| Cold Mutants |
| What's in your mouth--a dead snake? Not quite dead, just not awake. It's warm outside at 11 degrees. We've mutated so we can't freeze. We can't unthaw, hibernating still so we take our drugs and we take the pill. Early, early in the morning just before the red sun dawning little demon man runs through our sleep who cannot find our souls to keep. We lie in our sweaty little beds and dream of five different guys and silent screams. When plaintive notes bring us memories of life before this present deep-freeze we'll allow one hot, salty tear or maybe two but not enough to flood away the callousness that grew like an iceberg wall surrounding each one; we tried to melt it with body heat, but it just can't be done. So while the earth is heading up with all our cast-off shit we've becoming individually wrapped frozen popsicles-- wanna have a lick? PamFriedEhli/1991 |
| We, who revel in our uniqueness seem to eventually learn that we're just like everyone else. Then for a while, we function as non-humans, individuality wiped out, a recurring memory. And as we whole-heartedly rejoice in our conformity, we come to realize, our logic unscathed, that by our sincerity we are once again non-conformists. PamFriedEhli/1991 ormists |
| Buried in what field? Suffice it to say that I sold out. And what's the use of possession? You have it-- you either sell it or stare at it. PamFriedEhli/1992 |
| Desecration |
| Non-Conformists |
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| Since 1-10-03 |