The Countdown

It is 11:59 on New Year's Eve, 1984.  The countdown begins:  10, 9, 8. . .  3, 2, -- in one second, we begin celebration of the new year.  But this time, there will be more than idle laughter and resolutions.  Many people will celebrate our continued existence for another year.  It isn't a pleasant thought, but not everything is.  And the threat of nuclear war rests heavily in the minds of the people of the world.  It is no longer just the burden of the adults or those who've made an effort to be aware.  This is a topic of everyday life.  Young children have gone beyond inquiries of Santa or the Tooth Fairy.  Today, they must ask, "What is nuclear war?"  The people my age are quite aware of the nuclear threat in the world.  Unfortunately, they feel there is no answer.

On the weekend, I find myself over at a friend's house, and we bring up the issue of war and Nicaragua.  "I'd go to war," says one of them, as he toys with a model machine gun.  "If I were president, I'd nuke 'em," says the other.  Is this the mentality of the people my age?  I ask them why they'd kill so quickly.  "I hate the Russians.  I always have."  This IS the mentality of the people my age...

(unfinished)

- Dec. 31, 1984, A.D.

Looking Back, and Moving On

Hello.

For the sake of not embarrassing myself in front of fellow peers, I will refrain from writing a poem to my notebook.  But I've got to have an intro, because every new notebook begins a new era, and this one's gonna be good.

First, let's reflect on the past year or so, since the poems began:

Autumn, 1983:  Pain.  Yep.  And emotions as varied as the Fall leaves.  And coldness like the November wind, making me a stranger.

Winter, 1983-1984:  A reversal of roles, where the cold is on the outside, and warmth grows within.  Finding friends, and new meanings in friendships.

Spring, 1984:  Production.  Growth, like the budding spring leaves.  Mental downpours onto paper.  Fresh blood.  New awakenings of the mind.  And warmth.

Summer, 1984:  Warmth becomes heat.  Love locks the poet into a one-track mind.  Simplicity - nice, but not me.  Ending like a Shakespearian tragedy.  The Love Empire comes crashing down - and a part of me with it.  In the end, it is not missed.

Autumn, 1984:  A definite attempt to lay off the heavy concepts.  Friends are strangers - strangers, friends.  "So long, poetry!"  I cry, as I ride a more sociable wind.  So long, reality, I think, as I watch myself weaken, and lose form.

Winter, 1984-1985:  So long, Autumn faces.  I'm going to put the Vision to coherent work.  I'm going to do things I've never tried before.  And I sure as hell am going to write.  It's the most natural feeling I could ever have.  Writing is thinking.

But no resolutions.  Just this:  A notebook to be kept un-violated by any essays, notes or assignments.  A notebook to contain everything I really am, and everything I want to be.  A cliche?  Yes!  And more.  The lover that doesn't die after the attempted suicide.  The guy in the fog under a streetlamp with a trenchcoat and a hat.  The little surprise as you hit the bottom of the confetti in the box.

Dear Reader:

I'm not making any promises.  There's no "Satisfaction Guaranteed" sign anywhere.  But if it is good, publish me, please!!  Or at least put in a good word.  We all need a little encouragement, now and then.  And besides, I've got the boogeyman on my side...

- Sharon

- Dec. 26, 1984, A.D.

Nothing Day

The time:

the day after happiness --

a day when everything is so painful

that we talk about the weather

that is, if it's nice out

the contrast to yesterday

is not the worst day of all

but a nothing day

like always

I watch the people:

the tall one -

there -

he doesn't walk

he floats down the hallway

he doesn't know how she 

watches him

another girl joins another guy

they talk

she nears closer -

as if to touch -

but draws back

somehow, she sees the futility

of it all

and another hurts

as he watches her eyes

as she watches, and feels for

something she cannot have

don't think she doesn't know

he's watching

but she goes for the lesser of the

two futile pursuits

people chase,

people follow,

people watch while others gain

he is always better off than you

he gets your goal

but you get his

there are no answers

the time:

another desperate day

two would-be lovers try to find a way

to bridge the gap

two has-been lovers try to find a way 

to bridge a different gap

two friends walk in silence

and here, the place:

a musty garden

with rust-covered trees

and moldy daffodils -

no place for the innocent

surrounded by the Institution,

the garden sweats in anticipation

of a light

but today, the rabbits are eaten

by the stale air

and become cannibals

and the inevitable last rabbit trips,

and chokes on a stray piece of barbed wire

oh yes,

it does die

and if you walk through there, sometime

you will find strange remnants

you will see long hairs -

or antennae -

12 inches or more

or a black, broken, half-digested wing

but no source,

only the terrifying guess of what 

crime had occurred there

at the center of the garden,

the one object that retains any beauty

is an emerald-green beetle shell,

proving that something good did

live there once

and something good can live there again

but no, children

don't dream of it happening too soon

there is too much death there, now

and the place?

