Wednesday, November 3, 2010

One-thousand Words (or Less)

There is not enough room on this page
For any institution, anywhere
To judge me in 1000 words or less.
One thousand words is simply not enough
Wouldn’t you like a photograph instead?
Would you like me to preform fellatio?
Perhaps you would like burlap sacks with dollar signs on them?
I could be eviscerated in front of you
In white lab coats and hard hats
judge me like a piece of meat
Mark me up like the hanging carcasses in a slaughterhouse
As we ponder which cuts are ‘prime’
Should I tell you about poverty?
Should I tell you about fame?
I can tell you about injustice, and how I have overcome it
How someone crawled out of Chino California
Picked up a pen
And rewrote their own future.  
Honestly, I’m terrible on a horse
But excellent on a tractor.
I can tell you all about the macabre Los Angeles Streets
How the ‘lowbrow’ artists scratch together their lives
For that moment that culminates
After hundreds upon hundreds of hours of work
So that strangers can stand, awkwardly, before their struggle and announce:
“I don’t get it.”
I could tell you all about Raymond Burr’s orchids
The amazing international musicians I have met
The Incredible Street artists who willingly sacrifice everything
to make their world marginally less gray.
I could tell you about friendship
And what it is like to know mediocre is not good enough
In the eyes of people that love you   
unequivocally I return their sentiments
Who have lent a strong hand
to pull me out of the depths of myself
more times than I care to admit.
Perhaps you are interested in philosophy,
we could share a Jungian discourse like a sundae.  
Or get really chummy over a glass of scotch
 And talk about ‘other things’ in ‘other times’
as though I care about the prestige more
than I care about the adventure.
Let’s talk of æther
The substance between us the ancients called ‘upper sky’
And why my self-reliance permeates everything and
everyone I come into contact with
I could tell you all about that fluorescent pink substance
That I have learned to weave as the fabric of everything and everyone
That my life comes into contact with
And how you’ll see it flow all over the place, 
if, I were standing in front of you.
I don’t like talking to people if I cannot see their eyes
Because I live to see character within people’s eyes
Perhaps more than anything
give me a fucking chance
And you’ll see what I mean.

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