Eyes open, and I'm awake. That dog's barking again, (the one down my street). Can hear it, outside the window, muffled, or behind a fence. It's ugly, this bark, it's undisciplined, and anything triggers it. Anything sets it off. It's never-ending barrage of primal vocal chords just further reminds me that trying to nap, trying to get mail without someone approaching me at the mailbox, -trying to do anything on this street is fucking useless, and all my neighbors, friends and facebook people must think i'm dead, they must think I don't care, and quite honestly...
I don't.
This generation, I don't understand them, especially in America. They're lost, they're confused, they're into some weird shit I just can't relate with. Dubstep. Raves. Plugs, and stuffed animal backpacks. Elmo. Shit like that, and The Voice or Twilight or Kobe Bryant and the Lakers. I don't understand it all, and secretly wish not to be a part of this industry, or work my way through the enterprise. And laying there semi-sweaty, not too hungry but all the more empty, I think about how badly I would just want to get away from everyone else dying, and me and my dogs, our woodland camo hats and m21's... We would just spend the day filming viral video clips, and firing weapons at herds of running pigs, with my bug out kit, and 4WD Polaris -back at the ranch and big screen TV, Xbox live and our helicopter... We would forget about all the late people, and co-workers that call out... We could come to terms that power isn't in the people, and the media which informs you that auto-tuned rap music is the shit, and furthermore; wearing hats that resemble animal heads are cool, and that making other people happy is the way to life, and in between trigger pulls, and recoil control, we would reflect back on the Street of Old People, on the Street of Scared Community and friend's brothers being shot and killed at their front door... We would remember Club Tempo, the pool hall down the street from a house I grew up in, when kids ran the snack bar, when kids ran the basketball courts, and gas was less than two dollars.. All the young families, grilling and listening to tapes, when they seemed so happy... It makes me sick really, to think my tax dollars, (or just my currency in general) are being circulated to pay for MTV's latest hip-hop rotation, or the latest political campaign filled with lies -transmitted via tube, via "devil box" to the person brainlessly sitting there, on their hemorrhoid-ridden ass, and it hurts not to see anyone else standing up for this shit, or their dreams, or just their identity as fully-functioning, clear headed adults. Defending themselves, cutting people short. It's un-inspiring, this whole economy, this whole situation, so I've held onto what little inspiration I can get, and milk the words of somebody who sees this whole thing from atop a perch, and it's not about money, it's not about the kinda numbers we will never see again, it's not about sales or pie charts that remind us how successful we are -across the board, and the kinda digital capitol we search for.. it's about being successful at living your own life and inspiring others to go out and get the happiness of their choice, the meaning they find and imprint in the marks of their experience.
and if it were truly up to me, I'd make my living as an artist, and getting people to think, getting people to question the ideology of their lives, looking deep into how their passed has shaped them, and how it helps contribute to their little village today and hopefully, undoubtebly inspire them to multiply themselves ten-fold, get them to see that every voice matters when it's building up, when it's putting down...
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