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Biographies Guestbook |
ATTITUDEA young sexy voice says "this" and "that," and I can't resist getting the moment down like this and that's a whole other story that you ain't ready for. I spent my sarcastic expressions snapping chewing gum too. And while I can dig what you're going through, my sympathies're no longer concerned with skin color or nationality or gender or anything but mindset tuned to turning today into tomorrow nice and easy like, so cut the crap and clean up your own room before you go messing up my place. The street codes I used to know by heart don't impress the angry kids in Bayridge Anywhere USA or so I suppose, but what the hell, I've got enough to do. I know managing the mortgage don't compete with the "nurse" who groped and pickpocketed her time in mythic media land, but I tell you driving back and forth to work five days a week wears on you when you're lost in thought about sailing lessons you never took wondering what the rest of the world is really about. Responsibility's but one of the maps Buddha drew ...making money's another way to go, especially when you sing and dance to match and quicken the pulse of the city, the country, the international world! Yours as you called it. Yours as you took IT right before our eyes. Billionaire Madonna, there's no thievery there. Nobody knows what's going on, you say as if you believe it, as if you know what's going on. And I almost believe you. Maybe it's the mascara that gives you away. It doesn't matter. Mata Hari's dead -- who's interested in her biography? Oh let's forget the tilt of the earth's axis. Let's forget centuries of knowledge. What shall we do with these notes about a story about a story-teller who can't imagine an ending or a moral? Burning heat of the moon in my bed, some memory no one's lived before goes out the door like a dog for a walk. And we can't help ourselves! All we can do is talk talk. Nobody knows what's going on, you say as if you believe it, as if you know what's going on. And I almost believe you. Maybe it's the mascara that gives you away. It doesn't matter. Mata Hari's dead -- who's interested in her biography? How well we know that it's times like these when we remember how much we wanted to be socialists and make a lot of money. Yet we became "mathematicians and carpenters' wives," and soon it'll be our turn to hit the shelters. Time to bow our heads and whisper: Oh you, yes you, you with the plush velvet bag, careful with the old pair of eyeglasses. Oh yes, dear, please don't forget the blank-page notebooks. Come along now, another war's upon us. "Nobody knows what's going on," you say as if you believe it, as if you know what's going on. And I almost believe you. Maybe it's the mascara that gives you away. It doesn't matter. Mata Hari's dead -- who's interested in her biography? Yes, I'll always believe you. Surely it's the mascara that leads us astray. It doesn't matter. |
Page Updated: 6/12/00