"A Proposal" by Braden Spratt
Hey baby, I said, be alone with me, be alone with me, and only me; we’ll picture the places that we’ll never see, what we’ll never be, what we failed to dream, we’ll talk to each other but never speak, never speak, a word that means-anything, anything more than what we don’t mean, when I talk to you, but never speak. My hand on your thigh is as bored as death, to touch your flesh, I am bored as death. If we could strip off the world, then maybe we’d be, naked and free, you and me, not separately, but you and me could form a we and then feel free to enjoy our proclivity of loving to love sensuality. We’re alone together but we can see, that I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, you’re a stranger and friend and nobody, that makes three, sitting here with me, questioning: neither life, nor love, nor liberty, slaves to be, what we must be, evidently because, because we must be, must be nothing more than what we perceive, which is only exactly what we can be, after the soul-crushing force rationality has filtered and flayed until all we can see is stress and distress and anxiety. These pieces left which tell us to be alone together for eternity, you and me babe, and everybody, living together alone but separately, eternally; the eyes that don’t see, the dead that breath, walking each a straight path so solemnly, to the fields of the seeds of the deaths of our dreams. So babe, I digressed as my smile stretched, will you be with me? We’ll take vows of lifelong superficiality, and you’ll be with me, and only me.
Oh babe, she replied, with tears in her eyes, why live in a world where dreams only die? Why sow the seeds that bear the fruit that make you weep for what could be and what will not be? The damn fruit that we pluck from those damning trees, the fruit is for you, but it’s not for me. Like a moth to a flame, or prey in a snake’s wrap, Complacency’s got you inside of her trap. You’ve been molded and mashed and shaken and stirred to the point where you are not you anymore, you’re not you, you only appear to be, what you are is something more frightening, you’re a sad collection of redundancies; a distortion and bending of a pure human soul, a degrading and tainting of the heart that starts gold, starts gold then begins to rust over time, till there’s no longer a melon and only the rind. If I eat fruit I’ll eat fruit that will make me feel alive and I’ll jump and I’ll sing and I’ll live till I die. I’ll live till I die not die while I live. I’ll search out everything that this world has to give. I’ll squeeze every bit until I’ve breathed my last breath, then I’ll die left knowing I had nothing left. ---Life is crazy and I’m insane--I’m insane and I won’t be chained, to the stone that’s sinking endlessly, into a sea of conformity and hypocrisy, yes hypocrisy! It’s the deadliest kind of hypocrisy, to know how to be happy and not let yourself be but I know the thing, the thing that I need is to live like a child, impulsively, wild and free, uncontrollably; I’ll dream whatever I want to dream, regardless of what you or the world should deem as acceptable for me to dream. Now you see that we can’t be we unless you stand and come with me and break through the binds that won't let you be free. Then we can be not alone together but together, together. But whether or not we can be together depends on whether or not we walk out together. So babe, she digressed, one hand on my chest, will you walk out with me?
My baby turned her back and walked out on me. I just smile, because I know what truly will be, it will be that she’ll search to stop the numbness inside, that kills the hope and kills the drive, that makes the blood thick and the eyes droop close, that makes the heart sick and the mind start to dose. She’ll always be alone, just not with me. She’ll find her end as The End finds she. She’ll keep climbing a hill that has no top until she uncovers the sense to stop. She’ll live herself straight to death and realize her mistakes upon her last breath. So I scratch my head, not fathoming, for why is it so hard for her to see, we can make this life what we want it to be as long as we see that what we want it to be is nothing more than an ardent affair with Apathy? Now I’m alone with only me, which is truthfully as good as it is to be, be with her or anybody, what I have is what I want, unalterably, for I don’t see reason for it not to be. So I’m happy here, alone with me, and only me.
Hey baby, I said, be alone with me, be alone with me, and only me; we’ll picture the places that we’ll never see, what we’ll never be, what we failed to dream, we’ll talk to each other but never speak, never speak, a word that means-anything, anything more than what we don’t mean, when I talk to you, but never speak. My hand on your thigh is as bored as death, to touch your flesh, I am bored as death. If we could strip off the world, then maybe we’d be, naked and free, you and me, not separately, but you and me could form a we and then feel free to enjoy our proclivity of loving to love sensuality. We’re alone together but we can see, that I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, you’re a stranger and friend and nobody, that makes three, sitting here with me, questioning: neither life, nor love, nor liberty, slaves to be, what we must be, evidently because, because we must be, must be nothing more than what we perceive, which is only exactly what we can be, after the soul-crushing force rationality has filtered and flayed until all we can see is stress and distress and anxiety. These pieces left which tell us to be alone together for eternity, you and me babe, and everybody, living together alone but separately, eternally; the eyes that don’t see, the dead that breath, walking each a straight path so solemnly, to the fields of the seeds of the deaths of our dreams. So babe, I digressed as my smile stretched, will you be with me? We’ll take vows of lifelong superficiality, and you’ll be with me, and only me.
Oh babe, she replied, with tears in her eyes, why live in a world where dreams only die? Why sow the seeds that bear the fruit that make you weep for what could be and what will not be? The damn fruit that we pluck from those damning trees, the fruit is for you, but it’s not for me. Like a moth to a flame, or prey in a snake’s wrap, Complacency’s got you inside of her trap. You’ve been molded and mashed and shaken and stirred to the point where you are not you anymore, you’re not you, you only appear to be, what you are is something more frightening, you’re a sad collection of redundancies; a distortion and bending of a pure human soul, a degrading and tainting of the heart that starts gold, starts gold then begins to rust over time, till there’s no longer a melon and only the rind. If I eat fruit I’ll eat fruit that will make me feel alive and I’ll jump and I’ll sing and I’ll live till I die. I’ll live till I die not die while I live. I’ll search out everything that this world has to give. I’ll squeeze every bit until I’ve breathed my last breath, then I’ll die left knowing I had nothing left. ---Life is crazy and I’m insane--I’m insane and I won’t be chained, to the stone that’s sinking endlessly, into a sea of conformity and hypocrisy, yes hypocrisy! It’s the deadliest kind of hypocrisy, to know how to be happy and not let yourself be but I know the thing, the thing that I need is to live like a child, impulsively, wild and free, uncontrollably; I’ll dream whatever I want to dream, regardless of what you or the world should deem as acceptable for me to dream. Now you see that we can’t be we unless you stand and come with me and break through the binds that won't let you be free. Then we can be not alone together but together, together. But whether or not we can be together depends on whether or not we walk out together. So babe, she digressed, one hand on my chest, will you walk out with me?
My baby turned her back and walked out on me. I just smile, because I know what truly will be, it will be that she’ll search to stop the numbness inside, that kills the hope and kills the drive, that makes the blood thick and the eyes droop close, that makes the heart sick and the mind start to dose. She’ll always be alone, just not with me. She’ll find her end as The End finds she. She’ll keep climbing a hill that has no top until she uncovers the sense to stop. She’ll live herself straight to death and realize her mistakes upon her last breath. So I scratch my head, not fathoming, for why is it so hard for her to see, we can make this life what we want it to be as long as we see that what we want it to be is nothing more than an ardent affair with Apathy? Now I’m alone with only me, which is truthfully as good as it is to be, be with her or anybody, what I have is what I want, unalterably, for I don’t see reason for it not to be. So I’m happy here, alone with me, and only me.