The Importance of Luck

So the virus in my smartphone connects to my laptop and makes writing even more difficult. But I need to write.

Hearing the medocrity of my upstairs neighbor playing Aaaaa,Eeeee,Aaaaa,Eeeee: For two months is enough to make me realize an outpouring of thoughts is needed. That and I read an awuful blog about a stupid dream. If I ever write a dream blog that uneventful I should stop all together.

These people come out with their copied Vogue fashions, copied musical trends, copied art played off as a homage to a greater artist. I don't want to be those people. I want to be fresh.

Art is inspired by the politics of our time. Wisdom coming from the depth of an acid trip. Our cosy bubble of Facebook news and photoshopped bodies of what is in vogue are killing me. Right now there is a band in jail named Pussy Riot. People will run with that until they get bored. And they always get bored. Bored with compassion. MoveOn.org waits for their Wave of bullhorns.

The artists of our time wait to get a "Like" on Facebook when they show their work while clinging to people asking them, "What should I do to be relevant?" The circle is always there. But in every Shakespear play there is the circle, and one who stands out. That is the perpetuation of life. I stand out and observe. But I am not a critic.

One hit wonders can't guide a movement. They are the buzz of a fly caught between a window and a curtain. People are loud, and often empty. The Ego wants it's day in court. To swear on the bible which is no longer capitalized. To swear what is beautiful to them. Like a love story written by a balding short man. I too love walks on the beach.

I knew a man who said the ocean was his only fear. He had been to war. He killed men. Men with families. He changed the name of murder to suit his nightdreams. The ocean represented Eternity to him. That concept terrified him. For me too as a child. Wondering what we would do together in heaven with nothingn but whiteness surrounding us. Hearing the ticking clock on Earth knowning the alarm is set in this domain.

I looked at my face in the relection of a clock. Then I ran. To the North of ice cream and granite rocks. Bridges and warm hot choclate. But love was not there and the clock said to wander more. I chose the calender poster of California's oceans. Colgate smiles on bronzed bodies. Pills- blue (sleep) red (social) white (memory erasers)...
Too many personailities in a bottle. So I ran.

Some words in a diary are my Bible. I ran to Texas, where people bury guns in the clay ground because Obama is coming for their liberities. The standards of beauty are interupted with what the Western World taught me to love. And everyone wanted me to ride an electric bull while drunk on attention. I never sold my sexuality. Never was a whore.

Now I am without a rosary in limbo. At night I wake up in sweat. I put the calender back up and clench my fists. Green life surrounds my stand for acceptance. Let me play. The clock did not harden me. I live with golden light in my thoughts. May be just a wave in human construction. But I'll never say the word 'try' or 'worry'. Nor will I play only two notes. My dreams are of colorful police states. Battons. The Howl of the Circle. My Ego says I am more then the sum of two notes. A photo of me with lovely mounds under thrift store clothing, and a painted on face. A mirror on my reproduction roar. To the crowd I will observe and say: I am out of the race and like it that way.