Tick Tock
Tick Tock
Waiting for the fuckin clock
The world will close
Nothing left
Tick Tock
I’m running out of time
I’m waiting for you
I don’t want you to hold my hand
Tick Tock
It’s fuckin late
I’m going to be late
It won’t be on time
Tick Tock
No more time
I missed it
Ran out of time
Tick Tock
You were late
I am gone
Nothing left
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.25.16:16:16 @ 1515 NYC
Peace, Goodbye
Fighter fly
Go away
I don’t want to see you
Today
Helicopter
Shed your wing
Split up the light
The twins once made shade
It surrounds us tonight
Stench of rotting
Death at my door
I don’t want to cover my mouth anymore
Whole digger
Dig your own
My family is hurt
And I bury my friends
United States
I don’t know what to say
I burn your symbol on four
But today I see the shine from sea to sea
Come back and set foot
Put you in the ring
And a street fight from my fist
Ill blow you to bits
After sitting down forever in peace
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.19.22:38:42@296NYC
You Mother Fucker
You mother fucker
Bomb the Embassy
Bomb another Embassy
Bomb the USS Cole
Bomb the Pentagon
But don’t ever
Ever step into my fuckin back yard
My fuckin New York City
My fuckin America
And Kill my friends, my family, and my neighbors
Now you’ve really fuckin pissed me off!
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.11.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.12.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.13.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.14.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.15.07:00:00@296NYC
01.09.16.07:00:00@296NYC
September 11th 2001
It’s a beautiful day
Sunny. Warm. Not a cloud in the sky.
Peaceful. A day that all should get wed on.
A day that all should play ball on. A day that all
should be on a swing set. A day that all should picnic on.
A day that all should take a winding walk on.
Now there is one cloud in the sky. A huge tremendous wrong cloud.
A black cloud over Manhattan attacking Brooklyn from West to East.
A flowing evil cloud with Financial Paper debris. With lifeless thoughts
and burnt dreams. With the smell of body parts of falling lovers.
Today is a national holiday. I’ll have off work next year. What will I do?
It’s a beautiful day. My world is gone. My children live in a new world today.
Everything is different. Milk and bread, no longer. Milk and bread, is the new.
Watch your back, and watch your friend.
Watch your enemy, and watch your friend.
Watch your front, and watch your friend.
It’s so sunny and warm out. I’m mad. I’m angry.
I’m furious. I’m intense. I’m not walking backwards.
I’m moving. I’m coming. I’m leading.
It was a beautiful day, today.
I’ll never forget it. Won’t forget it.
I’ll have America in me every day.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.11.15:00:00@296NYC
10048
Happy Birthday.
Please join us for our wedding day.
I love you.
Happy New Year.
Miss you.
Thinking of you.
Your order number.
You owe.
Congratulations!
You are invited.
Daddy,
Mommy,
Sister,
Brother,
Uncle,
Aunt,
Son,
Daughter,
Grandpa,
Grandma,
Friend,
Didn’t even know you
But I’ll send you a postcard from the heart,
daily.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.11.09:30:00@296NYC
Indigo
Indigo by the ninth sea
Room lit by TV
Your hair shown in a glare
Leaning over the wooden bar
Reflections cast on window panes
A mixture of London and African decent
Hidden secrets and oceans arriving
Don’t know what to say, but Monday away
Indigo in my mind
Blue all over the streets
Indigo I denied tonight
Blue under the sheets
Indigo poured rain
Blue inside a tear
Indigo blew a fire
Blue my great fear
See you at the sea,
Indigo.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.11.03:18:21@296NYC
Dark
I wrote a poem today.
I wrote it for you.
I read it out loud.
For the world to hear.
The angel’s ears were open.
They listened and judged.
They took me by the hand.
And turned me around.
They threw me up against the wall.
Took the needles out of my pocket.
Arrested me for love.
And carried me away to God.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.09.03.17:55:55@296NYC
Burn
I want to light you on fire
You in your suit
White collar
Golden nugget around your finger
I want to burn you
Burn you to death
I want to see the fire come between your teeth
In the cracks see the fire
See the lies light up in reds and yellows and oranges
Burn you
Burn you to death
I want to show you the blue light
The intense heat and take your Italian suit to the morgue
I want your flesh to burn and all at Broadway to watch
Burn burn burn
I want to light you on fire
And throw a happening around your stench
Burn you to the cross
Or burn you to the market stock
Burn you to the television
Or burn you in the Hamptons
I want to see you burn
I want to hear your heated screams
I want to see your flesh melt
And the dollar coins fall from your pockets
Back to my earth
Burn, burn, burn.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.28.16:30:00 @ 1515 NYC
01.08.30.03:13:00 @ 296 NYC
Lush, Bizarre Musings, and Brain Spillage
Damn, you are diligent about transportation safety ... I’ve gotta take some
tips from you ! I just retain this stuff because my mother raised me with
the belief that death was just around the corner in the form of an accident,
a germ, a pervert ... everywhere you looked in my childhood the grim reaper
was flapping his leathery wings. Actually, the hoof-and-mouth drama in
Britain offered bittersweet nostalgia for me and my siblings ... sweet
because it brought back remembrances of Mom warning us that we’d get it if
our lips touched the spout on a water fountain ... bitter because I
discovered her abject lie that humans can’t get it ! First Santa Claus,
then hoof-and-mouth ... where does the deception end ?
