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Dissociative Identity Disorder
por: slai
28 de mayo del 2008
12:56AM

16 de junio del 2008
7:45PM

When did self-proclaimed gods become the
highest rank of musical stardom? When
did the past become the very example
to follow when dealing with present or
future business? When did someone’s past
success become someone’s present demise?

While watching the lonely and confused
writer narrate the lives of singlehood, thoughts
of past revolutions filled the air with
climate-controlled nonsense. The renaissance
of the past had become the pinnacle of
mental perfection, because the physical one
can never be 100% obtained, we had
to settle for the mental one. Years can either
fortify the original foundations and continue
the hard work of sleepless nights, tv- filled
dreams and walls of past events. Or
years can be the preparation of the inevitable,
the antagonistic, the truth.

I could hear the air yell panic attacks
induced by A-bombs that will
destroy a city and H-bombs that’ll
destroy a state but that all seemed
worthless when confronted with misunderstood
queens, award-winning paintings, nights of
reckless ice cream eating and the culmination
of my life.

To renew again is almost impossible
to bear. While that clocks just
keeps on ticking, paper keeps on
stacking and paint begins to
deteriorate around the walls of
the story written in heart.

Tis this is thy end,
thy stop signal, thy
middle ages and my boxed reality.

A shot heard –round the world,
a wall of past inspiration surrounding me
with words of revolutions, inner truths,
visual landscaping and what was once the
essence of non-rechargeable triple A batteries.

I will never admit in open court that I have
stopped and time kept walking without me.
But time is waiting for me, until the ends of time
itself, until the end of this song.
You know […]

Every time the clock ticks,
the thoughts of moving ahead become
obsolete and all that remains is
television shows and microwaveable
pizza.

Transitional periods are merely states of
mind, defense mechanisms designed to alleviate
the heart, the mind, the pen.
Like the girl who divided the tips of her consciousness
into five documented alters, who in their
own twisted way, somehow separate one
mind into five. No butterfly effect, just
the workings of the Lovett.

Four corners, one roof, four walls, and one
floor, the true definition of cage. But
it’s much more than that, because I
proclaim it sanctuary…my haven,
your hell, my box, your container.

[…a calm and collected face that reads
the rehearsed cue cards of a normal life]

A movie without script, a musical
without lines and no outside commentaries
about life between the lines and
inside the box.