|
| the snowflakes falling outside come slow and steady, tired and just
pleased to catch any light breeze anywhere at all, indifferent and okay
with it. this new millenium has us drooling from the mouth,
slurring allegations against "evildoers", enemies of peace and
democracy, our eyes glazed over with hypermedia mediating the important
conversations of our day, between corporations and consumers, masters
and slaves, the right and the wrong, democracy and every insignificant
other.
the great american gospel of "™ ©
® $"
i believe my head is somewhere spinning in a great cloud of sin.
i believe my flesh has been hooked on this rotting plank, this sliver
of sin slicing through america's swollen shut eye.
positive movements of people gathering for greater purposes, somewhere,
right now, diverse and definitely ready to sacrifice signifiers of
wealth, prestige, position, for sisters & brothers so hurt & so
low yet so loved by our Lord of lost sheep & desert wanderers
without home, food, mothers or fathers.
i am america & i am imploding/exploding. i am obese. i
am bleeding. i am drowning. i am bloated in these
depths.
i am killing myself. really, i am.
& you know it's about time.
some love has been stirring in this soul for too long.
without this red white & blue flesh it may take its first breath,
catch the new naked sight of an unpolluted sun painting images of glory
on every beautiful face.
i hope you'll join me for the party.
PS »»» read Can't Stop Won't Stop by Jeff Chang. please.
| | |
| Shoot king's kong for a free iPOD
amazing how the lack of effort matches the reward, the rings
neverending, spriraling inward, toward trecherous, lecherous layers of
lies, deceit, discover card dreams. there is an ample amount of
time to aim your gun of choice. UZIs are awesome. hold it
close, tucked next to your tick-tock tummy tut-tuttering bullets and
shells through the chests of young sisters and brothers. how blue
the sky is, collecting earth's water, radio, and television
waves.
label your revelations with one gigantic sticker gun aimed at the heart
of underclass hoods as follows: yo's, hoes, bitches &
bro's. magnetize this city. watch skyscrapers shatter with the
force of our bling. throw yr hands in the air. like
what? like how?
LiKe YoU jUsT dOn'T cArE.
sell the class, the style, that solid foundation of dance & matched
mix, the wizards spinning LP's (defeating the apathy of disingenuous
deadbeats), for the mass market appeal of some small change g-unit messiah with muscle to spare.
Repeat the refrain. Bentley dreams as P. Diddy done scream so
loud, shaking brooklyn & bronx to the bottom, burning compton
to the ground as label execs crown him leader of some ironic relief, a
quick breath inhaled cross-country, so fresh and so clean-clean, just
long enough to turn high eyes up and away from the ash.
Dear young one's
and old one's
hipsters & high-schoolers
it's shit and you know it.
| | |
| I've got to learn to let my hopes and dreams have some room to breathe
and grow in this very moment, this day. It's very easy to keep
them hidden several months in the future, peeking timidly from behind
significant events, always waiting for me to arrive, but what does that
leave for hope in the present circumstances I find myself in? I
am still a college student, though I try and try to escape nearly every
college responsibility. I am still here, in these classes, with
these teachers and friends and assignments and bunkbeds and few streets
of Chicago. The best thing to do would be to love it, to give my
absolute best to the all in all surrounding me, until yes, one day,
after this day and these days, my present is the dream of this present
future, when joyfully, with the joy I must find today, life with her
will be lived as completely and energetically as the life I must live
today.
| | |
| Glorious! Nearly eleven absent months. There's a red glow
in the corner of our room. So, much has happened. Lawns
have been mowed, sprayed for weeds, etcetera. The months fly
by. Wine and beer flow. Roommates roll cigarettes better
and better with each passing hour. We take time out. We
freak out. We're nearly there.
Something silly called graduation. Something silly and
PROFOUND! Capital letters place correct emphasis.
Less than four months until that much more important event. That
marriage of two. You and me, sweetie. One and two.
This is probably all for now. It's not so easy accustoming oneself to this universe again. Oh well and take care.
Blessings. Birds. and Squirrels.
| | |
| Dear Ireland,
Thank you for Guinness.
Sincerely,
Ryan | | |
|
