|DJ Mixes||mp3 blog|
Josh Martinez - Outlook
what will it take to make me normal?
perhaps a proper outlook and a need to wear tweed formal wear.
underneath, we're all underwear models.
so where's my bottle?
happy when i'm not committed to this notion.
being dependent on another person's earthward motion.
dwell next to ocean, most of life spent floating.
feel alive in amongst these dead seas.
with heavy breezes through the trees.
i want to please myself first and foremost.
i'm the host with the least pairs of creased pants
in deep stares in sleep stance.
reclining after dining. can i have this last dance, please?
fine! say no if you must go, but just a little kiss for this lowlife,
who misses love but can't resist being rubbed right.
of course i get chills, yet the sun still thrills me to no end in sight.
the light shines bright against the canvas
of the slightly awkward earthbound moonrays.
glistening, soon gaze upon a monumental wishing well,
and kiss and tell.
i'm well past my prime beef stage, but at least i've become well-aged.
i made the "grade a" prime cut, but fuck, nothing really gets to me.
let's me know in due time, i'm due for destiny.
found myself whistling while i walked.
to myself, i talk in rounds and harmonize with the sounds of my surroundings.
alive and feeling grounded,
i'm striving in my striding to liven up the midas cup,
that some say may be golden but can't hold up
to being raised in a holding cell. well, here we go again.
well, along came the same men, day in, day out.
walking through the streets, voices raised in a shout,
"what's the sense in being normal?
what you don't see in magazines, you can see in novels.
these days, i can't write, i find insight hard to come by.
at night, i used to find this zone where my own thoughts were cone-shaped.
but now i'm homesick,
the zone is blackened walls and cotton candy.
back in halls decked with dandy little treats which i could feast on.
i got to let myself go, i'm starting to get depressed,
i'm a great little actor until i get undressed,
and then i'm surely lacking, sore of action. always out of place.
i need to talk to stop the empty space and when i'm wasted,
out of gas, shitfaced, and blind drunk, and kind of evasive,
i wanna show love but everybody's so abrasive.
i take my daisies, let's leap through the flower garden.
poetry's for faires who get devoured starting now,
unless you're hard and you can prove you're smart
and not a tartan wearing kilt and celtic rock.
our lady peace. for the college jock,
at least i'm honest, so let's fuck.
i'll be modest, i'm a truck driving bat out of hell, a swell guy.
i smell of my own sweat and music to make you cry.
but please don't try too hard to listen, you'll be missing the best part.
i'm a mood piece for the moment, a soothing movement of the human heart.
darker than the blood bleeding through my new blue parka,
harder than the mud used to mummify this daughter.
i'm a part of something big, but i'm just so god damn little,
i feel like a virus growing in a pool of my own spittle.
i dilly-dally to diddle sally, in the middle of a dusty alley.
i'm desperate to express that i'm ready to start the rally.
cap cocked and in position,
thoughts of submission turn to new ways to learn,
'cause burning rocks carry no moss and old dogs are busy dying in the alley.
i'm still learning these new tricks so it's time i pimped sally.