NEW TRACK:
acoustic for Corbae (Laine) - x.i - Appar3nt
myspace.com/co7bae

[ Appar3nt ] lyrics

we just met
but its goodnite
good night..
at midnight.

waitings on (her lips)
the words will be
good night
at midnight

she sees
what I want her too
she sees
it all through
she sees
what I want her too
well she sees it through

well we just met
but its goodnite
its good night..
its midnight.

lyinghere.com

[ .in.the.fevered.day. ]

in the summer hunt
blossoming wounds
that are bound about
your fractured sentiments
running hollow and sweaty
down your forearms
in the summer hunt

in the darkening night
where I found a place
for you to rest your lips
the swelling head
now fevered and tired
from the ravaging
claws of the day
your so serene pout
cool against my skull
in the darkening night

© Bryan McLean July 24, 2009
004/100:2

[ .the.night.is.always.young. ]

am, free standing and small, nightstalking neverending, alone under darkened branches, staring back down, the striations etched into pericardium, thundering muscle, those lines matching the crevices on her trunk, and her skyworn thorns, match the crowns spiralling out of my foreskull, shadows pooling, at her feet, at my feet, now distanced from the lamplight cast, or inverted is the black succubus lines, reflecting future intentions, as her branches shift in the breeze.

© Bryan McLean July 12, 2009
003/100:2 for: bedtime for demons

[ .night.demons. ]

slick and wet, the highway lords, swallowing sacrifices, wet blotchy eyes lured into the traps of lamps and traffic lights, old gods still here, nested in the feeding lines of each and every new facet that is growing,
glowing hotter, as the yellow to white lines count by.

© Bryan McLean July 10, 2009
002/100:2

[ .vas.corazón. ]

beating
slowly
quickly
rushing
in my chest
lonely and crowded
small
but its mine.

© Bryan McLean July 8, 2009
series 2 001/100

[ .one.hundred.of.one.hundred. ]

i.
storm claps count away, as the tearing begins in the long road, and stepping away, are sensibilities, notions of latitude, their disannulled static, resonating the hum of earth, water, and air, motion that is ceaseless, proof of natural contingence, in its wake, the life it leaves, populating.

ii.
the soaking grass, fields in shadowed greens, tones are ready for our eager bodies, ready to roil and roll about, within its fingered fur. hearsay from the threatening sky, and the smiles worn, are now cut across cheek, bone, and lines, ever aching, for the rebirth and cleansing, that washes, from sky and skein.

iii.
here now, in sparks all semblance, the strange or charmed by proxy, but the wet night calls, wanting to play, the white cracks in the sky, signals to ions, err remittance, drop by drop, in hundreds, and the hundreds turn to thousands, hundreds of thousands, just to match, cellular decay, then growth, near never ending mitosis matching, renewing each life, not found, not lost.

© Bryan McLean July 3, 2009
100/100 end of series

[ .crowded.causalities. ]

nervous anticipation, running through the skin, quivering. the steps down, beat, into the cathartic fray, where hundreds lie, shaking shelter will not steady, as reached and narrowed, into the crowded causalities.

© Bryan McLean July 2, 2009

[ .ready.running.out. ]

and I'm running out, of strokes on canvas, and the lines in my pride, where all you're asking, is something more than I'm ready for, not ready to steady say anything, even when I know its right.

© Bryan McLean July 1, 2009

[ .in.the.dark. ]

in the dark
and disengaged
where its peeling clear
skin holds
raw to tender
holding steady
in the dark
heart marching
in the viscous gloom
pushing changes
where the echo
marks and marrs
our tepid syntax
in the dark
its running out
exhausted, breathy
against swelling sides
that now align
incremental now instrumental
in the dark
hearts marked now
its found out
as the lines leak
seeping to the swallows
and the ended day
in the dark
hungry hands
find our edges
desperately haunting
surfaces hours after
the effect runs through
and its all finding me
in the dark

© Bryan McLean June 30 (edit)

[ .gray.matter. ]

the road, ready black to gray, the rush, the intertwined love, its steady setting pace,
our interconnected hearts.

© Bryan McLean June 29, 2009

[ .into.the.stumbling.night. ]

am in stride, the straighter leg the lower, as each hilly crossing reached, the lamp light dies, one by one, unexpectedly, as if the seething denizens of twilight are ready, tooth and hungry maw, threshold keeping ready. yet no glossy eyes are watching, footfalls are the only companions, as the pitch dark keeps swallowing, and the tread presses onward, into the stumbling night.

© Bryan McLean June 28, 2009

[ .nocti/avis. ]

turning, the clear blue blotted sky, deepening, dust from evergreens drifting, as the day descends early, lowering behind the peaks, setting for hours, as it passes deep into twilight. in the gathering crowds, unaware, wandering at the night side market, lights, cries, streets filled with beats, beasts, and fire, set out for the onlookers, observers, celestial sometimes, bodies cheerily moving, to their own easy evening rhythm, and me here in the night, feathers furled, so terribly out of place.

