Pop rocks and soda pop. Zeroes and ones. Eggplant and caviar. Trains and planes. Pumpkin and honey bunny. What is and what should never be. Rocks and baby bones. Diamonds and rust. Cinder and smoke. Beer drinkers and hell raisers. Nicotine and gravy. Lost boys and golden girls. Wolf and man. Rhymin' and stealin'. Pride and joy. Truth and consequences. Sound and fury. Honor and harmony. Sad songs and waltzes. All things good and nice. you and I, baby, you and I.
The mark of a moderate man is freedom from his own ideas.
In complete stillness, a stonegirl is dancing.
I close my Eyes and this image floats beside me; A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain, his hands reach out and choke me and all the time he's mumbling; Mumbling, "Truth. Truth is like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, you stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream."
Finally one of the black-coral divers who had that night found the perfect cocktail for grieving in a hit of ecstasy, a joint, and a forty of malt liquor siged a feeble "Amen" over the mourners like a sleepy, stinky, morning-breath kiss.
May you find perfection and know it by name.
"Yea, Politics sucks, too bad there isn't a better way... Like Feudalism... I'd be a duke."
- THE EVERS