ThorbArt Presents

    In the time of now   
south garden
we all think to be ourselve
            then like all the ones before
    for sure a thought 
awakens new dreams of hope
    or        not like a rope dangling    
        off the limb of an old oak
    fate finds fear in the heart
like rot or a fungus can start
   if weakness prevails.

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fire gnome Alone-Loveless or Illuded [oct/86]

With the rush of consciousness abruptly bringing the dream to a halt.
Little understood reasoning fades to
"the best of rolling radio review"
and those favorite morning tunes.
"Come on you sleepy heads,
break out of that womb,
put it together its almost noon."

[Sung with a static overtone reaching out of the background.]

"Come on you no counts,
get your hands back in sight,
you're wasting the best part,
don't think its all alright

to be the one to be is not a fantasy,
yet in a masterbating reality,
its not for them to see,
its just for me, me, me.

Nobody else can hold it freely enough
for me, me, me.

eventually forever alone,
that is if death will let it be, be, be.

now the music fades into my own thought

Sporting a new look
with no reference to the book
and a disposition so like a moth,
she found the man so like a cloth,
only fantasies would make them come,
that wasn't hard to arrange for some.

After, it seemed as though nothing would be hard again.
Oh fantasies, no place in my heart will you have the reign
no time in my dreams will surrender to you
angel or shadow or those other things too

Lonely people create hopeless variations
for the shear enjoyment of a well wasted collection of empty moments.
"let us pray for the ..." drifting through general thoughts.
With a possible influence from "The Price is Right" and
a Phil Collins look-a-like peddling old sandwichs on the boardwalk.
There was no alternative, well,
at least there was no obvious one at the time
or well, if we knew then,
after thoughts and hind sight are,
you know
perfectly stupid to even dwell on
anyway I just had to leave.

[ about half of ramble from oct/86 with minor modifications March2006 ©Thorb ]

[The other half of oct/86 ramble unedited]

Drifting to the thought of a woman,
the last woman to have intimate contact with me,
I can only think of beauty, love, tolerance.
The time always feels too rushed and short,
maybe not complete,
like shoes without feet,
maybe gone before it came,
like a desert rain.
Love cannot stop time,
though in rhyme,
you can find a subtile line,
gently pointing at the incongruity of the concept
of actually finding a recognizable form for love,
outside those true animal instincts
we tend to call making love.
When friendship seems to cover the rest,
its best to save some love
for your nesting partner.
we find,
so many times,
the rhymes don't move us,
the lines are just black and white,
paranoid fright,
quick flight,
what is wrong and right,
when tonight is all I see,
home I must go with myself and me,
moments slowly fade,
rain falls on my heart,
clouds fill the spaces around goals of families and stuff,
enough is enough,
though unsatisfied remains until she returns my calls,
another trip down the hall and I can turn out the light,
pack up my little book and pen
and rearrange my consciousness back to where I'm not so lonely, loveless and illuded,
back to me sleep.
Sweet dreams my lovelies,
and all the rest of you too.

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