broke weed summer

“The end of an empire is messy at best. And this empire’s ended, like all the rest.” -Randy Newman

And the ever sounding crashing down of the economy permeates through the market’s fruit bins and meat stands to the country club with well groomed grass and eighteen hole golf. Us, friends, together in a new pioneer of poverty (barely, but broke nonetheless). Who lack funds to continue the dreams we have, but are sufficient enough for the broke weed summer; no ceasing of movement and moment. Are to withstand the wake of current affairs in our own oblivion.

Embark with us, dear pioneer, another front and future of the grand country we live in. The backdrop, the canvas, is that of failed and outsourced factories and industries. The methods of career and work are now riddles, and inefficient in their own structure. We are to build something different, something old, and something simple in procedure. Something, but as for now (the ever important now), friends, gather together with our little monies, and celebrate the crashing down with dancing, singing, laughter, and art.

Morale!

Another Dad Story (unofficial)

I told my father that I am not a leader,
I can’t take an idea and single-handedly put it into action,
I can’t make something from nothing–
I cannot do this because I never have,
it is something that is ingrained into my head,
drilled and planted at an early age.

He said that
I should change my head.

My father is a wise man.

(a note: I try to be my friends, but they are better at it.  either dismiss my pretentiousness or celebrate its side effects)

dirty shoes update

Pittsburgh, pittsburgh PITTSburgh.
I like Pittsburgh. There’s the downstairs neighbor rap beats, unlit rooms, aimless walks, lost time, slow time, and my moccasins paining my feet. All the college students (I do not relate) in their garb and dress drinking coffee drinks while walking in their furry boots down the street amuses me as it would…the old man… already, and I wish I was more involved in the loop and thought process, but I fail to see the glory, and rather save the money.

But I’m OK. In fact I’m alright. With the moccasins, the furry boots, the sore feet and the “who am I?”. If that’s how it be, then that’s how it be. I like to breath within the sigh of relief.

And home now…I’m home now home now. Laying in bed, and gaining momentum or barreling down into sleep. Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow and school again, but only ’til May. Then Summertime and heat and sweat and bees on the dandelions waiting to sting my feet while I eat hamburgers from the propane grill…I long for something different always, but I mentioned I was OK, alright even.

So I realize winter is OK… fine by me even, but it stays a few weeks to long; Lingers around and then goes away, for one day, and throws itself back in the fit for two more weeks ’til the beast is locked down behind the gate until loosed on the next roll round of our Great Planet Earth.

But that’s the seasons and their weather, and I still have yet to take it as it is and say “Glory Glory” and celebrate how clever the already is, already is.

Ay Poe-ehm of Filladelifia

From the shanty, stacked upon one another…In attempt of the discipline of Knowledge…
Comes the voices, booming young voices, crisp and clear in age,but dull and muted by distance…
They proclaim across the holler (constructed of concrete and iron), in jubilee and motion, of their findings within corridors,
“Here is something!”

And it’s a moving thing…not worth pressing a finger too…or likening a word too, but something…
And they create an Ode, an echo…a representation of the unattainable spirit, in hope of passing along
what it is that swells within their chests.

An entertaining riddle, mystery…the answer laying within the constant pursuit.