where is the garden?

up here

back, behind my eyes

below my hair

above my neck

within the slosh -

within the place of greatest

scientific awe

it's here

oh yes, it's here

it's all within

alas, my nightmare

and the time:

another nothing day

when the pain is so terrible

that we talk about the weather

that is,

only if it's nice out.

- Dec. 19, 1984, A.D.

Sketches '84

Sanity on the Line (Poem in BASIC)

Frustration

Unrest

Pulling me under

Like a volcano, the eruption comes from the inside

Give me the strength to fight this battle!

I must endure it this time

* * *

Confusion

It's here, inside me

So Much To Hate

And So Much To

Love

But I've got to keep my sanity first

I want 

To love

You

But

I've got

To find

Myself.

* * *

Will you help me?

(Dec. '84)

BASIC Programming for Killing Monsters

In My Defense

I wish someone would listen to me.  Not only do I accept my Christian friends, but I have to.  Who would I have without them?  But you don't have to accept me.  You know you're right, and you'll put me on the defensive every time.  I don't want to argue because it's such a personal decision.  And yet you tell me I'm wrong, after all the years I've put into my beliefs.

There is no happy little island I can go to to be with my peers.  There is only the pain of having one person after another tell me I'm misguided.  You are so oppressive.

I hate you for doing this to me.  You make me feel like shit for one of the best decisions of my life.  What right do you have to tell me I'm wrong?  Do you think you're the first one to fill me in on my "mistake"?  I sometimes wonder how many people look at me in the halls and classify me "Atheist".  I wonder how many good relationships have been shot down because I'm so "unwilling" to see the light.

I feel as firmly about my beliefs as you do about yours.  But would I ever even begin to tell you you're wrong?  Of course not.  Take a chance to step inside a foreign country with foreign beliefs sometime, and feel how much of a stranger you are.  Then, try to tell them they're wrong.  The whole world is not Christian yet.

You all walk around, saying, "I love God more than the next guy."  Well, I've seen the next guy.  And the guy after that.  And when faced with someone like me, you all seem to reaffirm your beliefs strongly.

You have implied again and again that I am religiously intolerant.  You tell me I shouldn't complain if they push me to my knees to pray.  You hate me if I try to even pretend I'm right.  Or you pray for me because you think I've got it bad.  Well, I haven't got it bad - in fact, I'm stronger than I've ever been - and it isn't thanks to you.

You're more blind than I am, because you'll never see my point of view.  You'll always have a community to live in where you can be respected and included.  Me?  I'll have the same community - yours.  I'll get whatever you let me have.  Do you think I like that?  Do you think I want to live a life of this oppression?

(Nov. '84)

Thoughts Over a Donut and a Cuppa Joe Before Dawn

A cold, foggy morning.  I can barely see the road as I drive in the early darkness.

There is a bright light of civilization ahead.  As I enter the place, three or four weary, working-class faces look my way.  I feel odd and out of place.  There are many "regulars" who come here.  I'm not "regular" at all.

Confusion and self-doubt.  My thought processes always end in circumlocution.  Before 6:00 a.m., no one should be thinking about religion.  I have just heard the greatest speech about God, but I can't believe it.  I want to, or rather, I think I want to, but I really can't.  What he says seems so damned reasonable- well, some of it - I just can't stand to see him hurting because I've rejected his "truth".

As it grows lighter, more sagging-eyed people enter.  My mind is as fogged as the outdoors.  I can't see an end to my doubts.  I wonder if it matters at all.  I close my eyes for thirty seconds, and the misty sky has already turned a paler shade of blue.  Perhaps the sun will actually rise, today.  Perhaps there is a light to turn to...