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.30.02:34:44 @ 296 NYC
Two Hundred Thirty Eight
Swallow the numbers dialed
Swallow the bird’s chirp
Swallow the phrases the King has said
Swallow the instructions taught
Swallow the reflection of yourself
Swallow the company
Swallow the middle of the road
Swallow the darkness of the night
Swallow the work that has to be done
Swallow the washed sheets
Swallow the man and woman
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.23.02:20:39 @ 296 NYC
Nowhere
...in the middle of the sentence, she got up from the oak table,
and walked out. She in her ravishing red velvet dress that has
been worn out for many years. Threads hung from it until they
dragged along the beer-soaked wooden floor. She dragged her
tapestry of filth with her, like the slutty Vegas whore she was.
Walked right out away from me, passed the yellow hissing lights
and drunk couples who only dream of copulating in pornographic
films. Passed the midget on the bar stool who is smothering his
oversaturated moustache in the cleavage of a buxom blonde bitch.
She walked swiftly in that red old dress, I could hear her
thighs move back and forth, swish, as they rubbed her pubic
hairs together like Velcro...
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.17.12:32:38 @ 1515 NYC
Buh- bye
And with those last words
She paid her dues
She’s gone forever
Turned the corner
Never before here again
“Buh- bye”
“Buh- bye”
She said in her muttered voice
Her hair messed up
Like she just got up
From last night’s pancake house
Flattened
I won’t see her around here no more
Not at the cornerstone
Not at the bar
Not at the leftover room
Or under-stove stool
“Buh- bye”
She said
In her soft-toned voice
Her scratchy vocals
Her song of songs
“Buh- bye”
She said in my ear
Whispered to my insides
Kept from me for years
“Buh- bye”
She said along
Sing along
A children’s song
“Buh- bye”
She said
And she was gone
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.16.16:37:19 @ 1515 NYC
Green Alaska
I adore you, Green Alaska.
Your mountains, your beauty, your forests, your animals.
Your courage, your hidden talent, your devilish intentions, your dance.
I adore you, Green Alaska.
Your intense kindness, your happiness, your sounds, your silence.
Your belief, your children, your eyes, your drive
I adore the green shade of your skin
The coldness of your heart
And the ache that is found within
I adore you, Green Alaska.
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.15.22:00:20 @ 296 NYC
I Don’t Give A Shit, But You Send It To Me Anyway (Version #2)
Open
1 - Error on message board [Allison]
Closed
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.10.12:10:00 @ 1515 NYC
I Don’t Give A Shit, But You Send It To Me Anyway
Internap Network Services maintenance notification:
________________________________________________________________
The following event was successfully completed. No unexpected impact
to customers was observed.
EVENT ID: 27548
DATE: 07/19/2001
START TIME: 22:00 EDT
ESTIMATED END TIME: 23:00 EDT
SERVICES/EQUIPMENT: core[1-4].nyc
TYPE OF WORK: Config download
PURPOSE OF WORK: Upgrade
IMPACT OF WORK: None expected
If you have any questions or concerns please address them to the
noc@internap.com or give us a call at 1-877-THE-INOC, and reference
event number 27548.
Regards,
Brian Kallinen
----------------------------------------------
Internap Network Operations Center
noc@internap.com
(206) 256-9500
(877) THE-INOC
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.10.12:09:15 @ 1515 NYC
Vagina Spy
I am the Vagina Spy
Let me come and spy on you
Let me come and spy on your vagina
Don’t like the word vagina?
Too bad, I’m the Vagina Spy!
And I’ve come here to spy on your vagina!
I am the Vagina Spy
Let me come inside
Let me open up and see
I’ve come to spy on you
Because I am the Vagina Spy
I am the Vagina Spy
Let me whisper secrets to you
Let me do a code red
I’m going to spy on you
With my magnify glass
With my props and tools
I am the Vagina Spy
I’m ready to spy on you
Open your lips and let me see
I see you under those sheets
I see your vagina
Because I am the Vagina Spy
I am the Vagina Spy
Let me introduce myself
I’ll spy on your vagina
Up and down
Around and round
Because I am the Vagina Spy
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.02.03:08:48 @ 296 New York City
Avenue
I’ve walked that Avenue before
I’ve been there before
That same roadside
I’ve seen the same faces
I’ve felt the same pain
The moon is still the same
The sun rises every day
But I feel like walking
Walking next to Michael and Kurt
Walking next to Jean Michel and Sid
Walking next to Freddie and David
This Avenue isn’t the same anymore
No more happiness here
No more ghosts to hold onto
No more
This Avenue isn’t true anymore
The color doesn’t shine here
The people don’t gather and talk
The friends don’t phone or gasp
This Avenue is different
I’ve walked this Avenue before
Along empty beaches
Along empty sidewalks
Along American gasoline stations
Along London’s soho
The Avenue is blank
I can’t see it
It’s not even here
The Avenue is dark
No one to help
No one to aid
No one to look up too
No one to feed on
I tried to tell you something
But you wouldn’t listen
You wouldn’t even listen
You refused
You blocked me out
Your “All Ears” weren’t there
You were gone
You were far away
You were beyond the Avenue
The Avenue is gone
It lasted so long
But now it’s a dead end
A dead walk
A walk of death
I’m walking alone
On the Avenue
Maybe you’ll walk next to me
Or maybe I’ll walk alone
© 2001 David Greg Harth
01.08.02.02:44:33 @ 296 NYC