Imploding Heaven

I beat myself until clear and huddled and weak
Can’t see people except as transparent

Brain is dead jelly
But electric

You criticize me and
I’ll make fun of your hair
(but only in my mind)
(only in my mind)

when the end of the song fades out
it might be nice
except that’s your life
except that’s your life

you dream of dancing more
than fucking
you dream of dancing

what a fanciful dream

you dream of walking

what a ludicrous dream

you crouch in a crushed corner

disappearing more and more every day

you’d like to bomb heaven

but you can’t find it on a map

you can’t find it

or you’d destroy it

God would hate you if he could remember your name

God would hate you if he could even remember where you were or
Who

You can make music by slamming your head into the piano
I’ve found

You can make music by lighting yourself on fire
While holding some bagpipes

But if you’re calm and elusive
Just practice on your guitar
And you’ll be someone

Don’t worry about life and death

Just keep practicing

It doesn’t matter if music can be made by beating on your
Skull with an open
end wrench
And will be

Just memorize it
Practice your repertoire
Impress the half-educated
And collect your reward

I’ll be beating on your skull
When you die

Even if it’s tape-recorded the past fades
I wish to fade away and scratch the
ears and break
But it will all wash away in the end

So who cares what you’ve accomplished

Learn the software
Bake the bread
Drink the blood
Kiss your mother
Fuck the animals
Lace your Kool-Aid with acid
And pray to faith aliens
Who know better

But everyone is equal to a stone
No one is better than a stone

And even the stone will outlive Shakespeare
So feel like a god
For a day
Until you die

And then feel like a guilty dead god
Who is still god
Simply by virtue of the fact that
He knows that he is guilty
He knows that he is dead

And can bring himself back
If he chooses

But He does not choose
No, He does not choose

So say your farewells
And kill yourself