© Bryan McLean June 27, 2009

[ .the.earth.humming. ]

angry hours, all on black roads, the green against the gray, the darkened lines blotting out the mountainscape, earth mounds cresting, and the ground runs in rivulets, as the clouds break against rock, like the ocean, tears, tearing the shallow valley floors, running heavy with the summer rain.

© Bryan McLean June 26, 2009

[ .capillarity.gone. ]

livid styles
pinpricks all fashioned on sky & skin
where nothing holds back
lips on hearts that work the mound
aching still festers
in your psyche psylli-ble

our echoes etching
epidermis turned pulp red
gone tasteless
gone tongue numb
your haunting presence
eats our every word
ever silent structures
that are not love

and ever arching
are your plots & applauding
clasped palms to psalm valves
the beat goes on
capillaries dying
one by one
gone grounded out
are all eyes gone out?

© Bryan McLean June 25 2009

[ collapse,adorned. ]

we are likely from a future, that wasn't formed, wasn't ready for us, a future coded, adored, adorned with all the illbegottened leads, the lines connecting you to me and me to you, are leaking out, lusting, and the nightsky we ache for, is the starlit void we are returning to.

© Bryan McLean June 24, 2009 91
my birthday . mon anniversaire

[ .sending.out. ]

flustered, just don't understand why people loose interest in me, its all chatter on the radio one day, and no thank-yous-but-no or no good-byes the next. am I out of line, am I too mouthy, too boring, too honest, did I give the wrong impression or say too much. where I've left room to breathe, not felt I've acted too eagerly, just cannot spot why messages don't come back, nor figured out when its too much
to send another lesser letter in bottle.

© Bryan McLean June 23, 2009
090/100

[ .pendulum. ]

an easy mark, clear on my features to face,
and no matter the weight I carry or the gloom I cast,
the light inside burns through.

© Bryan McLean June 22, 2009

[ .your.youth. ]

I see far into the vast, differential future, the age in lines on your cheeks and
brow, the sneer and long conversations, our way of talking will never waiver,
even where our confidence will, even when I know we are here and now, our
youth so limitless, immortality never fading.

© Bryan McLean June 21, 2009

© B McLean June 20, 2009

[ .stardust,numb.near.our.nature. ]

all these cords, minor fought for major, tying down, and heat hath no rhythm, nor it's ache, not in all, the lights' starry distance, ready where we lie, am under all your glaring wonder, where the axis now animate, beleaguered, that nero need rhythm, be I your virtue, be I the wolf in side your bed dress, echoes are that said, the sad marker, under this spark, the pink, the hellenistic bravery, etches to your skin, fascinate our attentives, cracked land rough shot, smirk, grace cannot possess, your startling beauty,
your ever eyeshine, prime my precious, prime.

© Bryan McLean June 19, 2009

[ .lost,underwater,. ]

lost, misplaced, misshapened, un-trusted, unloving, exhausted. this must be what burnout tastes like, bitter in my sore mouth. so why is it that I'm struggling, underwater, with several hundred arms and hands pushing me, holding me down further, their loving embrace, entanglement so quantum, when I know that on the other breaking side of surface, lies the freedom of genius. why am I still fighting the clutching, with hundreds of bodies and faces, all mine, all aching to be free. palms not pushing forward,
yet I have not the grace of giving up nor giving in.

© Bryan McLean June 18, 2009

[ .a.long.fellowship. ]

I am forever in your debt for, all the things you couldn't say or do for me, it's the empty rooms that you have filled, the sun weathered hallways and watched windows, excitement to the jingle of keys on the door, creak of floorboards late at night, the low, murmur purring at my side in the deep dark night.

© Bryan McLean June 17, 2009

[ .lamentation. ]

so out of place
just like you've been
in the echoing night
where our tremors
catch us up
the lines feral
in your hungry wake
as the being
under your skin
fights to tear
in side out

© Bryan McLean June 16

[ .end.to.our.doppelgänger. ]

end song, as the gangrel scratching begins, catchy, it repeats my faces, over and over, and its clear,
its all my doing, my mistakes, as the mirror commands, ego on the all setting eyes.

© B McLean June 15, 2009

[ .the.wolves,unsaved. ]

iii
calling on the night wind, the symbol sly lined, as the ready meek, are wary of our offerings, now, as our cover is sundered, and clearly we are, mark, mask and tooth, the riding gawdz, the mecha gawdz, under their treading pads, swallowing whole, the garish need, of your sweetened core.

© B McLean June 14, 2009

[ .the.wolves,unsaved. ]

ii
mighty are their maws, their eyes and vassal forms, thumping in the pitch, glaring from the blackened brow, hungry cables, center-folded over, the edge, where your fangs and ferocity, await the feast of my meat sweet core.

© B McLean June 13, 2009

[ .the.wolves,unsaved. ]

i
and the harrowed, ready frames, lining up, in season. flirt is front, centered, wetted, the lolling tongues, vapid, but poised, slowing their heavy breath, fooling easy prey, into their sweaty reed wall traps, sweeter from the core.

