AMP !

By Jamison Robert Huebsch

I call it amp,
It a thousand volts,
All dancing in your system,

Zero to a hundred in,
Zero point something seconds,
Every part going at a million rpm,
Every muscle pumping,
Your heart is thumping,
Like the beat of a subwoofer turned up,
Feet are smacking down,
Like someone banging on the skins,
That make up the ground,

Lyric phrases run sprint tracks through my head,
Nothing needs to be said,

Got to wear this body out,
Got to scream and SHOUT !

From ultra klutz the spaz,
To doug danger,
Almost mister smooth,
Feet slid over the glow,
Of the polished ground,
Listen to that sound,
THUMP
BAM

Goes the sound,
Wall ?

BOOM !
Your telling me there was a wall there ?
Rhythm and sound,
All amped,
Running at the speed of sound,

Air whooshes like it's slammed out of speakers,
Body has to move,
Or it's thrumming like a guitar string,
Plucked out pizzicato to the max,

Natural endorphins rushing around,
Like tides slamming through a techno sound,
I'm faster than sojiro on speed,
Man I've got the need,

Running faster and faster,
In circles or squares,
I don't care,
I'll just go from here to there,

Wood bends,
Concrete shatters,
Under my amplified sound,

This is amp,
It's everything turned up,
Take everything in me,
Make it ten fold,
Makes me bold,
Manic,
Panic,

Part of me lives for this,
Everything is energy and sound,
Mind revved like a drag racer in idle,
Body pumping past the speed of light,
Everything reduced to fight or flight,

Man I'm flying out of site,
Got to ride this train,
Ain't no getting off,
Till I hit the absolute last stop,

There is nothing my magic can't touch,
I've got lightning in my fingers,
And gods running from their mountains,
You want to dance with me,
Just maybe I won't move to fast,
And burn you,
As long as I haven't hit that last wall yet,
Haven't hit that last stop yet,

When everything JUST GOES .......
!!!!!!
dead

We have really been quite priveleged,
To see the developments of late,
With the technological advancements,
Our life is truly great.
But what if you were a child of the eighties,
1880 I mean,
The things that you would have experienced,
The wonderous sights you'd've seen.
Such as the development of transport,
Henry Ford's production line,
He revolutionised industry thinking,
His processes really fine.
Then there was Alexander Bell,
And his telephone,
Along came more refinements still,
How the network's grown.
Marie Curie was another such sort,
One of the finest ever been,
She revolutionised the science of healing,
Her methods so incredibly keen.
Then there was Albert Einstein,
He thought what no others dared,
Science is still grappling with,
E=mc squared.
Thomas Edison was a work-a-holic,
A regular busy bee (Hi Killer Bee!),
He invented stuff like the light bulb,
Taking advantage of electricity.
Another revolutionary invention was,
That of the bra,
It emanciapted women globally,
Advancing equity far.
Back to the thought of transport,
Bring it back to your sight,
Think of the pioneering spirit,
Of the brothers Wright.
Then there was the harnessing of steam,
For the surging ships,
Nuclear power was also harnessed,
For even mundane trips.
Navies of the world went nuclear,
That mighn't have been so great,
But it advanced science's thinking,
That I appreciate.
Think also of the changes in medicine,
Microsurgery and transplants,
Cosmetic work, liposuction, grafting,
Even skin from plants!
We have also had some excellent leaders,
Martin Luther King,
Gorbacev and so on,
They have done their thing.
Art has also been advanced,
Impressionism and,
Cubism, realism, existentialism,
Are names that come to hand.
Through all of this though a constant,
Observing this wondrous work,
Has been something in the background,
Isn't that right, Lerk? :)   

In eight hours I'll be on the road home.                                                   

Five after that I'll be home. 

I've had enough of this intellectual shit.

Cheers from the Land of Oz

Dawn

Mist hugs the forest floor tightly,
Reluctant to relinquish control.
Twisted shapes emerge from the darkness,
Their form changing at the light's tender caress.
Now is the time for change,
Now is the time for magic.
Black shadows crawl sullenly,
Colour-shifting to blue.
Fur gives way to feather,
Grey passes into green
A time of transformation....
The world turns,
The night-shift ends,
The Light holds sway once more.

Hands:

Dirty, bloody, sticky again
I wash my hands, but I can't get the guilty feeling off
No memories of last night, nothing in my head
What have I done, and what for?

I search my pockets, find a bloody knife
I do things I dont remember, I think I am cursed
Why me? God, why?
I hear voices from the back of the hearse
I hear someone cryin'
Sounds of people dying
But I cant remember hurting anyone
Oh, what have i done?

I light a match, throw it on my bed
Time to take my very last rest
I breathe in, jump in the flames
Fire will clean my hands, and burn the demon in my brain...

done...

What does the Moon care what I write of it?
Such a flight of fancy never to be told.
The stars take no heed to inspiration
even though they are a neverending source.

What power has the mist and the cold?
Over our feeble mortal souls?
we make for quiet bedlam
haughty in our superfluousness

so what if all leaves crumble and die?
is that meaningful somehow?
or is it a whisper of the breeze
Comfortable and eerie.

does it matter, that matter,
energy coexist free
when at once they are annihilated
as dreams upon rising?

is it true
when one can not be certain
if it is safe
when one can not be there?

can you believe
with illusion
and a shadow glance
as your only guiding milestone?

know that height and measurment
at the apex of understanding
cannot tell a tale
of a forgotten heart

and if the snow should fall, sour, graceless,
and we will give up hope,
would it be wasteful to say
that we were loved the most?

Not longlasting the memory of us and ours.
Of trials and tribulations.
Thousands past and thousands future
with uncertainty in the moonlight.

So what does the moon care what I write of it?
Even if it isn't anything, I still find it beautiful.

I like to be
with the one eye
seen, the other
seeing, the one ear
sounding, the other
hearing, but my
mouth I like pressed
against hers, because
it is comfortable
yet new, like the perfect
aspect of sincerity
trustworthy and pure,
yet understandable
and caring...new
but similar, strange
but familiar, frightening
yet loving, uniquely
comfortable

"where the crickets go"

this one is very old, maybe december or so. it's meant to be out loud. it sounds infinitely better that way. you should read it out loud.


"where the crickets go"

i would not lie,
i could not lie
this is where the crickets go
to die
to die a death
in the breath of an eye
a universe more sudden
than their sudden lives.
and the days spent waiting
the souls spent hating
are overall inessential
only the eventual
disappearance in the snout
only the eventual out
which comes as a
coil tense
snap and sputter.
yes
they die
just like we love
each other.