33 years old, 33 years old, 33 years old!

Idea

I am in love with idea
Of being in love with idea
You are in love with idea
Of being the goddess of love

I leave your apartment at night
Full of hope and fear
You lay down naked
Look at the ceiling and cry

I am in love with idea
Of thinking of you as idea
You are in love with idea
That you are as real as I

I never smoke again
I haven't called you in years
You lay down naked
Look at the ceiling and cry

I am in love with idea
Of thinking of love as idea
You are in love with idea
Of constantly thinking of love

I cannot sleep anymore
I live outside of your window
You lay down naked
Look at the ceiling and cry

2046

One day you encounter motion
Purely motionless beauty
She's fixed and you are suspended
She's bright and you are mature

Eternity smiles through tears
You clap with one hand to amuse her
She is amused, but unshaken
By your complicated rhymes

But things evidently work out
Her strikingly naked body
Is testament to all your methods
To wisdom of ruthless chasing

The game is paused for a moment
You both are full and empty
Filled with the joy and tears
In room number 2046

The train of love headed south
And soon there'll be nothing but ashes
Scattered through new love and hopes
Lonely, forever lonely

Viscosity Index

viscosity index of different fluids
is just simple matter of your perception
its state of all beings at your inception
its strict, but its fuzzy, its white, but its blurry

and gravity constant it is not that steady
its relative to what your teachers have told you
its warmth times strength of your family values
it varies as much as you can be ready

viscosity index of different fluids
amounts to moves and amounts to actions
it breaks under tiny chaotic distractions
its strict and its fuzzy, its white and its blurry

and gravity constant can certainly very
depending on strength of your love and attachment
the God's equation constrained such that
the magic is hiding in single word 'maybe'

Groups and Singles

The difference between MapQuest and sushi
Is that one is the means to the other
Groups will say this is random
Singles will say: What isn't?

Groups are struck by the order
Singles strive for the chaos
Yet life is the same substance
Life is a sand pile of snow

The difference between silence and wisdom
Is that one is the means of the other
Groups never want to be restless
Singles are restless always

Groups are struck by decisions
Singles decide in a moment
Yet life is the same substance
Life is an endless show

The difference between blue and orange
Is that one is made of the other
Groups will say that's the point
Singles will not even bother

Diamonolog

Moving along the tangent
Barely touching the surface
We feel lighter. The problem
Is that we are actually lighter

You see, in this conversation
There is no dialog.
Voices, through time
Talk to each other.

They talk about perception
They think of special problems
Claiming the right to survival,
Listening to the music.

Melting, floating music
Of Simon and his friend Garfunkel
Looking for threads and needles
Actually looking for nothing.

Saturday night. The fever.
Throat hurts, and you know
Voices are stronger and dimmer
Voices are longing for show.

Close your eyes and listen.
Listen, we know nothing.
Voices whisper: Who cares?
Voices dissolve in the darkness.

Seattle - Portland

To New Yorkers
The clouds leading to the mountain snow
Look strangely beautiful
Even Marcian
Because New Yorkers are used to
rectilinear order

To them
This fracta-natural geometry is a taboo.
And the entire Pacific Northwest looks unorthodox.
It is quiet, floating, yet questioning
The very essence of the boxed order.

Perhaps everything New Yorkers fought for
All these years
Might loudly fall down
Right here, on the 35 minute flight
Between Seattle and Portland.

Indian summer

The Indian summer
Feels like the beginning of summer
To those
Living in the Arctic Circle
Of yesterday's thoughts.

These thoughts
Float through the ancient sea
To the strange Nice
Were the journeys through
Cote d'Azur begin.

Most thoughts are frozen
At the top of the Cactus Garden in Ez
Where the mouth is full of Rioja and gnocchi
And where the feet hurt
From spiraling around
The majestic Barcelona.

As the airplane clouds over
The Indian summer feels like
The beginning of summer,
Yet we know that
The warmth will fade
Like a memory of a place
We have never been to.

On the plane Geneva - New York

I am stuck in an empty bottle of wine
Yet the life outside seems perfectly green
I am running
I am spinning
I am screaming
I am crying
Dear Devil,
Please let me out
Or take me in

I am stuck in an empty bottle of wine
Yet the sky above looks perfectly blue
I re-read all my books
I re-thought all my thoughts
100 digits of Pi
I computed last night
Dear Devil,
Please let me out
Or take me in

I am stuck in an empty bottle of wine
Yet the bottom below looks perfectly black
I have made up my mind
I am leaving behind
This bottle of wine
As soon as I think of escape
Dear Devil,
Please let me out
Or take me in