Revolution, Evolution, Deconstruction, Destruction

Living in a white world with black boys and girls, 

Giving freedom in a box with rotten fruit and bugs. 

Its rags and dirt and mud and blood, 

Its cold and hot and feverish sleep, 

Its pain and anger, tears and rape,

Its sin and god and hell and man.

Eating fleshy mandarins,

Juice and sun run down their chins,

Letting dogs lick at their feet,

No scars, no blisters, clean and neat.

Briefcase, mobile, pager, suit

Mortgage, cable, shiny shoes

Harlem, Brooklyn, Alice Springs, 

Separation revelations when foreign accents sing.

Living in a white world with black boys and girls,

Hiding freedom in a box with rotten fruit and bugs.

Its judgement, fear and lies and war,

Its bombs and planes and guns and sand,

Its you and me and us and them,

Its sin and god and hell and man.

I miss you.

I wish you would come back to me. You left me wanting more, but feeling exhausted from all that we'd experienced already. I wake every day with the hope there will be some news of your return. I'll wait for you for years, but know I will see others. You were unexpected and amazing, you changed the way I listened. Ode to Bon Iver.

Cherry Popped

I think I have had too many of those nights of endless drinking and chain smoking of champion rollies, feeling bored in an overpopulated city, finding nothing in the realm of intellectual stimulation. Having something more than just to sit in a dimly lit drinking hole so I can listen to something resembling music, although I find the butchering of music sickening. I am definitely becoming cynical.
I don't often like the reveal, the exposure of thoughts. I find myself continually putting distance between whats in my head and what I put out for everyone to see. I think I just popped my cherry. Yeehaw.