© B McLean June 12, 2009

[ .undying.attraction. ]

in the groove, as the teeth grab and pull, heavy as the earth goes, track by tread. cannot deny, that the love given away, is that gravity we keep, we beg to stay, hidden in exigent waves, rushing you on, to the sharp sharp shores, jagged, insatible, and ready for your brittle frame.

© B McLean June 11, 2009

[ .atria.armies. ]

feel your skin
at angles
here we end up left in
oblong to obtuse
tantamount post pinnacle
as breath cannot match
our speed of racing
atria to arterie
masses swelling in the vault
tremors cannot pass
nor clear out
finger tips on shaking brow
not finding direction
nor nothing left but wanting
as words turn all razors
finding your sweet edges
that I must be cutting into

© B McLean June 10, 2009

[ .still.in.the.heavy.corner. ]

and I am at that end, the edge of words that aren't working, no matter what my voice seems, it's cracking underneath, crumbled in a corner, angry that it didn't matter enough for you to see, that all the steps you take lately, are cutting into the flesh of the feelings, here hidden, in my heavy laden chest.

© Bryan McLean June 9, 2009

[ .wherewithal. ]

tied up, by these moving, pinnacles, summoning the words that have that motion, the dizzy sick feeling I get, in your knee weakening presence. stuck on you, thoughts are limping back, to just one blazing moment or two.

© Bryan McLean June 8, 2009

[ .amourous.surrender. ]
 
hands
reach my side
where it's touching
cutting
try to break through
all the edges
I've been curing
in galliant guise
 
under fog lit nites
in the glowing schemes
talons running out
across curvaceous plains
skin cannot hold out
as the ruts rendered clear
 
amour in tight-tight smiles
trecherous every incline
the thoughts and nails cross
careworn match sticks

push out against
the deadened eye
magnify
audio in tune
now vocals shut down
our intrinsic nature
 
hands
haut and harrowing
matching lines
that cross plams
fail to touch
based on ending echos
in your halls and fury

© Bryan McLean June 7, 2009

[ .piano.six. ]

pianos, haunting me, since I was six.. the keys so easy to track, giant planks, to my tiny hungry fingers... just to make solid something your body guides, and something so much more true.. even when you're short of words, you can still imprint your meaning from ivory and strings.

© Bryan McLean June 6, 2009

[ .false.tangent. ]

feel like I've been writing for nothing, writing for years, false hope, on this tip of tounge, lolling, waiting. all I see is imbalanced, unanswered questions, things only finaces only fund. acupuncture cannot balance a cheque book and  dreams aren't supposed be based on the 6.73 in my savings account.

© Bryan McLean June 5, 2009

[ .the.wedge.of.fringe. ]

clippings at your feet, the sound surrender, of your sighs and moans, in the text and lines, the wedge of fringe, that your slender touch, still finds, and leaves, static marks, burning in my, heated desires.

© Bryan McLean June 4, 2009
071/100

[ .so.long,rotting.i[ve]been. ]

lungs switch out, near on nigh, all the things I'[ve] been\(or)\hidden from you all, as you read, and re\a/tch, in the swallows of the gore that's shed, echoes are the drumming lines, and my lies are oh so moulded, perfection. timber crisp, pole and lace, you desire, w\(or)\ks & w\(or)\ds, rubbish, splen.dour scented, as you desperately, leak your lines, down thighs, to kn[ee]s burnt bare, keen, here, swelling, justice is the switch out.

© Bryan McLean June 3, 2009
070/100

[ .cardiac.summons. ]

a little stuck for what to say
when all the words are easy
but all the ways they come out
are so terribly awkward
and all kisses from
my mouth to yours
seem to still be on a cord
to my rewired vasculars
nervous lines thumping
everytime we meet

© Bryan McLean June 2, 2009
069/100

[ .xvi. ] (in face,)

in face, narrowing glance, as lines draw tighter, furrow, but no focus nearer,  semblance breaking, ergo our ego, waxing, over in age, as our grips, tighten in belief. affecting our phenomenon, from fluid illusions, solidifying perceptions, set out indirectly opposite the goal, the truth.

© Bryan McLean June 1, 2009

[ .xv. ] (sleeping in between the engines,)

sleeping between the engines, as  consuming thunder tempers underground, for the sound is reaching out in the serpent walled room, and smothering your cries, stabbing through your crooked folly.

© Bryan McLean May 31, 2009

[ .involuntary.love.ii. ]

struggling, muddling through my aches and long sun days, birds mock with gliding freedom, giggling as they soar, like dolphins chipping reckless abandon. tied out in the deep scorching light, cooking my flesh, my weary hands, as my pale moon skin turns roasted red, and my atria and arties cease to love me, giving up, where I fight to go on. I'll be no limit, climb back to the sun, and mock down to the sky below me, at the birds that once blocked
my heart's path.

[ .involuntary.love. ]

my heart, my paired twin, uncaring, palpating, in my chest, like thunder or bright rain, with too many holes in it, so no matter how much I fill it up, amour, goals, reckless abandon, even hemoglobin, just pushed away. it refuses to hold on to anything, even for my sake, our sake, its all just involuntary love.