(Nov. '84)

Changing the Love Game, Part 2

Here, will I end whoever I've been for the last 4 months:

Okay, so I reached a new height

and meaning of love

I learned how to be an active force

in a relationship -

but when I tried it on everyone, 

I found it didn't work

some people just don't want you

to offer them your life

that's where I went wrong

I said, "Okay, I'm a pacifist.  I love human beings,

so they should at least respect me in return."

it isn't that easy

I said, "Okay, I'm learning about love, here,

and I've decided that I should try to love everyone

the same way."

no wonder things have failed

I said, "Fuck school.  I've got the whole world

to think about."

but the world is always spinning

meanwhile, I have a future to consider

I can't go on as I have been

it's been pointless

flower-children are too weak,

sensitive people just set themselves up

for the pain,

infatuation is too superficial,

and I'm not old enough to vote this year, anyway

I miss "The Noose", "The Projectile", 

"And the Meek Shall Inherit the Earth"

I miss the happy days of sarcasm

happy sarcasm, not bitter

It's not that I think too much,

because I'll always think too much,

but it's the content of my thoughts;

what garbage lies inside, unattended to?

what can I do to get rid of it?

There are a lot of people I really care about

and I'll do anything I can to make it easier

for them to understand me

they don't need to know the "ultimate ME",

they just need to know who I'm trying to be

they need a clue

I don't want to be "cosmic", "symbolic", and "radical"

I appreciate those terms,

but I don't want people to see me that way

I don't want to be a "mystery" to all mankind

I want to be clear and concise,

I want to have real, touchable dreams

and step away from this stifling cocoon.

if my friends are willing to endure another transition,

I'm willing to become "real" again

and find a new way

love is a drug

and it does have after effects

it's done this to me

but now, I want to be cured.

- Oct. 19, 1984, A.D.

Poetic Bullshit, Part 2

Here,

read this, too, you asshole

I know it's poetic bullshit,

but it's my life

do you understand in the least what

I've been through?

I can't believe you

I can't believe myself for caring so much

about you

no, I'm not the most sensitive idiot in the world

but when it comes to people I really care about

treating me like shit -

that gets to me

"what did I do?" you ask

don't ask

half of these fucking poems are for you,

so don't ask

as long as we're being "just friends"

hell, why not "just acquaintances"?

I wanted a piece of your heart,

which I thought was accessible,

but it's too hard for you

you're giving me a headache beyond belief

and I'm about to just say

fuck it.

- Oct. 5, 1984, A.D.

Poetic Bullshit

when did it end?

was it yesterday?

or was it long ago?

what's the point in loving you forever?

or even saying so?

there are many others on that list,

and will be a dozen times more

I love you for the pain you've brought me

it's like no pain I've ever had before

thank you, thank you, thank you

I'd kiss your feet if you'd only let me

and you're such a beautiful person

or is it an illusion?

I don't want to be sarcastic,

but I love you like you'll never love me

why?

if I knew why, then maybe I could stop

poetic bullshit...

wasted lines

wasted life

and 17 years too long...

- Oct. 4, 1984, A.D.

Note to My Has-Been, Would-Be, Might-Be Lovers

My Dear Lover,

It has come to my attention that you and I are not as close as I would prefer.  I make up for this in poetry.  Still, it could be better.  You are where my "work" begins and ends.  [Just don't ever call me "baby"]

I want a relationship with you.  You know it.  Now, I need your help.  You see, I'm going crazy without you.  I am longing for the infinite kiss.  You are Gemini.  You are Aries.  You could be the 13th zodiac, for all I care.  I just want you by my side.  If nothing else, help to cure my poetry!  Help get these unfruitful obsessions out of my mind.  It's insane...

- Oct. 2, 1984, A.D.

Please

I want to make your lips

and your arms

and your heart

a reality --

please help me.

I would love you,

but only at your consent;

I'm a fool for you

but not a fool;

I want to live in your dreams and desires,

but I want it to be real

please, --

love me

If you won't, then tell me now

while I still have time to run and hide

Don't leave me guessing --

not when you know I feel this way.

It's been so long I've wanted you at my side

please, --

help me

I would give everything I could

to make you a reality;

don't walk away

for once, don't just walk away

please --

love me.

- Sept. 13, 1984, A.D.

A Reminder (to Dave)

psychedelic afternoon

in the daytime breeze

on the gritty beach by the bay

old lovers, old friends

but most of all, you

not enough time to bring back the past

only enough time to bring back memories

and wish

we are the radicals

the future Bohemians

we are the artists

together

someday, we'll make it

we know

midwestern dreams won't hold us in

the dreams we share can take us somewhere

together

I always wondered what would happen

when we split apart

and now I know

we've got the bond that will hold forever

hold on, hold on...

we are the young ones

and the strong ones

we are alive

and someday we're going to travel the road

to our dreams

together

hold on...

