custodial methanol (buckposton) wrote,
custodial methanol
buckposton

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who am I ?

carbon dating old photos of yourself can be a kick in the balls.
I remember being five, twelve, fifteen, and thinking that the memories that I lodged in my head were that of the way things happened. But really I found that they only exist the way that I remember them, and that my peception can be right or as wrong as anyone else's. I just found a picture of myself when I was little with a dead chipmunk in my hand and I was happy. I don't remember killing it or finding it or that entire time all together, but this snapshot of me holding it, giving it a peice of my childhood, if only for a brief moment, made me realize that I only remember what I want to of myself and that my perception of you is only as clean as my picture of me.
I see that (until up to a couple of hundred years ago) that's the way history was. It was never documented, never stored in some megged out computer, it was just recorded from word of mouth, getting what the next story teller wanted to give it, and losing what that same story telller didn't agree with. Christ, how long till the new testament was finally written? thirty some odd years after the fact?

coke canals and wedding vows
seem so conflicting that something must be missing
old loves are pounding at the rate of a heart
and love is as simple as a car that won't start
and maybe I'm so blind that I can't even see it
and maybe I'm fucked like an eneamic beleamic
and maybe the time is an hour off
and maybe I should join the pigs in their trof
and maybe the and's are just running on
living like a king and stepping like a pawn
spitting like your living on street with no name
eating like you got another course on the way
pretending to repent but just passing it on
like your words being shouved like a lyrical baton

a gun in a hand is worth two when it looks
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