Hera Lindsay Bird
Lost Scrolls
After Mark Leidner
Like a passive agressive gun that fires......nothing instead of bullets
Or Nostradamus predicting the invention of the Capri pant...
Like a primeval tornado collecting nothing but air...
Like accidentally wishing on a satellite and getting women's golf instead of
happiness...
Like your dad threatening to turn the planet around and keep driving...
Like throwing your wedding bouquet backwards into a discount sporting
goods store...
Like substituting inspirational quotes for inspirational estimates...
or dawn through a magnifying glass
Like slowly fingering your girlfriend to Bohemian Rhapsody...
It should be like being buried in a denim-lined coffin......
But it's like a rose in an earthquake...
It should be a bouquet of lilacs shackled to your ankle....
But it's black milk pouring out of the fountain................
It's like freezing containers of vomit to reheat and pour down the toilet...
or animal activists throwing red paint at deer to save time in the long run...
It's like a calculator for hippies where the only button is 'infinity man'...
or drinking Gatorade in your wedding dress
It's like a garden salad thrown into the blades of a helicopter
It's like something that cannot be said but must be said... and in being said
slows the rapid expansion...of the prison-industrial complex...
It's like your family commissioning a shrugging angel headstone...
It should be like tits at dawn...
or a million trees in winter...
But it's like setting the planet on fire...by letting your kite fly too close to the sun
It's like saving millions on camouflage gear by getting North Korea to invest
in smart-casual trees...
It's like being so committed to living each day as if it were your last, you spend
each afternoon having a cerebral hemorrhage in a rest home...
Your neighbourhood is involved in a gang war and you are trying to stay
neutral by wearing white, and your neighbour is stabbing you repeatedly in
the chest whispering 'White is not a colour, it's a shade...'
It's summer on the Rio Grande and 10,000 bees fly towards you in the shape
of your father and say....'What do you mean you're quitting baseball?'...
It's like falling in love for the first time for the last time...
or your dead wife returning to you in the body of a convicted paedophile...
It's like wishing on a star so distant the wish isn't granted until you wake up on
your forty-seventh birthday with cornrows... and a set of chatter rings...
It's like a tornado in a harmonica shop, or a suicide note burned into a cornfield...
It's like using a mnemonic device based on complex chemical structures to
remember your mother's name...
It should be like a film adaption of the Home Alone novelisations...
But it's like writing the word hunger in gravy...
It should be like fucking in a casket...
But it's sunlight falling on castle stones....
It's like punching someone in the face and saying 'just kidding'...
or trying to find your way out a door museum...
It's the black wind through the maples, and the difficulty of getting tenure...
It's like loading a catapult with a catapult and catapulting it into irony...
or a baby singing itself to sleep...
It's like a post-apocalyptic petting zoo, with cages full of old fur coats...
It's like the bonus level on Tekken where you punch a man's face so hard
he becomes the evil version of himself...
but there's no such thing...as punching a man's face so hard
he becomes the evil version of himself...
there's no such thing as the evil version of anything...
It's like a movie where everything started out...fine
and continued to be...fine
until at the end of the movie it turned out everything had been...fine all along
That's what love is like...
It's like firing a gun into a time machine and accidentally hitting Hitler...
It's like masturbating to a documentary on South African mines and
ejaculating real diamonds...
It's like wanting something so bad you would die to have it...
but you do have it and nobody is asking you to die...
Not the civil war re-enactors loading their muskets in the field behind the
supermarket parking lot...
Not the man on the bus, with the Ted Bundy biography
Not even the entire American military complex...
Every night you come over and we watch some film...
about people sprinting through the corridors of an abandoned space station...
or
being stabbed to death...in the glittering wetlands of Louisiana...
and every night nobody comes to our house...
and murders us in our sleep...
Lost Scrolls
After Mark Leidner
Like a passive agressive gun that fires......nothing instead of bullets
Or Nostradamus predicting the invention of the Capri pant...
Like a primeval tornado collecting nothing but air...
Like accidentally wishing on a satellite and getting women's golf instead of
happiness...
Like your dad threatening to turn the planet around and keep driving...
Like throwing your wedding bouquet backwards into a discount sporting
goods store...
Like substituting inspirational quotes for inspirational estimates...
or dawn through a magnifying glass
Like slowly fingering your girlfriend to Bohemian Rhapsody...
It should be like being buried in a denim-lined coffin......
But it's like a rose in an earthquake...
It should be a bouquet of lilacs shackled to your ankle....
But it's black milk pouring out of the fountain................
It's like freezing containers of vomit to reheat and pour down the toilet...
or animal activists throwing red paint at deer to save time in the long run...
It's like a calculator for hippies where the only button is 'infinity man'...
or drinking Gatorade in your wedding dress
It's like a garden salad thrown into the blades of a helicopter
It's like something that cannot be said but must be said... and in being said
slows the rapid expansion...of the prison-industrial complex...
It's like your family commissioning a shrugging angel headstone...
It should be like tits at dawn...
or a million trees in winter...
But it's like setting the planet on fire...by letting your kite fly too close to the sun
It's like saving millions on camouflage gear by getting North Korea to invest
in smart-casual trees...
It's like being so committed to living each day as if it were your last, you spend
each afternoon having a cerebral hemorrhage in a rest home...
Your neighbourhood is involved in a gang war and you are trying to stay
neutral by wearing white, and your neighbour is stabbing you repeatedly in
the chest whispering 'White is not a colour, it's a shade...'
It's summer on the Rio Grande and 10,000 bees fly towards you in the shape
of your father and say....'What do you mean you're quitting baseball?'...
It's like falling in love for the first time for the last time...
or your dead wife returning to you in the body of a convicted paedophile...
It's like wishing on a star so distant the wish isn't granted until you wake up on
your forty-seventh birthday with cornrows... and a set of chatter rings...
It's like a tornado in a harmonica shop, or a suicide note burned into a cornfield...
It's like using a mnemonic device based on complex chemical structures to
remember your mother's name...
It should be like a film adaption of the Home Alone novelisations...
But it's like writing the word hunger in gravy...
It should be like fucking in a casket...
But it's sunlight falling on castle stones....
It's like punching someone in the face and saying 'just kidding'...
or trying to find your way out a door museum...
It's the black wind through the maples, and the difficulty of getting tenure...
It's like loading a catapult with a catapult and catapulting it into irony...
or a baby singing itself to sleep...
It's like a post-apocalyptic petting zoo, with cages full of old fur coats...
It's like the bonus level on Tekken where you punch a man's face so hard
he becomes the evil version of himself...
but there's no such thing...as punching a man's face so hard
he becomes the evil version of himself...
there's no such thing as the evil version of anything...
It's like a movie where everything started out...fine
and continued to be...fine
until at the end of the movie it turned out everything had been...fine all along
That's what love is like...
It's like firing a gun into a time machine and accidentally hitting Hitler...
It's like masturbating to a documentary on South African mines and
ejaculating real diamonds...
It's like wanting something so bad you would die to have it...
but you do have it and nobody is asking you to die...
Not the civil war re-enactors loading their muskets in the field behind the
supermarket parking lot...
Not the man on the bus, with the Ted Bundy biography
Not even the entire American military complex...
Every night you come over and we watch some film...
about people sprinting through the corridors of an abandoned space station...
or
being stabbed to death...in the glittering wetlands of Louisiana...
and every night nobody comes to our house...
and murders us in our sleep...
