Thursday, April 22, 2010

Write some pp pp ppo ppoee poooooeeemmsssss. Ppppppp

This one's for you kid. I hold a 24oz tallboy walking peaceful streets, a homeless man in gym clothes. A recluse with his shirt-off getting tan. Dreary inspiration dictated to by the melodic tide. This peripheral merry-go-round throwing off the drunken-lucky-idiot. A bruise and a scab traded for escape from the ever-slow circuitous conventional circle, fair trade, fair trade, I'll take the cut, I'll take the rain. Forgive me for the lack of flow, it's been months since my last hit. Down another can, crunch it up, throw it on the ground, pick it up and recycle. Never free, even if our intentions are pure. You see the contradictions. We're always free, even if our intentions are unknown, even if we drown ourselves in syrupy anaesthetics. Forgive the contradictions. You're beginning to see the contradictions. Forgive the contradic-

This attention span elastic, memory durable and plastic, the old ones never decomposing. The slime of our worst selves slipping down storm drains released into the boundless blue sea, confined to the slamming shoreline, polluting minds entering through ears, dirtying lives and drinking tears. There we see the lack of contraindications which are different from contradictions in that they protect us from ourselves --- which WE are NOT in the business of doing my friend. WE ARE in the business of running hard, diving deep, smoking too much, hiding from the world, sleeping for days, standing on stage and counting the eyes, screaming in anger if they aren't all intent on our images. We ARE in the business of proving ourselves to people we are not, dazzling them with acts of apparently little effort that actually have been forged in our worst nightmares and hardest efforts behind the curtains, behind the scenes, in our own personal glory days that feel like torturous neglect. Our salvation the intersecting similar lives, the collisons of common pains and laughter of unincorporated human beings like you and me and him and our girls and our dancing bullshit and shit words and loud cries and growing pains and electric brains lucky for the love lucky for the love that our mangled genius forms are capable of being loved lucky to have a woman with love and to love to give love we're like Tyson, better at giving love, but we're learning to accept it, getting better every day, it's interesting the way connected people can grow parallel and evolve and change and still remain immaturely inane and decadent and extravagant and grateful for the time so grateful for the time even if we call them wasted lives we grow and thrive and keep striving and keep turning corners beautiful blissful face into walls we keep turning corners and challenging the surprises and we live and live and live our lives.