Motivated by: Kurt Vonnegut, Love, and my super-son Nyo-yo
Stand on the top of the roof,
adjacent to the fiddler
and declare your love for her.
Stay up all night
on the phone with your bestie (i detest this word, btw)
instead of him,
telling her tall tales
with even taller smoke
blowing out of that chimney
you call the latest rage in hairstyles, lending trite declarations of how you loved him more than life itself.
Than whose life?
If that’s all you got, well then shit.....that's all you've got, baby. I guess that's life.
If we were only as audacious in our loving as we are with our declarations.
Some people say traveling is the best way to experience life. And others declare age is merely a number. I respect upright positions as I always have, but truly i must hurry back to my yoga. I’ve shook hands with toddlers in geography that were still elders in experience. No matter where you rest, you can’t stop the happenings from happening.
She said I love funny.
Not funny “Ha, Ha!” but funny like “Hmmmmm...?”
It was never this way, but always that way. She said she was frustrated with the radio and this new thing reminded her of books that held your day hostage, perfectly rolled glaucoma cigarettes, thrift store record players, well worn converse all-stars, and finger cramps from crate diggin. She said it aint no living like easy living.
She never got the hang of the moonwalk when she was young, but right now she’s all socks and kitchen floors and what-not... and in all honesty the traction of this Day is everything.
It was love back then. The stuff that dreams are made of....fairy dust and angel nectar and bunch of different shit would either give me a stomach ulcer or an astronomical bill from my rip-off of a dental hygienist.
They used to recite Cassanova’s greatest sonnets and there were rare flowers w/ the thorns snipped and tasty chocolates and violets were always blue...
Why always, blue?
Violets should be fucking violet. So on behalf of the institution of love, guess what? Violets are going to be freakin Violet. Hold your applause please Ladies and Gents....
He asker her,
“Why would you ever try to change they we loved?"
Your parents loved, and their parents before them and their parents before them. That matrimony shit was perfect babe, just like love...just like us.
She said, “No dice, Pilgrim.” There is no blueprint for my love, and if they find one, I intend magic marker all over that motherfucker.
They said on their death beds that this oblong crystal snowball of an earth has no room for rebels and renegades that aim to love like reckless, mad love mercenaries. They of the secret love army sect, decending from ropes down into the bush from noisy helicopters with smeared camoflouge on their cheeks toting heart-shaped machetes with banana clips filled with banana pudding and vanilla wafers in the holsters of semi-automatic super soakers. Bang Bang....I shot ya down.
I have a son, not just any brand of son, but a Super-son. His eyes are large and gleam the same way the eyes of those fictional arabic characters in Disney classics do. They fill up often with the salt streams of an irritated heart chakra especially when “Big People” just can’t get this love thing right. Tryna love all in order without physicality, I moved by the fact he is not easily moved.
Some sick joke when it’s you’re first birthday and your Daddy brings you home late to a crowd full of giant strangers and faintly familiars, prodding and poking at you raising the finger 1 at you like a Roman sword in the movie, 300. Happy Friggin BDay indeed, now can you giants gimme some friggin room, Im a person not a chia pet.
But Simba plays their grown up game, hoping in the meantime someone soon realizes he is a year and 9 months removed from the essence that we all came from and will return to.
When it comes to love, the same ol 2 steps might just 2 steps from where love truly is. Teach the babies should sometimes be “Let the babies teach.”
-Fin
It’s never really ever finished...this is just where we’ve stopped for now.
Peace to the heart from the heart
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