© Bryan McLean May 29, 2009

[ .cats.game. ]

scratch on
two by two
the exes to the ohs
no ooh or ahh
just locking conflict
out on the ground we take
nor on the mile we share
do we gain anything
but losses
on every side
no one is winning
and every lost
deminishes us all

© Bryan McLean May 27, 2009

[ .palpations.still. ]

my crazy life.. I don't know how to be around people half the time.. I talk too much, fill in gaps of silence by going on about all the things I do.. cannot keep my fingers still.. I'm not a pompous jerk, I just do a lot of things.. I'm pretentious for a reason.. and then its the day job or the lovers or the book or the albums and the singing and lack of signing.. no tours, no profit .. only my stupid hands making things that leak out of my head and cannot find a home or any kind of solid commitment for execution.. cannot keep my fingers still.. and the people I owe or the holes that I've dug and favours I cannot pay back.. and all this going nowhere.. just wanted to act like and be myself.. that I know I am.. and I think too much and have no clockwork heart.. just stones in place of palpations.. and fingers that cannot be still..

© Bryan McLean May 26, 2009

[ .giving. ]

don't really believe in karma, not if I ever did, a life spent caring sharing, exhuasting. nice comes in last, its clear, the value of giving in a world built for taking. no profit or security in love. but I'm crap at anything that doesn't use my heart, so I guess I'll continue with this lost aching feeling in my chest and empty wallet.

© Bryan McLean May 25, 2009

[ .xiv. ] (swelling digits,)

swelling digits, in the dark, a.m. passing, as fingers retch and reach for wrists or ankles or any swearset handhold, in the gripping, the very trap of maw, all hallowed, the canticle escaping, lung and cord. found the in finery of grass, sound as silk, as it brushes your forbearing cheeks, and fattening lips, the years etched in, lines built all surround, from your clearly living lies.

© Bryan McLean May 24, 2009

[ .as.we.peer.into.the.sky. ]

heart racing, pulse breaking, seems to be morning, as we peer into the sky, anthropormorpheous skin, fluid in it's cockschemed timing, watching us, from heavy irises that tumble, from the trembling clouds, that poxed and thick, it's hunger rumbling children, deep and festering, in it's dovetailed liquid gears, in the all aligned coding, that's forcing our attention, ever onward.

© Bryan McLean May 23, 2009

[ .a.fortune. ]

You will encounter a sense of confusion today. You have lots to contribute to the universe, you just have to get out there and take one more punch to the gonads.. take just one more for the team. On the up side, romance is in the air, up in the air; might as well be stuck on-air in the radio waves, for all its transparency will do you. Fortunately, by the end of the week everyone will see just how hard you've been working, leading by example, setting goals and making things easier for everyone, so they don't have to do anything, and there is really no reason for them to help you out, because you have it all under control (compulsive disorder anyone?) Oh, and you'll forget your lunch at home on the counter too, where the cats will have access to it all afternoon.. so don't forget your good fortune today!

© Bryan McLean May 22, 2009

[ .zip.pers. ]
 
sunny, all decked out
in the living room
you pull me back
behind the shadow
of a clock tower
where no one will catch us
pulling my pants clear
dropping your own
you tug at me and giggle
its sunny, all set out
in the living room
you play and compare
I'm nervous but smiling
strange games
girls play
when you are five

[ .bottle.rocket.radio. ]

and I think I'm eight
with some freshly bought fizz pops
and brand new sneakers
colour wrappers
its sunny, maybe spring
my dad's nineteen-eighty silver mustang
smells of copper and red leather vinyl
or vinyl white sneakers
with white white shoelaces in the sun
I can't quite make out the dashboard
definitely cannot reach it
red seatbelt too tight
it's too sunny downtown
near our bank
but I'm waiting in the car
some other chewy candy
takes the horrible sting
of bubbling tangy fizz
out of my mouth
things seem 'too' too much
when you're so little
the old country mixed tape
is still playing on my dad's radio
while he was running inside
the car running in the heat
I wish I could remember
if my dad or mom was smiling that day
or if I was eight years old
but all I recall
is how much I hate
fizzy candy in my mouth

© Bryan McLean May 20, 2009

[ .elongated.calculations. ]

master deceit
the same breath you use
to tell me how gorgeous
like the sky & sun, I am
and then
how unworthy I am
at your barren feet

© Bryan McLean May 19, 2009

[ .mid.day. ]

down the length
of body
a hand glides
where heart marks
are clearly in the skin
can't stay
somewhere to be
don't know how to say
we should stay
in the mid day light

© Bryan McLean May 18, 2009

[ .why.aren't.they.near? ]

[ i ]

where are all the easy wolves?
the ones too quick to shudder
are they in the sleazy urban tops
or on the outskirts riding home?

good heart good natured
panting in the lake day heat
hunting down now or
lolling over the voluptous boys
filthy from their lack of sincerity?

