"Fools Are My Theme

i’ve been approached by peace and love, an apparition from above told me to relay these new facts: it is so wrong, the way you act. male must be best, black must be white gay must be straight, left must be right. all my beliefs must match with yours, or else spend years in pointless wars. we must not change, but stay the same, choose just one group, give them the blame. progress is wrong, the past was great, immerse yourself in old-school hate. don’t ever act, just sit and pray, if things need fixed, He has a way. just stay content with having less, With being murdered, and oppressed. you may think some of this sounds odd, but this is the glory of God! so do not fear, you’re in good hands, you can sit down, don’t take a stand.

Some mirror somewhere showed me a me, so that’s the me I’ll somewhat be. But something says that some mirrors lie, so that someone might not be I. If it is not, how can I know, who is the someone that mirrors show?

there is a dog barking, proabably a big one, a strong dog because you can hear how his entire being is thrown into that bark. the bark has a lot of being in it. i don’t know what makes a dog want to shout like that but, if it were a person i would’ve called the police hours ago because i can’t hear myself trying to be important.

there is some slanted sort of speak, that is coming from the leaves. some sort of ancient incantation whispered in its secrecy. and in their talk, these kind of words, these parts of speech that are all blurred. some sort of other-wordly wiseness that’s seemingly just left unheard. and some small part of me believes that this magic would not deceive. if only we humans would listen closely to the language of the leaves.

freedom rang, last night, her message filled with thrill, and might, despising that apple pie and (geno)cider left cooling on the windowsill. and still, her voice held that sour bite, the hope filled until of willpower spilled from lips sealed tight. yet, in her earful her words were slurred, and lost behind that mindless wave of chat and lack of chance, and gave that grave sense of misbehaving, with rabble-rousing on her breath. and she was mumbling something, maybe, about when you were only blooming. how you had this voice, this soothing something, this grooving, dancing, flame unmoving that now, abusing, still you claim what was only ever her in name.

i get the groceries. i spend my hard-earned my big bucks, my green. i give it all to you, for you, (from you), and still, you sit in that big throne of yours, and give me what? life, but that was too many years ago, and your part was only half the job. i spend money, while you spend words on going-away gifts for people who will never go away. so give me the cash, give me the house, and i’ll get the groceries.

when you are abraham, and finally you see what all your life has worked toward, and you know you can trust him, because he said so, but, he needs you to need his trust, will you grab that what used to be your son, but now they all are, and you their father, and who can tell the difference anyway?, and give it up to him and be the prophet and jewishchristianmuslim, or will you love more than he could ever, this life he claims he made but can’t control? because, dreaming isn’t the time for decisions or to show your face, let me see you with open eyes, then we’ll talk.