The nomad wondered, what went on past the walls.
He whistled away, as he walked toward the falls.
Lost in the silence, what goes on past those walls?
The beautiful bold brick, standing so tall.

Ancient and raw, the withered hand.
Who has no home, and knows no land.
Whose savage way, is to understand.
The crown and the throne, desired by man.

Pale and ghostly, her lips are chapped.
Bark has been torn, her tree has been tapped.
A filthy kingdom, which she can't adapt.
Like dirt beneath her nails, trapped.

"A Joker, a Jester,
Just a Clown?
A Man, a Boy,
A proper noun?
Making drinks,
To water them down?
Holding ice under,
To watch it drown?"

While the nomad wondered, what went on past the walls.
He whistled away, while inside she crawled;
Lost in the silence, that goes on past the walls.
Lost in the silence, that wanders the halls.

This is a subcultural song

Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy *******; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.

There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.

***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along

You are a traveler of the South lands
brown, a leathered skin coyote
desert walker of the Sonoran sands
crafty, black magic witch
a shaman, lucid dreamer
Yaqui Indian spell weaver
of visions, of paintings in the sand
mixing colors, peyote flowers
red, the melting of the aloe bowers
dark blood, the blooming agave towers
thick with snakes, the fire and hiss
that burns black of sacaton grass
the quiver and flash of flying sparks
igniting night, time traveling to the stars.

And then,
As the moon glowed in the distance,
casting my shadow against the nearest wall
and the rain continued to pitter patter against my roof,
creating soft, iridescent music to my ears,
and the street light began to flicker,
placing a darkened shadow against my sullen face,
I began to realize
that our existence,
all high and mighty that it is,
isn't so bright and fabulous after all.
And that we are all just a tiny blip
in the existence of time.

I said au revoir a long time ago
To the only thing that made me real
So that I could be an ornament
Of this flesh they know me by
I clogged my vessels with false pretenses
Weighed down by love that's not there
Guised by a beating heart under the fire
And now walking a trail towards nowhere
I can now conclude I am only human
But I was once much more

The whole avenue unfurls before my eyes.
Buildings change shape.
Billboards, the letters of the alphabet.
Neon lights scream bedlam.
Men and women scurry hither and thither.
Faces change expression
in a swirling flux.
I looked at the scene through a wide angle lens
over a wide span of time.
Then zoomed into the particular.