[ ii ]

where are the foxy girls?
those far too shy to flash
their tails and masks our way
smoking and turned purple
from your clandestined candor

a swaggering demeanor
in your after glow
their scent bouquet and borrowed
sweaty from the daily hunt
of rubbing flirt to front

[ iii ]

where are all the wild kai-yote curves?
their strapping loose from chewing
out and free on the hunting green
where wind sets furl their torrent of hair
thick coated from all their lying

teeth too sharp to set you out
etched into all their little giggles
or nudging out some other lunar mystery
they are not down at vicious
not hiding out near seventeenth

still nowhere near my kind of trouble
nor riding me with all their wild
where all their passionate wind
is made from throbbing love
and curvaceous lies

© Bryan McLean May 17, 2009
(updated version)

[ .dumbfound. ]

don't really know what to say to you, when your cool & jealous boy is there, and I'd much rather say what is on my mind .. sitting, in respect, instead of in my heart.. feeling stupid about the tear in my jeans, my worn out hobo-skateshoes, or my lack of haircut.. and its easy with you, like I'm normal, and not such a fumbling awkward idiot boy.. my lungs are flooded, my brain filled with smiles and drinks.. in company I've missed, so much more than I can really explain.. not sure how to say it.. I don't really know what to say to you.. unless you come closer.. maybe I'd figure it out..

© Bryan McLean May 16, 2009

[ .reprise.from. " strange " ( '99 ) ]

reaching
you're reaching
reaching so hard
for the sun
reaching for
that height & expectation

where wing can not soar
and wax can not bear
but we can not be touched
and our course can not alter

take up my charge
take up my wings
borrowed if need be
burn me up
on luminescent searing atmosphere
re-entry to my heroes' heart

moving at speed
shifting hard 
like random thought
wing now wax & down
soar to every point
engaged and ever-ready

where every night burns
screaming out a primal scream
and dreaming of the sky on nigh
the black charcoal sky
filled with the starless void
filled with the void of potential
engaged and ever-ready

© Bryan McLean May 15, 2009

[ .rainseeds.]
 
i
monsters, crawling up your skin, time to break for it again. sleeping, the syllables mending, in awkward angled lacerations, that cover, every inch, of your intricate, precious, maw.
 
ii
diving in, lines long to run, down in spirals, black. into the boaring tunnels, of your spirit body, lowered in, caught in the maelstrom, a consuming torrent, like in love, where lovers meet.
 
iii
inclined to defence, the turnaround, this phase. out in periodicals, letter by litter, in palm pulp read, swelling in the skies, birthing proportions, heavy with the children, meant for graphed vellum ground.

© Bryan McLean May 14, 2009

New track from Corbae : http://myspace.com/co7bae" title="http://myspace.com/co7bae" target="_blank"http://myspace.com/co7bae 
Corbae - 2009 Eviscerate- 37 -Rainseeds ( Cadaver Diving ) :

http://lyinghere.com" title="http://lyinghere.com" target="_blank"http://lyinghere.com
© BMc  ____

[ .moth.wind.i. ]

switchout on the tapedeck
rolling back to make certain
all those imperfections
are caught just right in the magnetics
holding your last rites together
as we rise
on your moth wind
cutting us now at this hour

© Bryan McLean May 13, 2009

[ .used. ]

she's rolling over
on her trampoline
the day waking + weary
are our children now
the tight line walkers
sounding out the morning
rush up against
her coming-to sighs

© Bryan McLean May 12, 2009

[ .yellow.lines. ]

but I know we shared a moment back there, when & where you elbowed me out of the way, on the ctrain, downtown passed yellow lines, deep yellow lines that you cross, to get to me.

© Bryan McLean May 11, 2009

[ .in.the.fluid.lit.park. ]

sweaty & sweet
the girls glare down
frowns
in the fluid lit park
pouting at
the ruined seconds
that just passed
in flux
pulses wave & bounce
buxom in the whirling
spring light

© Bryan McLean May 10, 2009

[ .xiecho.tropic. ]

words arch in gravity
post pendulum
parting like
the ricochet
from walls on sound
lines lovely
lowered below
your equator
of heartfelt lust
circles of latitude
neither nor your regions
lowered below
my heart felt rust

© Bryan McLean May 9, 2009

 

[ .perdido.te.en.traducción. ] mi corazón se marchita como caes mi corazón quiere como te es mi corazón dolores como vas

[ .lost.you.in.translation. ] my heart wilts as you fall my heart wants as you are my heart hurts as you go

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Bryan McLean May 8, 2009 045/100

[ .in.defense. ]

you play so loud
and walk away
but you love so cold
and trudge this way
in our times
they make us fade
and in this place
you're so slow
like you're on rewind
and fighting here
for something or nothing
all we can do is
find ourselves
in defense

© Bryan McLean May 7, 2009

[ .xii. ] (in my gyrotrope,)

in my gyrotrope, hands, ever untowards, ever unfolding, glaring mass(es) collide(s), in conflict in the faultlines, that rupture your pulply skin, succulant, crushed against the windscrew, that love that you carry around.

