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.