Heretik Studios - The World Will Never Be The Same

Blur

Let the christened eye of experience
Ease over the bottom of this glass.
My glass is empty.
There was so much floating
In the heart of that foreign wine.
A sweetness that still now sticks to my
Longing lips.

Existence is such a perfect blur
When I look through my medicine
Under its influence until I die.

I remember
My sweaty, virgin fingertips
When first my eye met the glass
Like the pulsing heart within me
When first I kissed the waitress...
The perfectly moulded girl
Who handed me the glass
Of my favourite wine.

I remember
Clutching the glass
The oils of my skin coating its uneven surface
A strange and beautiful homage to its brilliance.
My hand shaking
As the gorgeous lady
Let the fluid fall into the quivering glass
From her open bottle
With a smile
On her warm, porcelain face.

I remember
The first taste...
Swallowing the cure
And seeing a world the most brilliant
Green.
In that moment
I lost the fear and hopelessness
That sat watching me when I chose my wine.
And for once
I saw clearly into the mirror.

I saw
Myself
In a world so marvellously turned backward
Wherein right became left
Impossible became in-progress
And all that I dreamed was alive
Breathing before me.
Every brick, stone, tree, timber, garden, and tiny building
Pulsed and aged before my gobsmacked eyes
With none nearly as alive and real
As the sweet Skin that got me there.

My glass is not a perfect glass
But it was perfect for me.
At the bottom of my cocktail
I taste the crisp salt of my tears
For I never wanted to finish this wine.

So now I sit
Twirling the empty glass between my fingertips
With a smile
Without regret.
As I wait for the shift change
When the beautiful waitress quits her post for the night
And allows me the privelege
Of walking her home again.

And after I've seen her to her home
I turn to go back to where the night started.
Home.
Satisfied, blissful, and
Eager.
Because I can't wait for tomorrow's glass.
I can't wait to see my lovely waitress
And taste what she pours...
As soon as her shift begins again
Tomorrow.
Same time.
Same place.
Same love.

(Written November 18, 2004)


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Mannequins on Parade Lycanarium Pilot Blur In Her Absence Breaking Me Beautifully Cara Nueva Speaking in Stitches Silence Vivid Menstrual Hue M.T.A. Prodigal Son Warmth of An Other UKIAH One Queen	*Blur* Let the christened eye of experience Ease over the bottom of this glass. My glass is empty. There was so much floating In the heart of that foreign wine. A sweetness that still now sticks to my Longing lips. Existence is such a perfect blur When I look through my medicine Under its influence until I die. I remember My sweaty, virgin fingertips When first my eye met the glass Like the pulsing heart within me When first I kissed the waitress... The perfectly moulded girl Who handed me the glass Of my favourite wine. I remember Clutching the glass The oils of my skin coating its uneven surface A strange and beautiful homage to its brilliance. My hand shaking As the gorgeous lady Let the fluid fall into the quivering glass From her open bottle With a smile On her warm, porcelain face. I remember The first taste... Swallowing the cure And seeing a world the most brilliant Green. In that moment I lost the fear and hopelessness That sat watching me when I chose my wine. And for once I saw clearly into the mirror. I saw Myself In a world so marvellously turned backward Wherein right became left Impossible became in-progress And all that I dreamed was alive Breathing before me. Every brick, stone, tree, timber, garden, and tiny building Pulsed and aged before my gobsmacked eyes With none nearly as alive and real As the sweet Skin that got me there. My glass is not a perfect glass But it was perfect for me. At the bottom of my cocktail I taste the crisp salt of my tears For I never wanted to finish this wine. So now I sit Twirling the empty glass between my fingertips With a smile Without regret. As I wait for the shift change When the beautiful waitress quits her post for the night And allows me the privelege Of walking her home again. And after I've seen her to her home I turn to go back to where the night started. Home. Satisfied, blissful, and Eager. Because I can't wait for tomorrow's glass. I can't wait to see my lovely waitress And taste what she pours... As soon as her shift begins again Tomorrow. Same time. Same place. Same love. (Written November 18, 2004)