© Bryan McLean May 6, 2009

[ .xi. ] (radio is now,)

radio is now, everyone to the frontlines, you in the back, get in the front line, reality isn't waiting for you, to happen, now is now, now is now.

© Bryan McLean May 5, 2009

[ .x. ] (bright as summer light,)

bright as summer light, cascaded silhouettes from the halos built from florescent teeth, here the glass holds back, the hostile night.

© Bryan McLean May 4, 2009

[ .ix. ] (perimeter of skin,)

perimeter of skin, the fragments & fraction we are trapped in, cause ways unaligned in our stirring selves, echo of the nuance notion of personas we could still become, hands hurt, willing.

© Bryan McLean May 3, 2009

[ .viii. ] (the water tangents,)

the water tangents, ruin me, weathered at poxy surfaces and time over tyne, in the running, oh how the spark sits, ready to turn on you, from ediface, starter to narrow, flame in blue, as it conspires to burn you.

© Bryan McLean May 2, 2009

[ .xi. ] (eyelids longing to shut,)

eyelids longing to shut, but shudders run through your fibres, your wires all connected, all on, all wrong, sombre silence quelling, where aching filaments cross, stabbing out ward.

© Bryan McLean May 1, 2009

[ .vii. ] (feel,)

feel, as ocean crashing lips meet, as pulses break and ribs crack, and as I push through you, realize skin and cells are not, but empty vapour, and that ache shatters our pulmonary insides.

© Bryan McLean Apr 30, 2009

diary 429 (lampeyed,fisheyed)

wallowed, in your
lamp eyed stagger,
your spindly stilts,
fish eyed tumour near
you, press downward
repeatedly stomping
flat, the flattened
wool pavement,
and baying at
the mouth, piece
of the stick
in your swollen
fin, looks like
a good day, for
rain from your
ceiling interior,
that's walled
you in.

~ excerpt from april 29
diary of a miniature carp
in a mason jar on the
bookshelf of douglas adams.

© Bryan McLean Apr 29, 2009

[ .vi. ] (its getting,)

its getting, further from the
pulse, everyday faceless sentries, are
pushed up, tight against black
tongues, and pinpricked witnesses, the
merit of mother, should be
on your lips.

© Bryan McLean Apr 28, 2009

[ .v. ] (footprints,)

footprints, in your fractured skin,
these shapes are worn round
errant agents, shown in the
needful touch, where these ghosts
ache to feel again.

© Bryan McLean Apr 27, 2009

[ .iv. ] (she's spent from cold,)

she's spent from cold, the
lines marked out, the skin
we're in, not marred from
wind, but torn without shelter,
as the weary make their
way, underground.

© Bryan McLean Apr 26, 2009

[ .i. ] (it's the starlight,)

it's the starlight, first wrought
to blotch the dark, to
rearrange order, chaos eaters, every
gaseous matter burning star. they
are the traitors in the
night sky.

© Bryan McLean Apr 25, 2009

[ .s.c.h.i.z.Ø.p.h.r.e.n.i.c. ]

staring at this blinking cursor |
taunting me.. fuck you, I'll write
something genius when I feel like it?
what? whazzat?? I wØuldn't know genius
if it fell off of a dumptruck and
rolled downhill over top of me..
ya.. well.. you're a blinking cursor | 
good luck with that gig.
seriously.. that can't possibly
pay very fucking well,
get a better job, bitch?

 
[ its been a long week,
please support the emotionally unstable
people in your family and lives,
they need canned tuna and cereal too  ‽ ]

© Bryan McLean Apr 24, 2009
schizophrenia.ca

I want to get to writing my actual graphic book.. I'm not ready yet to put it all together.. I know its going to take about three or four years..  the style and plotted design is coming together, I'm missing some tools, but that will come in time..

the characters are birthing themselves in the shallows... some old some new.. I desperately want to show that there are heroes today, happening now.. underneath our very skin.

and that although our futures are clouded and often unknown to us... its not something to fear.. its something to embrace and accept that it will only be what we work at day by day to create..

hope your are well
+lost.laine+

[ .detrimental.notes. ]

and I am in you
what you're not in me
and see only a few
trying to be
a step ahead
but we have no future
when so few aspire for
nothing more
than the dollars allotted
to our menial tasks

___
currency is the currency of the age..
not 'true' enlightenment or betterment of humanity..
we have no future if this is all we aspire to be.

© Bryan McLean Apr 23, 2009

[ .iii. ] (so in love,)

so in love, its a knife fight everyday
hunger now hungover
the stitches in your side
so vehemently apparent
long lies craddle your unworthy mouth & lips
the pulse running through them
wrought from the threat
of sharp stabbing truth.

© B McLean Apr 22, 2009

[ .ii. ] (touch in earnest,)

touch in earnest, your every crease & fold
supple to searing
the reactions in your aching flux
the flex of iris, winging
that your edges seethe at your wrists
longing to be free
of my terrible grip.

