Women In Art from Philip Scott Johnson on Vimeo.
Friday, October 1, 2010
dark cloud #69
From where did this dark cloud come?
This black fog that has descended upon you
That you breath in, tainting the air
That clings to you like soot
Seeping inside through the pores of your skin
Where did it come from
And how do you hide it so well?
An actress, for sure
Hating her work
From profane tirades mixing lies with the truth
Delivered loudly, directed at you
Hateful words devoid of the love once expected
Given up, lost to shame, tossed away, another burden
For your bent back
Heavy weights carried with the remnants of dignity that remain
You say you can handle it, you can handle it all
An actress for sure
Hating her work
From where did this black cloud come?
Descending, tainting, clinging, seeping
Breathing
From the force of clenched fists
The changes wrought by violence
A thousand times the ringing sound
A thousand times you kiss the ground
Convinced, almost, that the blows are deserved
The bruises spread, the blackened eyes
Explained away with blatant lies
An actress for sure
Hating her work
From where did this gray cloud come?
How do you hide it so well?
From the hardness of men possessed by lust
Their dipshit brains half-full of fantasy
Their money as good as anyone's
Eyes drinking in your mirror's reflection, unfeeling by necessity
Imprisoned forever, trapped in a computer file
Twenty minutes you will never get back, how many more
Given away for an excuse, forfeited for an excuse:
An actress for sure
Hating her work
From where did this gray cloud come?
From where did this dark cloud come?
From where did this black cloud come?
Can it get any darker?
How will Light find you?
A white-robed Deity
Or the barrel of a gun?
This black fog that has descended upon you
That you breath in, tainting the air
That clings to you like soot
Seeping inside through the pores of your skin
Where did it come from
And how do you hide it so well?
An actress, for sure
Hating her work
From profane tirades mixing lies with the truth
Delivered loudly, directed at you
Hateful words devoid of the love once expected
Given up, lost to shame, tossed away, another burden
For your bent back
Heavy weights carried with the remnants of dignity that remain
You say you can handle it, you can handle it all
An actress for sure
Hating her work
From where did this black cloud come?
Descending, tainting, clinging, seeping
Breathing
From the force of clenched fists
The changes wrought by violence
A thousand times the ringing sound
A thousand times you kiss the ground
Convinced, almost, that the blows are deserved
The bruises spread, the blackened eyes
Explained away with blatant lies
An actress for sure
Hating her work
From where did this gray cloud come?
How do you hide it so well?
From the hardness of men possessed by lust
Their dipshit brains half-full of fantasy
Their money as good as anyone's
Eyes drinking in your mirror's reflection, unfeeling by necessity
Imprisoned forever, trapped in a computer file
Twenty minutes you will never get back, how many more
Given away for an excuse, forfeited for an excuse:
An actress for sure
Hating her work
From where did this gray cloud come?
From where did this dark cloud come?
From where did this black cloud come?
Can it get any darker?
How will Light find you?
A white-robed Deity
Or the barrel of a gun?
hOME aLONE
It's too soon to live in memories
I try to convince myself
Years don't change everything
I try to convince myself
This is no prison I'm living in
I have the keys, the locks are not broken
I try to convince myself I have a reason
For not using them
Grab a pen and some paper
Some of these are important
I just know they are
These are the things that made me what I am
Aren't they?
The sum total of all my experiences, right?
I need to chronicle and catalog
Separate the wheat from the chaff
This will set me straight
Or maybe not...could be a waste of time
Time takes them away, one by one
Teases, bringing some back
Then snatching them away again
Despite my best efforts
To hoard them
Years don't change everything
The cruel workings of time
Are eternal
Of this I am convinced
I've sacrificed freedom
To live in a cage
To settle for memories
For fear that hurt would break in
And make itself comfortable
Quick to remind me of the memories
It helped make
I'm convinced I have no reason
To break these chains
An empty house, alone
Is better than such bad company
I try to convince myself
Years don't change everything
I try to convince myself
This is no prison I'm living in
I have the keys, the locks are not broken
I try to convince myself I have a reason
For not using them
Grab a pen and some paper
Some of these are important
I just know they are
These are the things that made me what I am
Aren't they?
The sum total of all my experiences, right?
I need to chronicle and catalog
Separate the wheat from the chaff
This will set me straight
Or maybe not...could be a waste of time
Time takes them away, one by one
Teases, bringing some back
Then snatching them away again
Despite my best efforts
To hoard them
Years don't change everything
The cruel workings of time
Are eternal
Of this I am convinced
I've sacrificed freedom
To live in a cage
To settle for memories
For fear that hurt would break in
And make itself comfortable
Quick to remind me of the memories
It helped make
I'm convinced I have no reason
To break these chains
An empty house, alone
Is better than such bad company
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Puppet
My arms grow tired
Yet the battle rages on
What am I to do?
Lifted to the sky the nations prevail
Heavy weights to my sides
We fall
Responsibility has made an old man of me
They grumble and curse
They whisper plots to have me killed
They have no use for me, looking forward to the day
The cow brings forgetfulness and madness and lust
Depravity and apathy
Still my arms point to the heavens
Still out enemies fall
My arms grow tired
I can no longer hold them up
Useless limbs, they drop
And I look to the battlefield
Blood runs in streams
Silence lost to screams
But no longer do our men prevail
They join their women, their children
Beaten down with rocks and clubs
Primitive knives and swords
I feel throbbing in my wrists and my shoulders burn
The blood flows down into each limb and makes them even heavier
But what am I to do?
Come, my brother
Heed my call, strong companion
Be my strength in this cruel time
Hold my hands, both of you
Like dead tree limbs raise them
Hold them fast and hold them long
For the battle has not ended
Hoist my dead arms high until our enemies fall
Until the last bone is broken
Until there is no one left to boast
Let our people look to the mountain
To see the miraculous sight
The weathered prophet, the withered puppet
Leaning on the rock
Let them recover in my shadow as the sun sets
Let them look up to see how a broken man has saved them
My arms grow tired
Suspended
It won't be too long now
I will become a serpent coiled around a staff
Yet the battle rages on
What am I to do?
Lifted to the sky the nations prevail
Heavy weights to my sides
We fall
Responsibility has made an old man of me
They grumble and curse
They whisper plots to have me killed
They have no use for me, looking forward to the day
The cow brings forgetfulness and madness and lust
Depravity and apathy
Still my arms point to the heavens
Still out enemies fall
My arms grow tired
I can no longer hold them up
Useless limbs, they drop
And I look to the battlefield
Blood runs in streams
Silence lost to screams
But no longer do our men prevail
They join their women, their children
Beaten down with rocks and clubs
Primitive knives and swords
I feel throbbing in my wrists and my shoulders burn
The blood flows down into each limb and makes them even heavier
But what am I to do?
Come, my brother
Heed my call, strong companion
Be my strength in this cruel time
Hold my hands, both of you
Like dead tree limbs raise them
Hold them fast and hold them long
For the battle has not ended
Hoist my dead arms high until our enemies fall
Until the last bone is broken
Until there is no one left to boast
Let our people look to the mountain
To see the miraculous sight
The weathered prophet, the withered puppet
Leaning on the rock
Let them recover in my shadow as the sun sets
Let them look up to see how a broken man has saved them
My arms grow tired
Suspended
It won't be too long now
I will become a serpent coiled around a staff
Friday, September 24, 2010
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