...not this time...

everyone said she was lonely. they never knew we met secretly. i would kiss her forehead and tell her i loved her. she would say i only loved myself and she was right; i just didn't know it at the time. she was an independent woman of independent means. she never needed anything from me. convenient since i had nothing to give. when she stopped showing up i never really wondered why. i was sure she found a better way  to waste her time.

...

HISTORIC THUNDERBOLT

there is hope somewhere between 88 and 170. the future is a frequency. time is a wave that passes and repeats. some say it is filled with bleeps, some beeps, some beats. some say its a circle that completes. some say that the past is where its at. i can't arue with that. without it we collapse. so watch the records stack. each ring is just another year elapsed. side A, song 1: the year that i was born. its a double album and i die when its done. listen with the headphones to truly appreciate, listen with the speakers if you've got to feel the bass. transfer it to sape so you can take it any place. add it to your collection before you run out of space. organize you rack, preferably alphabetical. keep track of the tracks with properties that are medicinal. play two tracks off the album and call me in the morning. it may have side FX so make sure you read the warning. if you come across a child who swears he'll never buy it, give the kid a dose, say "don't knock it till you've tried it." he's probably been misguided and lashes out to try and hide it. he needs and education and its your job to provide it. so when class begins play him track thirteen then back track and hit him with track three. his homework should be to listen to it completely and write a twelve page thesis on how amazed he's going to be when the next album is released. he may come back and say "but this can't be improved," well you just tell him "kid, that may be true but he'll probably find more room to fit more tracks on wax for you to spin, he'll keep making songs if you keep listening. and if you quit all of a sudden because it isn't hip then he'll throw a track on the next album guaranteed to bust your lip, crack your jaw and toss you to the floor, beats that will beat you until you can;t take any more. you'll be tangled up in all his new guitar chords, ones you never even heard before or even imagined being born in the wild and surviving just to break looise and break your arm. when you wake up with those bruises you'll know that you deserved it for talking about the album before you even heard it." word is the album is done before i write it, i just collectt tracks from YHWH and then i equalize it. its four parts inspiration, one part innovation., there is no persperation but you're sweating my patience alwyas checking on the internet for UPDATES, brand new songs and tracks for mix tapes. patience, my son, you need to learn to wait. i promise when i'm done that you'll appreciate what i create. you'll hear the first track and say "damn, that's great!" this new album is as hot as flood lights, and like flood lights it'll keep you up all night. you'll put the album on repeat and try to go to sleep but you can't stop your toes from tapping to the beat. you'll learn all the lyrics and then sing yourself to sleep....

just cold rock the party with that funky stuff.

                                                      ---Friday---

will i become just like my father and pause before i speak or will i imitate my mother abd pause only to scream? will i be like my grandfather and turn the soil over or will ie like my grandmother and use the soil as my cover? it's the only cover that never keeps you warm. it's the only cover from underneath you'll never come. you will call it home. it will call you home. it is where you belong. it is what we i iwll become. lost beneath your feet. meek and recieving my inheritance. generations stacked on top of me. this is unity. surrounded by the city streets and the towers that are crumbling, we are everlasting. we are the silent majority. we own all of the property. we are finally kings unaware of our kingdoms. we speak only through melody and memory and only as long as those things last. we are the past and in that capacity, history. repeat after me: we are family when we die. we will rise in time and we will not find the mess we left behind. we will be glad we died because living was a lie.

                                      ---Friday---

why does she wear me down like a storm against a wall?