make me holler.

it's funny how amazing music is timeless. marvin gaye- inner city blues...amazing. and look how prevalent its lyrics still are. every time i watch the news or hell just look outside sometimes. it's not even a black and white thing. it's just all these separations.

and when i look at the television. is america stupid? or we stuck on a two second culture? are we literally the now generation or are we a generation that's still yet to come. the attention deficit is in our blood. so connected to the world by smart phones and computers and rabid technology that we forget ourselves we're so busy being around someone else's. i'm bound to be a rigid individual and stick to my guns whatever they may be- of a boxless nature. of casual sway into as much of different as i can find and being okay with that. no saint. just an arachnid nature.

let these separations stop and not be afraid to forget the box that THAT box has put us in. the tv, the set, the flat screened god that we've carved to see our fantasy. to see something we will never ever be. to see boxes placed so strategically that we can't even see they are there.

these kids and their box. now I'M the one that wants to scream out of a window "I"M MAD AS HELL AND I"M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!" but where am i gonna go after it's said? how am I gonna change this Godforsaken world? Yeah I'm mad as hell but if i'm not gonna take it anymore wht the hell am i gonna do?! kill myself?! or do i find a solution? no one ever answers that question do they? it's always do what you can to survive...survival of the fittest...and you do whatever you can to survive, you even whisper. sometimes you don't even talk.

because we're blinded by the glow of a flashbub that's not even in front of our eyes. we're blinded by the absolute contradiction to all we know is true. to that narrative that's never told by a real girl or boy or by that lover who's never too dark and never too light. or by an organized stunt called reality.

look down at your hands and realize all the amazing things you could be doing instead of jerking off to some smut porn you watch because you're lonely, instead of clicking some key to a device that we can never open because we're too distracted by that colorful display of images it's always throwing at us, blinding us. maybe we're not blinded by the light, maybe we're just blinded because we don't know what to look for. i looked in the mirror first.

summer black.

a: i feel like such a gay.

b: why?

a: i'm sitting here slightly buzzed after a club listening to "someday my prince will come" by ron carter.

b: shit, at least it's by ron carter and not a dance remix...i mean...you do live in gay atlanta.

a: this is true. so i guess it's not so bad. i still feel a bit submissive.

b: and submissive is bad.

a: only when the dominant is someone you've never met.

i hear them mumbling in the background as he goes into heaven.

fuck the club
and fuck da dj
imma be the one
that put the record on the replay
and if you feeling righteous
feel free to sing along
it's the "do what you gotta do" song.

yeah if you don't want me to read into it
write another book
i only read what's there
i'm not addicted to despair

back at home
at 4 am
and john coltrane plays
to my frequent ears
a little too much vodka
a little too much pain
a little too many kisses
from some boy who you wish you didn't know his name.
forward momentum on my wall
does my voice still carry a word to call?

been reading bourdieu
this dominant feud.
how can i change
what the populists view?
these rhymes are predictable
and so is my new-
it's old to those who've had it
and present to those who take the cue.

and the piano is gentle
and i'm good in my mood.
and i kinda wish he was here.
it's unfortunate
it's cruel.
and michael is dead
left eye is too
2pac went before
biggie sang the blues
seems the ones who carry the torch
are the first to fall
i don't wanna be a martyr
i just wanna stop the crawl
i wanna run
i wanna scream
i wanna be more than sexual insanity
i wanna be more than porn on saturday nights
i wanna be more than a bathhouse that sells right
i wanna be more than a wet kiss on the ama's
i wanna be more than Aids HIV and a bloody stain.
i'm trying though
i'm trying though
i'm trying though
who knows.

i'm a vodka mess
and this saturday goes to show
how few and frequent they come
at least there's no blood running from my nose-
i stop at the candy-
it's too much for me-
i'm holding back
there's nothing that this world can do for me-
maybe i can do for it-
instigate some permanent kick
i wanna cry when i hear george cables
"looking for the light" is the first song that plays
how tragic how right-
an ad plays against the spotlight-
advertising something i don't need-
trying to bombast the sweet eloquent tranquility of a
flute and a piano and America's music-
i want to scream out
"GOD! why did you do it? why did you make me this, why did you
abandon us, why did you leave us foul? why did you make your followers
such a cruel uncaring child!"
metaphysical mess,
blessed is the unrest
we keep moving til we find a stream
now i hear john coltrane
and his many favorite things-
and I hear a bit of God
in those saxophone wings
and it's okay-
it's okay i dream,
a little more water
and a little more time
just another kiss
and it'll be fine
a little more water
and a little more time
just another try
and it'll be fine.

jazz freedom fighter.

Poverty and paranoia every channel got em for you.
Sick with the critical mass of a new pop culture attack.
So scream at your radio, and scream at your desk.
Scream at the movie screen and scream at the so called best.
Tell them if they've got a voice, to make some fucking noise.
We got the bang bang
but we also got a choice.
So turn off your radio, turn off your movie screen,
Turn off your T.V. unless you see it's me...

galvanize/energize.
galvanize/energize.
galvanize/energize.

GO.