- August 11, 1984, A.D.

Adding Up

2 good

+ 2 be

--------------

4 told in a kiss

2 great

+ 2 be

--------------

4 gotten

2 great

+ 2 have it

----------------

as good as this

I should

+ do this

----------------

more often

- July 22, 1984, A.D.

Strangers on a Napkin

Strangers on a napkin

lie together

in perfect paper peace

in love with the moment,

not to think of tomorrow's chili stains

they escaped the picnic

by the breath of a summer breeze

and blew silently about the park

in wistful contentment

lovers of a wasps lost fantasy

or the bark of a birch tree

or the memory of a patty field

a frightening exchange of glances

a flush of the cheeks means we've

been looking at each other

we toss and spin on the whispering wind

and lose ourselves in nature's party

but when we stick on a tree

there is a chance that we might

have to find each other

and what then?

Part Two:  The Revelation

Sitting numbly about the firelight

gazing towards distant stars

or rolling my eyes back into my head

to ponder the mystery of you

in a room full of friends,

I drift off for a moment

to think of a stranger

Looking at an ad for cigarettes,

I find ultimate truth

one type will see the picture

and move on to the 

next page

and the other will spend the time

to hear the conversation held there

And here we have the inevitable warning

but I would replace the words "cigarette smoking"

with "love"

Part Three:  Another Question

What motivates?

What motivates the Christians to believe they have a god

other than themselves?

What motivates the "sinner" to be born again?

And what motivates me to seek a vein

of truth?

I cannot see for the blindness of my yearning

I cannot breathe for to put out the pilot light

Where am I here?

Who is it I want?

Why do I hold myself back from

the most obvious things?

And you, and you, and you

will be in my heart forever

Part Four:  Last Chances

And why a love poem?

why, when I have yet to see love straight on?

Why, when I know that the magic

will be gone with the poem?

Because I know the the poem

will be gone with the magic,

perhaps

It is good, this effort to love another

is good what matters?

Oh look!  A shadow of a man in the distance!

and I wonder more of him than

of the foreground?

What does he read?

What does he do?

again, I think of you,

imbedded forever

in a place of perfect paper piece.

- July 11, 1984

[written on a napkin from Steak N' Shake]

Changing the Love Game

I spend most of my time stargazing...

is that a twinkle in your eyes?

it's close enough

I'm gazing again...

want me,

but don't try to capture me

that's always when love turns sour

and yet I want a chase

you know I do

I hope you never take your beautiful eyes

off of me

you ask,

"who is this captivating stranger?"

but I give you no answers

I want to keep you guessing

it's my love game

months from now, I will regret

that I talked too much,

I played too much,

and how calculatingly I worked myself around giving

I want a challenge

I want you to somehow teach me a different

love game

I wish you knew how

I wish I knew how

to break away the "me" wall in my life

And all those to whom I would have given the world,

I somehow lost

I always search for the romance of the stranger

when real people bore me

and I fool myself into believing that this is

a better love

but perhaps the stranger knows

and that's why I lose him

Granted, I am young

but there are things I know I must learn

I want to learn

I just don't know how

teach me to be your lover, and I will

reward you with the best feelings anyone

could have

equality, understanding, security, contentment -

the elements of love

my heart with yours

I just need a lesson or two

to make me change my ways

I've picked up a few bad habits here and there

and I want to do better next time

I want to begin with you

- July 8, 1984, A.D.

Punchline

Newsflash -

do you care?

laughter

jokes

so where is El Salvador, anyway?

I dunno, but didja hear the one about...?

no, no

I didn't hear

I only hear the ones about the refugees 

and the political prisoners

and they always seem to end in death

that's the punchline

- what's yours?

- June 22, 1984, A.D.

Summer Breathes

Summer breathes

it sighs down my neck

it whispers cool remembrances in the night

in the night, there is escape

sometimes a breeze

perhaps a rainstorm to cool and dry the air

but morning thaws

and afternoon grows heavy and long

in the house, there is little movement

some sleep

some watch the clock

tick tock, tick tock

cuckoo

and I try not to move, not to sweat

outside, children frolic in pools

and run out of houses slurping and sloshing

with fruit running down their arms

while others engage themselves in the great

pursuit of skin cancer

and I sit silently in reflection

I lie like a cat in the afternoon heat

a thought can last a million years

when summer breathes

- June 22, 1984, A.D.

