All The Wrong Topics dot com

gutterrats

original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton

excerpt; “Life mapped out like – a – maze

“Life in hectic cryp – tic – haze

“I’m left to die in – a – daze

“Floating down those gut – ter – waves

“Like – rats – we – drown!”

CaRnI-mAn

original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton

excerpt; ‘He wore a whip and a coat with tails,

While the wicked clowns held boards with nails

I arose, naked and dirty, and screamed at them with weak authority

“He turned and gazed right at me,

And said, ‘Everything’s alright, sonny

It’s time to meet your fate,

At the hands of brutal hate’

Busy, Dirty, Noisy

original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton

excerpt; “Chaos is defined by the order it brings

“Pretty ones are best defined against the ug – ly

“And in truth is where the falsest lies lay

“Spread amongst the glitter and decay…”

the strange people.

They are there right now. Everywhere in our midst, keeping a patient eye upon the suckling void active in humanity, and this fatal flaw will always reveal itself given time. To betray a withering self that cannot think beyond the material scope of the reality they seem to hold so dear. The possessions that can take a stranglehold upon their keeper. A misty recollection of what the past had been. Now, just subtle memories overlaid the entire scene the eyes can take in at once. Baffled by the ill-tempered, I stride motionless through the questionable realm of thought, and get to know the hollow chest which is my emotional center, my heart. The mind and body can stray away distracted, but the heart guides the soul to its fateful destination. Weeping in sorrow over the torturous existence that sometimes …

spent thoughts.

crispy from the fryer, eye have come to spread cheer and enlightened false riches. philosophy is emotional experience, and it moves like friction in the mechanical, it needs something there to lubricate its’ machinations. nihilism makes hippies breed faster, and communally, they resemble rabbits accustomed to rapid fornications. twisting their genitalia into some heated amalgam of fleshes that makes all the bodies move, writhing and thrusting, into bliss ever more temporary from the mouth gaping wide open to reveal the pain beyond the dark swelter. the ejaculates of the mind’s eye have become distorted folly. by all foolish standards, self-parody is the macabre avocation that propels the defiant urge forward in the ‘mic/mac’ cosmos. darkness needs to light that love brings to inflame the wounds from active witness to the pitfalls of reserved behaviors. the actions that inspire billions …

lost words.

tHere are strangenesses about in this lair…small surprises along the way to greater things…no focus will well lead someone across the blades with a disappointed air…the scraps of personal power that we give to other beings is astonishing to say the least…what obnoxious freaks are we to think we are the masters here?…the surgeon will cut with a certain precision to the incision, they have all done this before somewhere…the world is not our whore to play with so easily…what benefits the estranged soul who darts in and out of the centuries looking for bliss, is it possible to understand wholly from within?…it feels like a real shambles, but will always change without reason to the hard second…turnabout is fair play, or so they say…eye don’t believe in a way out…it is all obnoxious puppetry in the extreme…we are …

the perception of e.y.e.

the perception of…
Every…
Young…
Entity…
eye see, eye see…visions of the masses through their children’s eyes, and outside of the mind there are reconstituted effigies of persons who walk by, hardened by the growth of the creature on the surface…the eyes, however, say much more from the soul then many other physical points do, but that is not to say that there is no way people can flow with this energy from every pore…most do not even pursue such abilities…in youth, we have everything that cannot be condemned for the loving newness that makes every moment breathtaking, but as we grow older, it does become easier to use experience as a shell from this freshness…not an innocence, per say, but an undeniable potential for anything sensual or beyond the six senses…man is five senses, but that example is that devolved man that …

edict of the obsolete

Burgess Meredith is the obsolete librarian…Orwell was to literature what Nostradamus was to divination…and then history made effigies of us all…

The life of a non-starving, non-famous artist.

…is such a lackluster thing. Working for nearly minimum wage, writing music when ever possible, or inspired, rarely though do those things coincide…. but then I’m not starting from the beginning am I?

I suppose to start from the very beginning would be fruitless and you’d lose interest somewhere along the way, while I ramble on and on about the happenings of my 11th and 12th years of existence here on this plane. So I’ll take a page from George Lucas and start talking when the talking gets good, and maybe if you’re interested, I’ll tell you the prequel later.

His name was Jake, and one day there he was sitting next to me in my homeroom class at Burr Road here in podunk no-fucking-where. I introduced myself to him, and we became friends slowly through the course of that year. …

Influences.

music — literature — fine art — cinema — thought
…these are a few of the favorite things.