i sit in
sterile chairs and clasp my mind to connect with the lord, only a busy signal is heard. so, i check my hotmail and see message after message. rosey is concerned as always. i listen to edie brickell sing my soul and keep scrollin down. there it is...navy rainbow. whoever the fuck that is. my mind realizes the implications of a dirty threat that has sponge validity. stackin up only for me to walk through with my shred'd jeans and stud'd belt. i know me and i know my mistakes, they are nowhere present. all my messages, like yesterday, fade in the sky as it turns into a crayola box bein used by the tots. mix'd interpretations that i will not follow. no more of this crap. to young, to old, to weary, to happy, to have some detour lengthen my sadness and taffy it into my mouth, fill'd with metallic tastes and stale ciggie smoke. more nicotene in a cup to relax the psychosymatic mind of one who gives up on all the dogmatic bullshit that flows out the walls and the pores of the elite as they walk down the street in stupor and superiority complexes. i am done with it all. i have who i need next to me in mind and body, and i can stand up without help from this plastic seat to flex who i am on more than billboards and in idle conversation that wastes the sounds i can create.