Korg Poly 800 Keyboard Checklist

John with the Golden Smile (to John Taylor)

John with his sparkling, shimmering eyes

is a little boy lost in a man

John, although grown-up and quite a success

is still in a fairy-tale land

John is a Tigger, if ever there was one,

yet with a deep tone in his voice,

John is a man and will prove it with grace,

and prefers manhood (given the choice)

But John still requires occasional parties

(as rock-n'-roll-types often do),

And at times he'll protest that he's doing what's best,

leaving others to argue what's true;

But when John really has to face up to himself,

he realizes that all the while,

John's always John with the sparkling eyes

and John with the golden smile

John sees himself as the noblest warrior,

base guitar ready in hand

and he sits at a table with 4 other dreamers,

the five of them making a band

And every night is the time of his life

as he does all he can for the crowd

But sometimes it's silence that John really likes

must the little girls be quite so loud?

It is then that he slips on another disguise

and finds him a silent retreat

And calls up the girlfriend or some chic acquaintance

and "how about we go out to eat?"

But when John has returned and is in for the night

he realizes that all the while,

John's always John with the sparkling eyes

and John with the golden smile

John fancies himself with fast cars and fast women,

and lives to be just like James Bond

Aston Martin, in gold - with a stripe if you please -

is John's car, of which he is quite fond

John has a dream to live up to his heroes

hence the fast pace he lives by

But John does have values and will not ignore them

although - once or twice - he may try

John has set out not to conquer the dragon 

but to rescue the princess so fair

And in bringing her back to us, carry the spirit

that will renew hope in the air

For though John is not perfect and sees that as truth,

he realizes that all the while,

John's always John with the sparkling eyes

and John with the golden smile.

- May 28, 1984, A.D.

Letter to Nick Rhodes (unfinished)

Dear Nick,

You are an enviable person!  About a month ago, I bought a copy of "Keyboard" magazine.  Oh, what I could do with a Fairlight CMI!  Some find it odd that I never grow tired of Duran Duran's music - but there's so much there!  For example: it's very late and I'm alone in my room, listening to "Rio".  All of a sudden - I'm not quite sure - but I believe I hear birds chirping.  Once more, on a sunny Sunday afternoon in Spring, and "Hold Back the Rain" sounds completely different.  New keyboard lines that I hadn't noticed before; and Simon's lyrics, which always take so long to understand, are beginning to come clear.  This is the magic of Duran Duran.  If I open my mind to the music, something new is sure to be discovered every time.

I have a bootleg album of your which contains "Anyone Out There?", "Planet Earth", "To the Shore", "Late Bar", "Khanada", "Waiting for the Nightboat", "Last Chance on a Stairway", "Faster Than Light", and "My Own Way".  It's from 1982, I believe.  I love it!  I don't even think a Nick Rhodes could ever get it from me.

(unfinished)

- May 28, 1984, A.D.

Secret Oktober, by Duran Duran (lyrics)

Wise on a birthday party in a world full of surprising fireworks
And sudden silence shhh
Lying on a strangers bed the new day breaks like a speeding train or an old friend
Ever expected but never knocking
Holding your own in a battered car all night parties cocktail bars
And smile when the butterfly escapes the killing jar

Sure eyes awake before the dancing is over wise or naked in secret Oktober

Freefall on a windy morning shore nothing but a fading track of footsteps
Could prove that you never been there
Spoken on a cotton cloud like the sound of gunshot taken by the wind
And lost in distant thunder racing on a shining plain
And tomorrow you'll be content to watch as the lightning plays along the wires and you'll wonder

Sure eyes awake before the dancing is over wise or naked in secret Oktober
Sure eyes awake before the dancing is over wise or naked in secret Oktober

(1983)

More '84

the poet as a young Duran Duran fan

You may be worried about me

Phew!  Did you hear that?  That massive exhalation?

Did you feel it?  The collective tension - the hands, gripping arm rests - slowly released?

Breathe, my friends.  It doesn't get worse than what we've just been through.

I'll be honest.  There have been moments since I started typing 1984 when I thought I'd better stop.  You got the point a long time ago - prisons, pain, and the monsters that lurk inside.  I don't know why I kept on.  I wanted to laugh, and put up a big, garish emoticon that said, "JUST KIDDING!"  I wanted to tell you it was all fiction, and I was just trying to pass the time when I wrote all that.

