Chapter 11

Good morning. I’m the local narrator here, and it’s come to my attention that I have something to say. This is a broadcast, an outcast casting out, waking up to who knows what, responding to niftyion, please recieve.

The analogy, a cup of tea, could be both you and me, our minds clouded to an intolerable degree, meditating to clear away debris, settling slowly as a tumultuous sea, but that’s not how I see.

Don’t mediate, frozen in a standstill state, allow discord reign, raise a little disarray. Rustle, bustle, hustle, make some noise, the bus’ll pick you up if your waiting at the stop. But why wait, patient, latent, blatantly just going with the go? You wanted to live, right? You wanted to know?

Well: Writing is power. Reread, review, rewind, repent, reevaluate the reasons and release. Be repetitive, bang your fists on the table and heed no one. Feed on the words pouring from your own lips and drink the syrup from your fingertips.

But writing’s only a way to clear you mind, a way to unwind, a way to keep from being blind. Writing alone will bind you to the page.

There’s only one way to keep from being left behind.

Rise up.

Take a stand. Start a marching band. With a megaphone. Don’t be tied down to clarinets and saxophones. Don’t go on acting like a fucking drone. Tell them that they’re fucking wrong! Tell them that you know the truth! Tell them everything inside of you! Tell them awkward! Tell them lust! Tell them grass orgies! Tell them trust! Tell them everything you ache to tell! Tell them loud and tell them well! Slap them with your silken glove! And most of all… tell them of love.

The world out there, it isn’t evil. People are people, just like you and me. The world out there, it’s just like us, it’s just a step behind, but it’s catching up. Maybe some think we’re all smoking weed, we’re all taking speed, or whatever today’s shit is. But we’ll always have them, just like a misquoted man once proclaimed, “We’ll always have the poor!” Well now I repeat, “We’ll always have the immature!” The childish minds who group and stammer and insist they know it all, even though they know nothing.

…

You wanna know what I honestly think? Fuck ‘em. Leave ‘em behind. We don’t need ‘em. But don’t you dare be one of ‘em. Don’t go whinin’ and bitchin’ that society always shuts you in some category. Look at what you’re doing you lousy hypocrite! You call a crime and spit on those who commit and permit but you can’t admit you won’t quit it yourself‽ Be literate, be explicit, and know what you mean to mean.

But that’s not the issue here, is it?

You wanted to live?

What’s stopping you?

It’s you, isn’t it. Just going through the motions, no emotion, no devotion. Empty sacrilegious rituals to nothing. You used to be lucid, I know you did, when you were a kid. You had an attraction to every action. What happened to that? Social norms happened to that. You’re afraid. Why else would you worry about the masquerade? You’ve been taken in by their serenade. And you can’t imagine if you’d never played.

So?

Upgrade. Dissuade. Disobey that clichéd charade.

Open your eyes. There are millions of us. And we’re waiting inside, inside the machine, ‘cause we don’t want to break out. We just have a hide out. Under the radar. Waiting, watching. The ultimate answer is right there in front of you. Lead your own life and throw the first stone into everyone’s glass houses.

Turn off your mind, and move to the instinct. If you wanna feel alive, don’t be alone, ‘cause life is with people. Turn off your phone. Get up and get out. Act it up. Live it up. Life is a play, not a paper.

Chapter X

Shhh…!
Shhh – Quiet..!

Caution, ○ caution ○
Tape closes off the scene, ○
To warn outsides, this
Is MÝ life, beware!
Be ○ wary, for it
ís infused with
Ev’ry grain of
Paradise !

The inspiration ○ shimmers in
The sky
Àt ○ Lan ○ càster
Àt ○ Lan ○ tìs
My – Neverneverland

We are the lost boys
We are the lost girls
No, no …… that’s wrong
We are –– ○ lost.
We are lost
So we dance!

As they did ○ in the glory
Of my mind’s life
As they did ○ in 1762
As they did ○ last year
As they did ○ yesterday
Decked out in drag

My hear dangles on a thread
Shot through with electric blue
Every year ○
I watch a thousand sad stories
In my mind’s eýe, ○ a thousand
Black flowers explὄde into butterflies
Drowned in tears while burning with joy

And I scream into the night ○
YES! I SEE!
And I believe in rock’n’roll
And music be the crumbs ○ for
My famished soul!

But the songbirds, immortal,
of Keats and Shelly scream
“You’re never gonna make it lad!
Your hope’s a folly dream!”

And I scream back! ○ –

“Kubla Khan may have drunk the milk of paradise
But he never tasted this!”

“And if I cannot stay Forever Young!
–––– I’m sure as hell gonna try!”

I love CTY. And I love the Passionfruit.