Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Angel blocking the Garden

It sweeps us up. Change. Breaking the molds of what we think we know. Breaking into our lives like a home invader. Creating new sensations of pain and pleasure, but mostly pain. The good people on the street tell us it's "all in our heads," "it's how we react to it that matters," or something like, "it's what we do with it that counts!"

But aside from the conventional, drive-through answers to the most earth-shattering contingencies we can still find that reality has much to offer. What is this? It's personal. It's a personal battle with personal demons. It maybe a quest for a mediocre, cookie-cutter lifestyle like our friends or it may mean moving to a mountain cabin, growing our own food, smoking our own homegrown, just so we can see the sunset and not be interrupted. It may mean becoming a street preacher or a teacher, an extreme skier or bee keeper. It may mean doing great things and then writing about them, long and hard hours, at the computer. It may mean crunching numbers or becoming a skeet shooter. It may mean sitting back with a glass of rye and listening to this guy. It may mean helping old people get enough to eat or keeping terrorists from shooting kids in the street. It may being angry and hating non-Christians or being an example to Christians on how to forgive. It may mean shooting hardcore features or carving clay creatures. Learning how to sail or fix a watch or slapping some cream on that rot in your crotch. There's not much that one can say to appease ya, especially if you just lost your wife and house in Indonesia. Sound of gunshots, squealing tires, have a cigar and let's watch the fires. Early birds, grapes of wrath, old man singing in the bath, cancer patient reaching for a water glass. Poison in my blood, anger in my veins, why is joy always spiked with pain? Inside is outside, up is down, conservative liberal or liberal conservative, seven-nation army guns thunder an invincible sound. Hard to care, hard to know what's true. I'm just a clown, in the rain, playing the accordion..........for you.

1 comment:

Carl said...

Nice fuckin rhymes, MC Lyte. You should freestyle down at the Community Centre this weekend. Morbid muthafucka.

Am starting up a new blog, we shall see if I can 'keep it up' like I can with Libby.