Motherfuckers droning on ..
You missed a lesson.
You missed what made the ones that did it well,do it well.
The beat.
Rhythm, sway.
For every word, there are at least three words connected to it.
That’s where you play.
Where the gods played.
Saltine and sulfuric, sacrilege sells ..say say say…
If someone asks you
“what is yours?”
The only honest answer is that meatball sitting on your shoulders.
Everything else is merely loud voices.
Faces trying to be cool .
Trying hard.
I remember those kids, I remember how they spoke..
Funny.
Unsure.
You have the power to peel away the entire world, and to figure it out for yourself..
But you can’t be afraid.
Space aliens and shitty coworkers, a system of fetters and a billion fucking hands grabbing your ankles…
I only need one.
I only need to like one of them.
One is plenty.
The rest is posturing and it’s exhausting.
So fuck it 👍
dawn 