• Lewd, Salacious, Pernicious, Lascivious World of Images. What is it that you want from us? You draw us in. = You draw a sin. You convince as you conceal. Sheer conspiracy, Grave contrivance, Grand contamination. You persuade as you pervert. Perturbed as we peruse, though still as still do we persist. We cannot stop, We mustn't, We shan't. Dear Computer, Lord of Availability, King of Instantaneous Gratification; God of Anything, Connection simple as the spell at the tips of our fingers. Followed by striking the Enter key. How funny, how fitting, how frightening, how fantastic, that Enter is just the same as Return. To Enter is To Return How ominous it is when one pauses for just a moment to think. Or to Ponder, as a brother so aptly put. If I may rearrange... Enter=enturR When we have finally Entered, We will have only just Returned. Funny that when we consider the word RETURN, we think of coming back to something. Why is this so? The prefix RE- means back, again, or anew. Return = To Rotate Again. Return = To Spin Back Return = To Become Anew. I think of some great wheel, turning, and returning, and returning, and returning, and returning, and returning, again, and again, forever and ever and ever, without fail, without break or interruption, without hesitation, halt, or any hindrance whatsoever. To spin is to return, infinitely. The great wheel is time. The Clock is this wheel, and it does spin on and on, turns again and again, carrying us immediately, inexorably forthe. And if we are turning, then we are returning. Where are we coming, or going back to? What might happen when finally have we RETURNED? If we are all ways entering, where will we be when we have finally ENTERED? What then will we be? I'm reminded, first of Devendra, then of another quote spoken by a brother. "I felt like it was my turn." How funny, how fitting, how frightening, how fantastic, that this is OUR TURN. This grand, ultimate returning, this holy rotation, this spin of infinity belongs TO US. Check this out. If it is HOURS, then it is OURS. These are Hours, Yes, these are Ours. The Hours are Ours. If you read that aloud, there is no distinction between these words twain. Because the WORD IS ONE. Spelt in different ways to rend our mind in two. Just as reading aloud is certainly allowed, and in fact, preferred, or at least from this writer, recommended. It's All Hour Turn. Olive Hour Turn. My poetry is literally a maze, full of abstract bends and rude advantages. I use the English Language to twist ideas into pictures from which I derive and devise secret and/or hidden meanings. Are you cereal? Oh yeah, super cereal. Also read as serial, which means, "appearing in a series of continuous parts at regular intervals." Think of Cheerio's as you pour them from the box, into the bowl. As they fall in that steady stream, like dry rain, each piece apparently identical, they settle and collect, building and filling untill you decide there is enough. Is there not serial in the bowl? Is this not a bowl of cereal? Are not these separate words peculiarly close together when one stops to ponder? Funny that this is not a joke. This is actually serious. Hahaha. There is also Sirius, but I'm through with that stint. Ah, you know, I think I'm through with this whole thing. I'll leave you with this... When IIIIIII was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse! Out of the corner of my eye! I turned to look, but it was gone, I cannot put my finger on it now, the child is grown, the dream is gone. IIIIIII-III-III! have become! Comfortably numb. *guitar*

• No Comments

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!