| 5/27/01 note: An artist is a person who enjoys creating beauty,or any other aspect of humanity. To create a feeling and pin it on paper, or set it in the air is enough...an artist just wants to give it to the world. An artist isn't trying to make money, an artist is trying to spread the word. An art dealer wants To make cash off of feelings. An art dealer prices, Things that are free. An art dealer sells, The children of emotions, Art dealers may look at art, But it's not art that they see. 6/7/01 Curled up, Between a government mattress, And two issued blankets. Warm but shivering. Slip into fearful sleep, I pray the system, My soul to keep. Slide into worried dreams, I'm heartily sorry For all of these things. Pray now... For divine intervention. She says, It's divine fornication; I need, Somewhere to run to, A new place For a lifelong vacation. The system reeks, Of rusty metal. The hinges creak On each government robot. Pray that America Will still be America. Pray that the dreams will fade, With each passing day. Pray now, For the days of peace We all yearn for. Maybe these days will be; Except America needs a piece of your world! Pieces of other place, Blend into strangers faces. Robots, serving blindly, Salesmen treat us kindly. Pray. Pray. Pray. And maybe this will all go away. And maybe this is not so bad, We'll get that America, That we've never had. |
| 5/30/01 Why am I here Consumed by confusion? Lost in the American illusion Of freedom. Shiny pennies making, A trail of me. Shiny, shiny, pretty beads. Oh...he told me about being free. He's in the mountains now. I'm on the coast. It's cold here The summer seems like Something of a photograph. A grimy beaten print, Carried to far for too long. I'm still lost in America, Listening to her sweet But truthless song. They all say, it's the best Place to reside, Paper in my pockets, Living near the line. The line they drew me, To box me into what, I can't pretend to be. Is life meant to be so violent? Is there an "emotional attachment" That I have to keep silenced? Why do I bother looking to the sky? The moon is overlapped By the telephone wires. Shying away from friendships, Shifting my position Sitting in this chair Smoking and smoking away. I know that I could die... A man passed and he had to say "You all are smoking, why?" He continued- "this town is full Of the stupidest people anywhere, You all smoke, still, I bet you can use computers." But isn't that just plain American? Just plain AMERICAN. I can count on a camel light, To be nothing but what it is. It will not misrepresent itself EVER... I can count on this; If nothing else, So I've come to do so. Will I ever stop smoking? I guess I'll never know; Until the day I leave this life, Maybe my last words will be: Hey- I'll miss those camel lights." But that's all another part, Of this American illusion. That's just a piece, Of the puzzle of my mind. I guess I can't know, Whay water seems to swallow Everthing that's dead, But keeps us all alive. Water begs to differ, With everything I know, Water is what I'm made of, And water can be snow. Snowflakes on faces, Of people who I no longer know. Snowflakes in places, I didn't think the snow could go. Isn't that American? Doubting what the sky rejects, Not afraid of falling rocks, Driving on through mountains. I'm not ashamed or shocked, By what I have found. But in any case I guess I'll see them all around. I'll see them in hell If such a place exists. I'll never be able to tell, The difference between such a place and this |