But I don't want to shortchange you of the journey.  I have to let myself speak for myself.  I want you to discover, as I discovered over time, the way out of the monster's clutches.

You may be worried about me.  As I think of the person I was and the words I wrote, my thoughts fall on the anarchy shirts, the trenchcoats and the graphic depictions in my poems of suicide and boredom and emotional violence.  I can't help thinking of Columbine.  I can see how you might, too.  But if you're making that connection, you're missing the point.  

I was never a nihilist.  Even through all of this, believe me when I say I hoped for the best.  Not just for me, but for the people I loved, for my community, and for all humanity.  The world was surely going to shit, but my reaction was never, never, NEVER to trash the joint because we were all going to die anyway.  I just wanted to know who was going to pick us up?  Who was going to STEP UP and make a change?

I can tell you that none of the "punks" that I ever encountered were violent people.  The skinheads came later, and we all hated them.  We were screaming at the top of our lungs for people to wake up and fix the fucking mess.  We were trying to force a paradigm shift - a violent paradigm shift, maybe, that wasn't ultimately effective.  But the underlying point was that we DIDN'T want to die.  It was the cold war, for chrissakes.  We were swarmed with statistics of nuclear warheads pointed at our home towns, and the calculated chance that even if no one meant it, MISTAKES COULD BE MADE.  We didn't want to die.  We didn't want to kill.  And we sure as hell did not want anyone - ANYONE - to be killed in our names.

I may have looked like the one to look out for, back then.  The one your mother warned you about.  I may have written things that will now be interpreted as an affirmation of someone's suicidal/genocidal ambitions.  And I just want to say, you got it wrong.  You're aiming at the wrong targets.  You're fetishizing armageddon now, and that was never the fucking point.  All I ever wanted was to live.  Live free.  Live not having to fear the other and fear the end.  The answer to your fear is not a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The answer is to break free.  Painfully, maybe.  Unpopularly.  Alone, even.  But to emerge alive, and as a reflection of your genuine, unique, unmarketable spirit.

Wake up and thrive.

Wake up and thrive in spite of pain.  

Wake up and invent your own way out to a better day.

THAT is what I meant.

Punk vs. Offspring

you're no better than us

with your neo-fashion neo-life

you came from here

and you condemn

but it just wasn't paying the bills,

was it?

we said life sucked

but we had targets - real targets

we wanted them to know

we wanted them to think

but you got sick of our "complaints"

you wanted to be happy

you told us to be happy

you sang about being happy

well, what do we do when we're not fucking happy?

you told us to get off our asses

and make life a better place

how?

by ignoring the bombs and the wars 

and the shitheads in office

"do your own thing"

"be happy"

well we're not fucking happy

and we're not "the latest thing"

we just want to tell you that

the world's full of shit

so are we

and so are you

and if you don't know that,

then you're the biggest lie that ever lived

we never told people what to do

we just wanted them to know

what was shit

then you came along

and you didn't want to "impose"

(so you told us what to do)

and you didn't want a "message"

so that we can think our own thoughts

and you didn't give us shit

you were so fucking concerned with your "art"

and you didn't give us a way to live,

which we needed so damn badly

how many little shits out there

were trying to decide about life?

and all you said was "do your own thing"

when we didn't know what the fuck 

our own thing was

and you didn't love life enough

to be strong and tell us what was wrong

and what was right

you called us "nihilistic",

but we wanted to survive

but how could we be happy

when the whole fucking world

isn't happy?

our "message" came out strong

and clear

the people either liked it or hated it

but at least they knew

we made a point that lasted

you just faded away into your "art"

but you came from us

and you hate to be reminded

and you feel no obligations

all we did to you was change your life

you say we can't change the world,

you say we're a dying race,

and you say that we're killing ourselves

but at least we know who we are

at least we're not so fucking nebulus

at least we're not living some fairy tale

where everyone is happy

because the world is not fucking happy

we wanted people to squirm in their seats

to be uncomfortable

to worry about their security

and where their kids go at night

to see ugliness

because people have made something

very ugly out of the world, today

we left you to do the healing

but never like this

you closed your eyes

and you denied us

but we're still surviving

we'll find our way back

we still want you to worry

and beware of dark corners

we'll teach you to see life

as it is

it's full of shit and full of ugliness

so don't say it again,

I don't want to be happy

this isn't a happy world.

- May 27, 1984, A.D.