Less Talk, More Rock

Wake up, coughing, tired, with my face in my hands, staring at the window as the sunlight demands action. all the energy it takes to close these bedroom blinds. wrote this selfish sadness on a b
Om wall, spent half the span of some lost culture's rise and fall, but i'm as clueless as a drooling four year old. still hoping i might find the capacity to let you know i know you're lonely. s
E's the last call for regrets, a final slow dance through the days that we all hold on to. here's the promises i've made, tied too tight to undo. an unwrapped gift from me to you. all the slight
Sane on the 18 north main, reaching for a small-town downtown, night rain, nothing i could say could be worth saying anyway today. like "hey, whatever happened to what's that guys' name?&qu
We get a little older and it looks the same: askance. excuse my failing sense of humour. here's the promises i've made; a razor blade and this broken piece of chain. a history left to rust out i
Rain.

I at harold edward's elementary you pay respect to our god, our flag, our military. in grade 3 i had a written composition about the global threat of communism. and i was the luckiest 8-year old
Rthyist of 1979: i spent spring break on the flight line of a base in the carolinas- the u.s. version of my dad had signed us in. and 12 years later, the gatling i'd touched that was strapped to
Nose of a u.s.a.-10, separated flesh from bone and honed its skills on "lesser humans". and thus confirmed the suspicions earned in the 7 years preceding about the lies i was told and
E truth be known, i'm probably better off believing (well, they said i'm better off believing... somehowbetter off believing). but how could they do this to me? born head first and brought up an
Eep. and maybe you're a lot like me- identified for 14 years without a choice. terrified the morning you woke up and realized that if and when you jump ship, you either swim for shore or drown.
Let the fuckers drag you down.

I speak outside what is recognized as the border between "reason" and "insanity". but i consider it a measure of my humanity to be written off by the living graves of a billi
Rdered lives. and i'm not ashamed of my recurring dreams about me and a gun and a different species (hint: starts with "h" and rhymes with "neuman's") of carnage strewn about
Stockyards, the factories and farms. still i know as well as anyone that it does less good than harm to be this honest with a conscience eased by lies. but you cannot deny that meat is still mur
Dairy is still rape. and i'm still as stupid as anyone, but i know my mistakes. i have recognized one form of oppression, now i recognize the rest. and life's too short to make another's shorter
Imal liberation now!).

The now the real prospects for authentic democracy depend on something else. they depend on how the people in the rich and priveliged societies learn some other lessons. for example the lessons
Are being taught right now like the mayans in chiapas, mexico. they are among the most impoverished and oppressed sectors in the continent. but unlike us they retain a vibrant tradition of liber
D democracy. a tradition that we've allowed to slip out of our hands or has been stolen from us. and unless people here in the rich and privileged society, unless they can recapture and revitali
At tradition, the prospects for democracy are indeed dim.
Does it seem strange to you? the confetti. the balloons. the mile-wide grins and the victory dance to welcome in the heir to a state of (utter and complete) disrepair? because it sure seems stra
O me: they're acting like they won the fucking lottery! i mean, shouldn't they feel terror at the task that lies ahead: to feed and house the people that this system's left for dead. and could i
Hit the nail much harder on the head? it's profits before lives. they are motivated by greed. first they taught us to depend on their nation-states to mend our tired minds, our broken bones, ou
Eding limbs. but now they've sold off all the splints and contracted out the tourniquets and if we jump through hoops then we might just survive. is this what we deserve? to scrub the palace flo
To fight amongst ourselves? as we scramble for the crumbs they spit out, frothing at the mouth about the scapegoats that they've chosen for us. with every racist pointed finger i can hear the go
Teps getting closer. they no
Longer represent us so is it not our obligation to confront this tyranny?

At some turning point in history, some fuckface recognized that knowledge tends to democratize cultures and societies so the only thing to do was monopolize and confine it to priests, clerics an
Tes (the rest resigned to serve), cuz if the rabble heard the truth they'd organize against the power, privilege and wealth hoarded by the few- for no one else. and did it occur to you that it's
St exactly the same today? and so if our schools won't teach us, we'll have to teach ourselves to analyze and understand the systems of thought-control. and share it with each other, never sayed
Rass rings or the threat of penalty. i'll promise you- you promise me- not to sell each other out to murderers, to thieves... who've manufactured our delusion that you and me participate meaning
In the process of running our own lives. yeah, you can vote however the fuck you want, but power still calls all the shots. and believe it or not, even if (real) democracy broke loose, power co
Ould just "make the economy s
Cream" until we vote responsibly.

I'd like to actively encourage the toughest man to dance as hard as he can to this, my song. and bring your stupidest friends along. we wrote this song because it's fucking boring to keep spelli
T the words that you keep ignoring. and your macho shit won't phase me now. it just makes us laugh, we got your cash, court-jester take a bow. because did you know that when i was nine, i tried
Ck a friend of mine? he was 8, then i turned 10. 14 years later it happened again (with another friend). this time me on the receiving end. and all the fists in the world can't save you now. cuz
Ou dance to this, then you drink to me and my sexuality. with your hands down my pants by transitive property.