The bullet scraped and traipsed its way over in through the calcified wreckage, swerving and curving as if guided by some invisible hand, gentle in its touch and seeming to grow in size and stature by the second; slowly, slower and slower yet still. Then there is me, eagerly anticipating the day full of duties ahead, gathering up my things, my weapons, ammunition, snacks and bounding around the corner to join my brothers in arms in this, our daily struggle for survival. Then, almost cartoon like, a bullet the size of a massive missile comes to a screeching halt, right in front of my face;
Sparked his mind, seesawed unwind, take your time it's free to climb, corporal ladders wonton mad hatters, crystal stairs farmers and latters, sing your song breathe in out wrong, what I sees a needy throng, testimony of the torture life imbues like wet rags wrung.
According to some I was the less smart one; an unfortunate bend in the family tree. You see, it was all measured in test scores, and as you can probably guess from my proclivity for writing, let’s just say it was not my forte. And by ‘less smart’ it is to say as in comparison to your Aunt, my sister and as of possessing a luster which was a set of more cloudy, gray, dull skies to her bright, shining, crystal clear, cloudless mind. You cannot prove or dispute anything and everything at all times you see; it is an unfortunate societal embodiment which forces us as if by guile and a seemingly unending canister of wit to do so. Nevertheless, such was my station in life.
Writing was my escape from the curtains of life drawing in closer and closer around me, day by day, minute by hellacious minute. You know those days when you realize that not even in your worst nightmares could you have imagined what it is that is happening to you? When your life appeared to have sprung a leak, and you are left there alone, far out at sea, to bail and bail, knowing full well that it was your destiny to sink? That was when my writing rose up and sent me soaring, over and above all of my problems, alleviating all of my stresses, placing my spirit on a pedestal, somewhat above it all. There were notebooks full of my stuff, poetry, whimsical, fruitful, lofty, loving, deleterious, mysterious, pompous and spontaneous poetry, carefully crafted, written, and rarely reread, until one day I decided to organize everything, a couple of years worth of bleeding, heartfelt emotion spread out on page after solemn, intransient page. You see, creativity craves a certain sense of freedom; to dive deep into the ocean of pain and heartache and into the black hole of vanquished hope; and fight and claw your way back, holding something, a beacon of light, something to spread joy in and among your fellow creatures of humanity. So I organized everything and got so psyched, I felt as if I was being propelled by a supernatural force; and in the meantime I was still writing, and the writing itself started to become something transformative in nature; I began writing songs.
A journey fueled by hope, undying, passion-lit, overzealous, undying hope can take you many places. You see, I have ‘failed’ so many times I had given up counting, and that is only because of the fact, fact, fact among facts that every single time it happened, everytime I have run into a brick wall where I thought an open meadow would be, it has added something to my spiritual fire to keep on going, evolving into something new, something stronger and better. It has provided me with fuel in the form of the special people’s wishes I have collected, not neglected along the way. What I am trying to say is, I wrote a song, I wrote a couple songs, and then I wrote a few more.
Yet there he was, on this fitful fancy fuzz, torn born warn asunder, while on the stairs they pulled the rug without from under his dreams became obscene a false look no less a glean in his hands off zealous eye crystAl glares to petite stares, ample needs whose wants need wear, to the tortured and dogmatic ridiculed jobs son he dares to glare back and stare with verve, simple feelings turned absurd, till words flocked and flew like birds or less rocks more meteors, crystallized this simple habit my mind’s eye see something grab it, build off it and then what's more take what's yours and make ownership widespread, they can't ignore what's spelled backwards reads the truth to turn tables over and onto you, like the lizards tongue, the ALLIgators zoo, but taste baste and make some cake from thin air your dialed in heir like the tortured walrus has got you climbing from the seashore like the sea lion, I'll breed and make believe I climb trees among the bees honey hives instead nine lives can overtake me, no one’s hate can still deflate me or debase my despondency, life’s an atom on a cherry tree falling from the sky amidst turmoil suspecting danger leads to foundations of real surreal tough guys, where the torture is the test to live through thrive and derive from ample mess, my tongues tasted sense of humor and been hounded by the ghost, some say maybe I say for sure the ones tortured are loved the most.
