Mister @ MindSay

My mouth is full of cotton
my stomach makes me sweat
and I have no strength to raise the glass
and get my whistle wet
and at the same time I'm drowning
as the liquor falls like rain
I think it's time I changed my addiction
and meet with Mister Payne

I'm bumming smokes off children
with yellow fingertips
and it's so damn smooth as it all melts away
when my lungs are lit
but nothing has a smell
covered in nicotine stains
and I think it's time I changed my addiction
and meet with Mister Payne

Bobby's trees are burning
thoughts are so hard to think
and there's nothing there behind my eyes
when they turn the darkest pink
but there ain't nuthin' funny
trapped here inside my brain
and I think it's time I changed my addiction
and meet with Mister Payne

my best friend screws my sister
condoms float in the can
as I make out with high school girls
who get upset when I tell 'em I'm not their man
but the sounds of fornication
have driven me insane
and I think it's time I changed my addiction
and meet with Mister Payne

I sleeping in my car
there's blood on the passenger seat
I drifted around that hairpin turn
and straightened out into a tree
and now my engine is blown
too much octane
thank you for breaking my addiction
goodbye Mister Payne

The time when he had begun the graying process in his life has long past. But the end of the period has not yet reached. He has a ponytail, all men like him has one. He is also going bald, which simply compliments the picture in my opinion, many disagree. His glasses were never quite in fashion, just like his brown suade jacket and faded blue jeans.

He sits down at his desk, and old rickety thing who'se desktop has not been seen in over thirty years, and is reported as being missing in action. He moves away some papers to reveal an old mic, which he pulls towards him. He lights a cigarette, pulls out a bottle of red wine from his bag, which he opens with a cork puller found on top of some papers. The pulled cork gets placed with absolute care in one drawer, with hundreds of others, a sort of unique calendar, open spaces an indication of his absence on the day.

With a quick readjustment of his ponytail and a deep drag from his cigarette he places the open bottle on a pile of papers and switches a button labelled "on".

Mister Rudolph is, to put it frankly, listening.

Not many people listen. Everybody is speaking, sometimes all at once, and always with varying degrees of sense, usually the lack thereof. Nobody ever listens, not truly in any case. The worldwide suicide statistics is a true memorial to this fact.

There is one person who is listening. Who will never say a thing untill the speaker has finished, and even then his words will be short and curt, but that is not the point. The point is that he listened, and then afterwards aknowledged this with some words, usually a "thank you". This person is mister Rudolph.

Why is he the only one? why is he the only one who cares? Why does he enter his small and musty basement everyday at four, almost without cease?

Mister Rudolph is a person who has devoted his life to depression. He has sworn that he's life will be describable by one single word....depressed. He is intent on not being happy.

But, that is not how the maker has made us to be, and one can never be able to pull off an entire lifetime of sorrow and misery. Not even the most poorly off person can achieve this. Everyone, at some point or another, will walk out into a bright sunny morning with pretty butterflies and singing birds. Everyone will see it raining while the sun shines ( even in a dessert, although they wont actually see the rain since it evaporates before reaching them. ) and realise that the world is not so bad after all. Drug addicts see that everyday, even if it is for only a short time, and they have to be dropped on the run at the nearest hospital afterwards.

Mister Rudolph realised this early on in his career as a professional depresive. He found that the solution to the bramble in his path was to listen and absorb what people had to say. It is as much a known fact as people not listening that when they speak they hardly have anything worthwile to say and will never pass up the opportunity to say ill of his fellow brethren. By truly listening and absorbing their words, he ensures that he will be miserable and depressed for a long time to come. Through repetition he should eventually be able to kill the joys of being human, and instead replace it with the sorrows of being human.

I say should, because nothing ever really truly works out 100%. It will sometimes work out, but never 100%. You may ask why this is said, after all, he ensured his success, and yes he is very successfull. Which means that it works out for him. Which means that he is happy.

happyness has this habit. It has this habit of sneaking up on you. usually when you least expect it. Sometimes, and in mister Rudolph's case definitely like your wife coming home early one thursday afternoon.

This will now end abruptly and unfinished. I am not mister rudolph. You would know because this blog would be empty. I merely wanted to describe the character, and it was never my intention to delve too deeply, because i am sadly convinced that the person above does actually exist. in plural.
I have tried depression, and found happyness instead. Somewhere, at sometime you will meet an unexpected person and find that maybe shit is not as bad as it seems, and maybe you have wanted to settle down all along.

I am for the third day so far this week, entirely consumed by energy and excitement. For what i cannot say, even less for why. But here i am, bouncing like a little kitten with all of the cuteness included.

My recommendations for music to listen to in moods like these. Cake. good stuff.

Ladies and gentlemen, i now bid you adiue ( with spelling mistakes and all ) and will now take my leave from you with haste upon the cover of supporting the economy of our country, or rather those of higher posture as i.

bye bye now and dont forget to take a sweet on your way out, the last one to please shut and lock the door. chuz

I wrote a screenplay to go with this song.........

BROKEN WINGS MISTER MR
--------
Baby, don't understand
Why we can't just hold on to each other's hands
This time might be the last I fear
Unless I make it all too clear
I need you so (oh)
Take these Broken Wings
And learn to fly again, learn to live so free
When we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up and let us in
Take these Broken Wings
Baby, I think tonight
We can take what was wrong and make it right (mmm)
Baby, it's all I know
That you're half of the flesh and blood makes me whole
I need you so
So take these Broken Wings
And learn to fly again
Learn to live so free
When we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up and let us in (ya ya, let us in, let us in)
Baby, that's all I know
That's you're half of the flesh and blood makes me whole (ya ya ya ya, ya ya)
So take these Broken Wings
And learn to fly again, learn to live so free
When we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up and let us in
Take these Broken Wings
You got to learn to fly
Learn to live love so free
When we hear the voices sing
The book of love will open up for us and let us in (ya ya, ooh)

Oye...why you people is not blogging today? It is verrrry verrrry boring when we do not have anything to reaad.