Music for mice. Acid for giants. Urban fairy tales for feather brains.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

The Avenue

The dim sum restaurant was closed.

Hungry, I walked through the neighborhood that I grew up in... back
when the water was still running and our blood was still comin' out
red. Our Crusade was one of picked hybiscus, ant trails, windex,
tennis rackets, grape fruits, training wheels, lemonade, screwdrivers,
a hundred-year-old atlas, broken telephones, a beat up beige Datsun,
and nail polish.

I can't hear music now. There isn't any. I've sat in silence for too
many consecutive days now. It's gone. Strange choice for a musician? I
hear cars and the hummmmmmmmm of computers.

If blood sustains the beast and the beast cranks the motor, who
cranks the motor when I don't spill blood?

Stay lit you fires.

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