© B McLean Apr 21, 2009

[ .the.motel.alt. ]

angels are just mechanisms
but you're not watching out
not seeing all the gears at work
inside your hollowed out house

but I'm ten and down here
every night every day
its all our sallow end
even with sam haine rushing on

but nothing turns on nor out here
nothing that holds
my terribly weary intent
my head in your hands
chest pressed down

here I'm shaking on the line
of everything I've ever burned
versus how are you tonight
narrow on the one side
without thanks and hungry

pangs all full inside me
all gone indie
cuz its the next hot thing
coming to cut you
and make you just like them

but someone really should
cut me down now
I've been hung out too long
and all my splendor
might just have finally eeked through

oathens good eye
still all over
all my lovers
that came and left me out here
one more dusty room
I'm still squandered down into

all my impressions are far too tight
up against your side
where all knives should be
but instead
its all my musae's work

lines and stiches now
that narrow tangent
showing that I am
out on that line
one more time

© B McLean April 20 2009

[ .through.visceral.means. ]

noose
     taught
around
     my
heart
     can-opener
needed
     for
my
     poor
needy
     fourth
chakra
     cannot
stop
     grinding
my
     teeth
or
     fidgeting
with
     my
nervous
     ready
fingers
     when
you
     are
near
     by

© B McLean Apr 19, 2009
026/100

[ .for.him. ]

my dad
adopted, loved
young and dreaming
of saving nhl goals
in nhl jerseys

older, loving
goalie, handsome
playing, then coaching
never higher than the minors
never far from the leafs on tv
in black and white

older, loved
writer, local sports news
fathered daughters
plumber, family man
built his very own house
with his own two hands
never far from the leafs on tv
finally in colour

older still, loved
daughters, son
worked the town's pools all summer
worked the town's arenas all winter
worked the family all season
three thousand four hundred loving friends
sold his very own house
from his own two hands

semi retired, loved
daughters, son, grandson
new wrists, new hip, still hip
never far from the leafs on tv
finally in high definition
spring's the season to think of him most
playoff runs and wins, losses too
right as the blue jays are taking off
watching in his favourite chair
three thousand four hundred kilometres
away

© B McLean Apr 18, 2009

[ .the.glass.cutters. ]

tumbling early on
heathens called
endless by name

granite shows silence
lingering its means
as the breeze
shows sentience
silently creating its wake

clearly now
uniformed workers
toddle their way
through market and wares
endlessly marching
ready for daily wages
slipping from their fingers

© B McLean Apr 17, 2009

[ .near.hours. ]

hanging on
cutting in defense
skin barely awake
leaking to be sure
if we're really even
in this room

eyes swelling
aching near the edges
lights gone soft
as clocks fight
to strike late
resurection only in
our smoking tangents

too close
our proximity hearts
and our failing smiles
late light narrows
as the hour nears
wings are unlikely cover
from words left out

changes in headlamps
etheral & hungry
turning against
fairer types
not sharing
holding only wants

their shape and styles
cut too near now
does not matter
in that line
that I'm damaged
in this skin

© B McLean Apr 16, 2009

[ ...now.mergers.end. ]

meager
from the onset
from nefarious accord
the guidelines
all but stalwart
in the fading
winters' heat
cheek and sides
now flush from
hands all surround
sweaty and licking
down, under
shadows crawling

© B McLean Apr 15, 2009

[ ...as.one.entwines... ]

giant feet
crushing down
like osaka monsters
invading personal spaces
as ink leaking lines
curling down
your writing arm
staining lesions
into warm fore skin
bleeding overlaps
then pulls taught
snaring twine
the cuts truth deep

© B McLean Apr 14, 2009

[ .and.two.engage... ]

daylight crawling
up, over
all incumbent surfaces
as inch by inch
its swallowing skin
enveloping matter
in the quarks
all the lost arraignments
deviphiles prepping
their workings
wonder at the fringes
the fires
we make in ourselves

© B McLean Apr 13, 2009

[ .the.one.with. ]

wreckingball right through
your sensibilities
you grubby little cunt
can't believe
I wanted to fuck that
but its shimmering
and shattering
our sensibilities
or grubby little fingers
hollow how we wait
faking to be friends
when you're better off
with your mouth full, pitiful
as the sounds you make
are offkey and obscene
idiocy is out of style
when you wander
out of your box
delicate garden flower
digging your own hole

© B McLean Apr 12, 2009

[ .how.our.bodies.work. ]

other, to get through, serpent medicine inclined, to be oil and fangs, burried down in pillows, face first,
broke your lip, on that sudden trip, drown memories, still swimming, at the bottom,
of your empty, loveless bottle, where we found you, curled, slept on a mattress, pulled from,
that dumpster, where you left her, or at least, un coeur cassé, left out to spoil and spoon, tart.

