Hello, the name's Adel (rhymes with "paddle").
I like music and funny shit. Cheers.
Psychotherapist once claimed I had acute neurosis, well I only said a couple of words and he made his diagnosis. He said I can say whatever I what because I never chose this, so I spat, grinned and I looked and him and I blew him a Glasgow kiss, “look out now.
Language is a heart’s lament, a weak attempt to circumvent the loneliness inherent in the search for permanence. All the future ghosts who scratch their names in wet cement, demeaning as they shout out at the emptiness: “Abstraction’s the stake between the anima and animus.” De-flesh the world, scourge of human destiny; Behold the world in other people, life is clarity.
When I’m in this state of reflection and you hand me whips and two by fours.
A Plateful of Our Dead
The sound of the sound of the sound uttered first bursts into nothing so soothing and soft. The silence inside you when the music is stopped.
It’s a comfort that’s discovered between two sets of eyes. It’s the hand that stills the other, that shakes like candlelight.
A distant crash. Vibrations form my personal currency. A lifeline, a sweatbox, the linear mind as one.
I hope I don’t sound too ungrateful when history gave modern men the telephone to talk to strangers, machine guns, and a camera lens.
Road to Joy