Whatev.

Black guys, skatin’ in the streets
killin boards, slaughtering beats.
rollin’ on down to the OK mart
got twenty billy and I’m gonna play it smart.

Miss at home with a baby on seat
wishin' all time that she didn't get beat
sittin', waitn and given it up
livin' it tight cuz she know it gets rough.

#4

Hair grows out and nails grow long and people change.

We grow up and it is seen as this exceptionally horrific happening. This event that has been foretold my Peter Pan and Captain Hook and it scares us when we are in our beds alone. Alone with the thoughts that carry us like infants away from our sweat drenched summers and our wonderings about sex and marriage.

Our wonderings about life and how we should live. About what kids names we like for our infinitely distant children and how when we are parents that things will be different. That we won't hit and we won't yell and how there will be no way that our kids could ever dislike us. Because you know...we're hip.

But the reality sits in the back of our jello ridden minds and It tells us that they will dislike us because, well, that is just how life goes. And that things will, in some way, resemble how our home lives were. They will mirror how our parents packed our lunches and how they made sure that we were tended too in such a manner that we would, undoubtedly, become productive members of this society.

Growing up takes us away from the freedoms of certain things; true. But it also brings us closer and closer to the truth of who we are and who we were tilled to become.

Yes, midnight beach runs and noon day naps may begin to lack in frequency. But other things that fulfill gapped hearts will introduce themselves. And when they do, let's greet them with a genuine handshake.

#3

So many ideas and thoughts.

So many wants and desires and longings.

I come here to regurgitate synapse based thoughts into the binary goo of this tangled web.

But usually nothing meets me when I come here.

On the platform.
Bags at my side.
peering down alleys.
waiting.

#2

It's not a place. At least I don't think so.

I think it is more of a mindset or a thought. You know, like utopia or unicorns. This perfect place where worship and prayer and love all come together perfectly. Again, I am not sure that this place is obtainable here on earth.

But do I still long for it?

A: Yes.

Should we all?

A: Yes.

But for now I will just have to settle for pine groves set in the grooves and crooks of this place. Where twig filled choirs the soil ridden orchestras sing harmonies to he who sits on high.

The one who strips bark off of trunks.
The one who creates life from a lonely timber on the edge of the forest.
The one who breathes into the soil and creates hammer swingers.

For now I will sit across from these filth buckets and listen.
Listen to them breathe the name of the one who first breathed.

I want to believe that this sanctuary will appear out of the pink and orange sky. That the crystal spirit in my minds-eye will make it hover over the waters face. And that there we will all have the chance to pour this bile from our bellies.

But for now I will take this book given me and beat in the face of Beelzebub. And I'll do so until blood drenched cloaks come riding in from the east. O' the joy.

Then that angry lover will return.
The scornful groom with tattoo on thigh and sword in mouth.

O' the minions that will appear.

And how rotten the stench will be. But OH! how sweet as well.

And then after our bones have been scorched with the fires of Fatherly eyes we will rise again.
We will stand under that great mushroom cloud of legionnaires.
And then off in the distance we will see it.

That simple white image where worship and prayer and love all come together.