dawn

I bet Jimi Hendrix was a great person to talk to, one on one.

Without the crowd, or the stage, or the lights, or the guitar amplifiers..

You know what I wish?

I wish he had a diary.

I wish he would have opened himself up to the typewriter, and poured out his soul and his thoughts.

I bet he was an interesting cat.

I wish I could have heard what he thought about X,Y and Z.

I would have listened…

An artist in one realm translates to an artist in all realms.

If you’re a fucking wizard (or a sorceress), then you move through all the realms.

Play a guitar chord,

Shit out a rhyme,

Make a joke about an uncomfortable topic ..

I think I’ve boiled it down to

“I don’t trust any monkey wearing a suit”

(Unless it’s part of your stage wardrobe)

Or you’re filming Pulp Fiction…

Or Reservoir Dogs…

I just had a difficult time spelling “Reservoir”… not a word you spell often…

I digress….

I wake up on Sunday, after hard chillin for a day and a half…

And you motherfuckers are still crazy.

You’re still fighting.

And the opposition puts on their Sunday best, and they go into a physical echo chamber .. they listen to one guy…

Then they leave, and break bread together,,and agree with each other, and further entrench themselves in the Zeitgeist’s battle….

Your world is crazy..

I wish I could freeze you off like a skin tag.

I wish I could apply a chemical and make you all go away..

(Or at least shut the fuck up)

Yeah man.

You could at least shut the fuck up for ten seconds..

That’d be pretty nice…

Hope you step in some dog shit today…

You rat bastards.

You’re not cool.

You’re not worth attention.

You’re a walking advertisement.

A scam.

Scam scam scam scam..

A con.

The “large” con.

That’s you.

Good luck fuckers-Mitch Hedberg

(I’d feed you to the chickens)

Little dinosaurs, tearing you apart in a frenzy, beaks and talons,,clucking and groaning.

Bwack bwack bwack,,,,

Feed you to the god damn chickens…