In the arms of present
where past is long forgotten
     there i weep.
Reminisching old memories
the failures known by the past
the gloating glories of the past
     there i weep.
Letting go of thoughtlessness
letting go of childish pleasure
     there i weep.
     I weep
As i let go the things behind me
as i embrace the futures glory
      i weep.
There where eeries note is heard
there where eeries note holds the omens of time
     there i weep.
     there i weep.
I weep for the dead of yesterday,
i weep for the joy of tomorrow untold,
i weep for the glories ahead,
     i weep.
I weep as i lay hold my conviction
as i embrace the pains of today
for the pleasures of tomorrow
     there where eeries note
     holds the omens of time
     There i weep.
     There i weep.

They all look so young and lively and free on the Berkeley campus
walking and smiling and dancing swing and exercising and studying in internet
cafes and along the college walk there are clubs: pre-dental society,
women engineers, others, worn signs that stay out all year long in California and wear well
like the Clinton/Gore bumper sticker still visible and affixed to the stop sign off Telegraph and I wonder when there will be an avenue called "Internet"
And along the walls of Cafe Mediterraneum are highlights of the sixties, photographed by the dead owner of the place and there are still students studying and wierdos and old people reading books but there is no inspiration here anymore
From my generation, the eighties there are no pictures, and none from the seventies either and from the nineties and this decade has come and gone without notice on the walls
because youth by itself does not renew and innovate and the pressures of culture are too strong to re-invent and
it's not like there's nothing wrong, nothing that needs to be changed in our world today if anything things are worse
but now youth is only thinking about youth and buying low and selling high and there is no more idealism, no more desire to rectify anything, only to establish oneself as part of the middle class or above and have a house and 2.5 children
when the world is quickly being destroyed now just not by war, or an atomic bomb
that would be obvious because it would be loud and white and then there would be darkness and drops of rain and devestation
but I think I want to drop an intellectual bomb on these young people and tell them to wake up and try to change the world again and stop watching Reality TV and
do something that will help the world and put your picture on the wall of the Mediteraneum because you are trying to help the collective good and not just feather your own nest and not just worship the rich and exploitive entrepeneurs and try to emulate them as we were told to do in the eighties because that is just selfish meaninglessness that can't keep being replicated in this world, because it can't withstand it
our land and water can't withstand this lifestyle and the dollar store selling cutesie things made in China are coming from child labor and blood money and this dollar store is on Telegraph and no one cares or notices not even the young,
as slave labor continues to produce goods, just not here, where you can see it
and even if you care about animals, you can think of two million cats and dogs torchured and skinned alive for their fur in China and you , Berkeley are wearing it onn your fur trimmed coats
There is an eeries silence on Telegraph now where there should be the aliveness of debate and not just to get ahead, but to give a voice to the voiceless and alleviate the real and obvious suffering in the world
So youth, you are not so young and fresh you are a dissapointment
you are cowardly, pondering your own navel
and submissive and I expect more
THIS IS NOT ENOUGH
change is frightening, but it is
the only thing
that will save us

When am gone
i will be like the wind
unbreakable,untouchable.

When am gone
i will know freedom
like wind sings
irresistable,indomitable.

When am gone
i will be free
in freedom i wll be with them in white.

When am gone
when am gone

No! No! I don't want to go
the dark lane beneath!
I don't want to go the eeries road.

But when am gone
sands of time shall celebrate
and echo my name in one tune,
for the mark made un-erased.

When am gone
when am gone
in freedom i will be free.

******, another day of slow internet access...
feels like the late 1990s,
or early 2000s with the dial-up modem...
just around the time when
internet videos were not big...
                ******, ******, ****** all day...
just expecting my regular fix
of information,
             and all those metaphors for
   ***** syringes -
                ****** as someone else's thinking...
attempting a head-stand on a tight-rope
in some, very, familiar, circus...
three ms. ambers down:
   oh... so the music videos allow me to
bypass this... "debacle": cool cool,
strapped in, ready to go...
        just today,
   under the matrix -esque skies of england...
i smoked my first cigarette
and watch a pair of robins sit on
my neighbour's fence...
     aww... so pwetty pwetty...
       also nice...
                to spot a pair of robins...
and not the standard bearers of bird-watching
in your garden that are composed
of sparrow...
       all that orange: in the right place...
a bit like:
   that myth of the page 3 tabloid
the sun, glued to something beyond
a cleavage...
           cleavage... hmm...
that's the difference between cleavage
and the grand canyon of a ***?
cue soundtrack: the gardener
                          by marylin manson...
i never felt more alive...
      digging that hole...
              almost all of a reality of life
can be experienced in an english garden
in outer-suburbia...
   30 minutes... you might chance
deer, you'll certainly spot a fox...
   audacious manifesto...
     sometimes... even a rat...
   scuttling along,
   hush hush politics...
   as i imagine...
                                    animal farm:
who would the rats be?
  don't know why i never came around
reading anything by
roald dahl - or j. r. r. tolkien
for that matter...
    to have to "short-cut" my way
into the heavier literature exploits...
   so i dag, and dag,
shovel and fork in hand,
interchanging,
   until i managed to reach
a geology amateur fetish...
    ah... the foundation of London...
clay...
         dig deep enough,
past the garden earth layer,
you hit the clay...
             half a meter deep,
then the load...
              ***** must have weighed
around 50kg
     in her nursery package...
      moved her from the patio
into the vicinity of the dug hole...
via a pagoda...
                            broke my back...
broke a sweat...
             but i managed to plant her...
as i managed to plant
that plum tree 3 years ago...
    and as i lodged her in,
i whispered a shamanic fare-you-well
to her...
   'she's in good company,
of course she's going to bloom,
           bloom and produce cherries'...
clearly i underestimate my weakness...
or, rather,
              i play the salamander -
while back on the internet...
               a movie review by
black pilled about pawnbroker...
so it must be spring,
or at least: spring on the edge...
    so much for the robins,
and as much about plating a cherry
tree in an english garden...
            tended to by some ******...
it's like a snap-shot
of a memory,
carrying mineral felt
        on a construction site...
around 30kg rolls like i might carry
an anorexic unfathomability of a woman...
sooner or later the swallows
will return,
     and all in all...
the eeries, a sensation:
   so bird is part lizard...
    it's a lizard in a disguise of a mammal...
and... of all the creatures...
birds,
    are the most elevated,
in terms of ****** affairs...
   like the base standard of the monogamy
of swans,
    and all that crying eye
of a swan widow, or widower...
well sure...
  cognitively... we're on top
of the hierarchy...
    but in terms of: sigma replicas...
with our outliers...
    *** "stuff"?
             i guess we were beaten
by swans...
   and in terms of muscles,
gorillas, and diet?
               gorillas beat us to it too...
either "we're" a paradox,
or there's a god akin to Loki
          playing us the mules of foolery;
somehow "reality" is not suspect,
somehow: it always was;
but now there's a cherry tree in
my garden, which i planted...
        just about the right sort
of compensation for not having
a protruding Adam's apple
                     bulging from my neck.