It's Cloudy in the West
Like Nero sleep, the westerns point to the facts of bolting horses: the gates breached, the railings trampled. As they say, revolutionaries don’t get old, they just get chubby. It’s time to move on.
Western revolutionaries take part and take apart the last remnants of the tatters of civilisation. On the mound of plaster, beyond the gold leaf of the sun, the totem of respect and good luck stands tall for them. They, these westerns, are beyond the grasp of diktats, outside the reach of fear. On the ground, the cold grass, they are at the least preoccupied with leaf chewing and tea drinking: the best way to spend their days.
And here I am. All over you. My western tendencies, such as they are.
Western revolutionaries take part and take apart the last remnants of the tatters of civilisation. On the mound of plaster, beyond the gold leaf of the sun, the totem of respect and good luck stands tall for them. They, these westerns, are beyond the grasp of diktats, outside the reach of fear. On the ground, the cold grass, they are at the least preoccupied with leaf chewing and tea drinking: the best way to spend their days.
And here I am. All over you. My western tendencies, such as they are.
posted by Paul Saxton at 11:54 PM
1 Comments:
That's really rather fucking good, it reads better and better as mull it over. It might be cause the sun is setting on my room as I read and we exchanged a few interesting emails today that bumps up its colour with a strange reflective tone.
Russell
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