The masses don't know shit and owe me zip
can't take care of ourselves wounded animals
giving others the slip, taking over the streams
water runs the show charging people just to sip
Birds flaunt their freedom over the tree tops
and through the cracks the envious
four legged things that slither
eyes p e e k i n g out of the dark thicket
wanting to fuck each-other over
People maintain they evolved
from risen apes
but some think we're fallen angles
who raised the stakes
I think we just got better and faking
the whole time
justifying our destructive nature
Culture is the collapse of something greater
^ My friend Mike Alvarez Introduced me to his wonderful work.
I call it head change music haha. It is a fantastic blend of Electronic & Dubstep music.
I asked him ever so nicely to write a poem based off his song thoughtful...
This is the poem, How Thoughtful-- Thanks Mike! ( Aka. KoNNa-ReBoRN)
Hypothetical question inevitably comes to mind-
When we are old and past our prime
Should “they” decide that it’s our time and take upon themselves to douse the flame?
While we cry for our beloved… cuz those that are supposed to know…
Say it’s time to let her go… and
Mourn... cuz four legged people, are people just the same…
She’s just old... as most people hope to one day be… So may
She not moan… Or
Be in pain... and
Let her ease away in loving arms with none to blame… cuz
Good four legged people,
Are good people just the same…
A beast inside of a beast
Four legged or two
A beast thick with fur, or a full head of hair
A beast you thought you knew
Until the full moon slips into the sky
And the two legged beast turns to four
A sharp piercing howling cry
Unravels the truth of the lore
Running along side a pack of beasts of four legs
The thick pads of their paws imprint the ground
And the need of speed simply begs
For the four legged beast to be found
Running tell that large moon lit brightly in the sky
Lowers it's shining head beyond the horizon
The four legged beast turn back too two with a cry
Saddened that the race was done
Looking up at the pastel sky the beast says until next time
And off he goes to resume his normal life
"Why are you mimicking me
Oh foul beast?"
"Because I had this glorious pattern first
And to help me better feast."
"But you are so loud,
obnoxious even glorious."
"Alas, I am not, but I do admit that it is
My hide for which I am notorious."
"My gleaming fur is also well known
to people far and wide."
"I see your stripes hung up, strung out
"Our likeness is uncanny,
Used for such different reasons."
"But they both bring upon
Those two legged demons."
"And for this sameness, this
alike this identical..."
"We are created the same,
All of us are equal."
once there was a man
everyday the man woke up and drank
a glass of orange juice. he made himself
a sandwich and went to work. he worked
at a law firm and he was very good at his
job. when he got home he went on a run
and came home again and listened to jazz
while he made dinner for himself.
he watched football and cleaned up
from his dinner and read a classic
before he went to bed. then he closed
his eyes and dreamed about saving
people money and suing the IRS.
once there was a woman
every morning the woman woke up
and drank a cup of coffee. she packed
herself a salad and went to work. she
was a doctor and she was very good at
her job. when she got home she got
on her bike and rode to her favorite
yoga studio. she came home again
and listened to classical music while
she made dinner for herself. when
she was done with dinner she called her
sister. then she climbed into bed and
read the next classic on her list. then
she closed her eyes and dreamed
about children with cancer doing
yoga and trailing I.V.'s.
one day the woman was late for work and was walking very briskly toward the hospital when she stopped and decided to call in sick. the woman couldn't remember the last time she'd had a day off and decided it must have been before the started med school.
on that same day the man had the morning off and was waiting around for a lunch date with an old friend. he carried a book in his right hand and walked through the park looking for a place to sit down, when he saw a woman in scrubs with an auburn bun sitting cross legged on a bench clutching The Great Gatsby.
so she became a rhythm in his life and he became a rhythm in hers. and although their lives were normal the normality melted together and at least they could be normal together.
once there was a man and a woman who lived in a house together. every morning they woke up and kissed each other. they drank coffee together and she made him a salad and he made her a sandwich. then he drove her to work and went to his office. she was a doctor and he was a lawyer and they were both very good at their jobs. when they got home from work they jogged to the yoga studio around the corner and then they jogged home. then they sung to old rock music while they made dinner together. after dinner he watched football and she called her sister. then they got into bed and read to each other from the growing stack of books on their bedroom floor. then they closed their eyes and their dreams twisted together just the way their lives had.
We’d sit on the roof,
the spring sun will remind us that summer isn’t the only friendly season.
And we’d chain smoke our way through rays and rays of sunlight. Both of us reading,
God knows what, but filtering the tar of the world out of our souls and replacing it with fiction.
Sometimes it’s in his room, as he
strums on his guitar, symphonies he may just forget by the morn.
And I’ll sit, cross legged on your rolling bed,
figuring out why mine never look as good as yours.
Is it too little? Am I too much?
But because I’ve rolled two today, you’ll reward me with three of your own. Only one requires our shitty house grinder.
And I’ll ask you to play that song from three sleeps ago
-when we both sat in our separate rooms, together. And you will.
And you’ll pass it back to me, after two or three deep pulls and exhale through your fingers on the strings of your guitar.
And I’ll study this joint and realize,
that I did, indeed, put way too much tobacco in all my cigarettes today.
I stepped out of my apartment
into the easy breezy morning heat
it was hot,
but not late enough for the sun
to have properly baked the earth
I lost three cigarettes
lost them on skid row:
a small strip of city
which stretches from 5th to Jefferson
and from Broad to Franklin
something about that place,
maybe the empathy of the inhabitants
draws them closer
the homeless, hobos, bums, wastrels, ruffians, and scoundrels
sitting cross legged on the pavement
or idly kicking on the stoop of curbs
or in hidden alleys,
hiding from the wind
They live there
and for the most part
they're good people,
not hurting anybody
not proud enough
to not beg
There he lay
Torn and Twisted
Kin to the kinless
In chains wrought of iron-clad thought
Seamless, perpetually aimless
Another cog in the two legged clockwork
Tearing the universe apart one molecule at a time
The sun shone bright
on the Saturday afternoon
as Helen put her doll
on the bombsite rubble
off Arch Street
near the coal wharf
and sat down beside you
at the bombed out ruin
of a nearby house
wonder what it felt like
you’re trying to get
the kids to sleep
a ruddy great bomb
blasts you all
to Kingdom Come
you offered her
a sweet candy cigarette
from a blue and yellow packet
but my mum said
that when she was home
with my gran
during one bombing raid
they hid under
the kitchen table
with her baby niece Carol
Helen sat opened mouthed
her hand holding
of her battered doll
you went on
my mum’s stepfather
( her dad having died
from TB in 1936)
was under there too
but my mum said
he had his backside
from under the table
that was unbombable
and so did you
bet it was horrible
to be bombed
but I would have hated
from my mum
even for a day
on the sweet cigarette
held between two fingers
at the ruin
with half a roof
and two walls standing
on the inside
of one wall
my gran said
an old couple
next to them
the air raid siren
began to run
toward the bomb shelter
in the garden
when the old lady stopped
and the old man said
what you looking for?
my teeth she said
and he said
not mince pies
almost on choking
on the sweet cigarette
I near wet myself then
and she clutched her doll
to her chest
patting its back
there there Betty
it’s only a story
and you looked
at her small hand
tapping the doll’s back
the fingers tight together
love in each tap
a good mother
with schoolboy love
looking at her profile
the thick lens
the plaited hair
and her small hand
going tap tap
on the back
of the battered doll
in her flower skirted lap.
I waited out the
I sat crossed legged
as the sun rose
in the east