awkward

awkard.
backward,
forward.
if only without
words.
it is definately
progressing
so, so, slowly.
and yet,
it seems to keep on
keeping with the times, but
progressing so, so,
slowly.
a picture
on the wall,
not fading but
progressing
so, so slowly.
awkward, isnt it.

when everything stops

when everything stops,
it is;
glorious
an episode that
tells you that you
liked it better when it was going.
and so to stop is often
downplayed,
but
to stop (in our world)
can hardly appear an end;
it just helps us
to go.
confused?
you should be
that's what they want.

the soundtrack to my year

the soundtrack to my year
is not a hit
but it grows on you.
like the cold hard leaves of ivy
that creep up the walls of
those english cottages
all the folk
buy
and can't afford to restore.
the energy of beiber.
i shift
gears
effortlessly
in a clumsy and
often unsafe manner
which thrills the girls
and makes friends
weep and
often
turn away.
the soundtrack to my life is not available
but it is out there,
stirring fast
like too much sugar in coffee.
no fees.
just costs.

news at the moment

somethings just glide
past
and
sometimes touch the sides with a crash
or metal grind
its those things that tear
small peices of matter
and determine the true shape
of things to come
stay with it man
hippies never have the best advice