© B McLean Apr 11, 2009

[ .matter.of.time. ]

all my lovers and loves
are still alive
so I sense how trapped
I am at ground level
pretending
but never really understanding
loves lost in time
as my heart wonders
which wounds will rear
ugly and deep
first

© B McLean Apr 6, 2009

[ .obvious.marks. ]

trill on lightly
honours ever marking
as palms pull back
face turned down
glaring, upset
in the contrasting shadows
across your face
the lines so clear
that someone
crossed your heart

© B McLean Apr 10, 2009

[ .the.fever.becomes.heart. ]

still in dream
leaking out
face turned all fingers
digits in their crawling space
scratching out
dragging inch by inch
remorse and pilfered body
bloated out
crawling from
the ink stained drain
dark lines
coalested and spinning
the head cracked
backing up
retreating in panic
identity and edges
all undefined angles
as the faceless
shaking strings
matted hair how
thousand glaring eyes
all over the scalp
watch silently
in their hungry corner

© B McLean Apr 9, 2009

[ .elevator.pitch. ]

smoking altars
out on the roof
in a wet token nite
haze and sulfuric signs
beacons to travellers
proof to our purpose
as soaked see-through pavement
wears leather treads thin
just like people
that are in our wake

© B McLean Apr 8, 2009

Visionary Philosopher

Your mind's strengths allow you to think ahead of the game — to imagine or anticipate what should come next in just about any situation. Because you're equally skilled in the numerical and verbal universes of the brain, you can draw from multiple sources of information to come up with great ideas. The timelessness of your vision and the balance between your various skills are what make you a Visionary Philosopher.

In addition to your strengths in math and linguistics, you have a knack for matching and anticipating patterns. These skills and your uncanny ability to detect the underlying blueprint of most of life's situations add to your Visionary Philosopher mind. Two philosophers who share the same combination of skills you possess are Plato and Benedict Spinoza. Spinoza had insight into how things worked in the world. He could envision a future based on the patterns he saw in life, and used mathematical logic as a structure within which to present his philosophical arguments. With that base he was able to use logic to formulate his theories. Borrowing from his linguistic strengths he wrote eloquent texts and, therefore, was able to bring his philosophical ideas and structure to the rest of the world. His story exemplifies the talents that are present in the Visionary Philosopher intellectual type.

Whatever you decide to do in life, you've got a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a wide variety of ways. You can expand your mind to understand a situation. Your strong balance of math and verbal skills will help you explain things to others. For example, if you were on an archaeological dig and discovered an object, you could probably use your deductive powers to figure out not only what the object was but also how it was used. Given your ability to put things together, you are more than capable of inventing a life plan that is in synch with your perspective on how things were, how they are, and how they might be one day.

Balanced-brained

That means you are able to draw on the strengths of both the right and left hemispheres of your brain, depending upon a given situation.

When you need to explain a complicated process to someone, or plan a detailed vacation, the left hemisphere of your brain, which is responsible for your ability to solve problems logically, might kick in. But if you were critiquing an art opening or coming up with an original way to file papers, the right side of your brain, which is responsible for noticing subtle details in things, might take over.

While many people have clearly dominant left- or right-brained tendencies, you are able to draw on skills from both hemispheres of your brain. This rare combination makes you a very creative and flexible thinker.

The down side to being balanced-brained is that you may sometimes feel paralyzed by indecision when the two hemispheres of your brain are competing to solve a problem in their own unique ways.

Strategic and Creative

As a Strategic type, you want to be able to express yourself and your ideas through work. Sure there's a time and place for rules and procedures, but when a good thought strikes you, you don't want it to be boxed into one way of thinking. You're willing to go outside the rules if there's a chance that the risk will reap big rewards. You are stronger than most when it comes to generating ideas. And because of this, it might sometimes feel easier to take on all aspects of a job yourself instead of wasting time explaining it to someone else who might not "get it" like you do. But because you have so many ideas and are willing to take on so much, you might find that you sometimes have trouble finishing every project you start. Your diplomacy and adaptability make you a valuable asset. But your need to feel invested in a company that allows you to express your original ways of thinking will ultimately impact how happy you are in the workplace.

[ .mid.way.cuts.to. ]

midturn
in causeways
plural
ever casting
limited lined
lily handed integral
sights and more
are care torn
chaos quality
inside rings
now wick worn
our language
sighs and moans
ended abruptly
against phrases
breathed
by floorboards

© B McLean Apr 7, 2009

[ .finger.prints. ]

closer we get
the more can be seen
ugly perfections
all mangled up
on your insides
crisscrossing over
tasteless lust
that has no exceptions
just pretending
as your fingers
splay and stretch
leaving marks
and caresses
across cooling skin
no bells held
for dreary late nite
as digits run free
down and over
elbows and knees
gone taught and tender
but still ever ready
to sear marks into
our threading patches

© B McLean Apr 5, 2009

[ .hum.and.hollows. ]

feel it in your skin
a humming
cliff edge humming
longing in your digits
as the palms turn down

gaps slid
from cohearance
destinies ignite
as certainty
turns passive

anger fails me
fills me
reckoning
running down your thighs
in lines
the clear note's tone

where gaps are left
instead of teeth
broken like love
clear
in the hollows
and sockets
of your eyes

© B McLean Apr 4, 2009