Whats in a color? Broken sallow sun. Mighty warlocks, bearded glory. What's in a song? Heavy metal language, soft screams. I rub my eyes. It's 9:17 pm and I have to pee. My body tells me it has to pee and I'm not listening. Fuck. You. Bladder. Let's see how long you can hold out. Listen. Keyboard. How about you transcribe my urine onto the screen. These words are hard tonight. Fumbling fingers spell from long ago patriarchs who failed to hear my two cents. Or hers. Or hers. Twenty five cents. Water torture. How many ways are there to torture a woman? A man? A dog? What's next? What's the human equivalent of nature? How could we possibly separate ourselves from the sea? We are no better than fungus, than algae, than whiskers. Butterfly kisses. She runs and says hi. And the last time I went to the bank I spent most of it in the bathroom watching my daughter take a shit, wiping her ass with my good hand. And men stood around staring at my ankles that still can't run away from them. Let me quickly change the subject. This is my word. Tonight. This is your word Bellows. Once I was a boy who was a girl who was an alfalfa sprout. Once I was a woman I was a tree I was an echo. Once I heard about all the horrors that happened to those ladies in the Congo. Once I understood the origin of their scars and tears. They say they say they say. It's good to be alive. Be happy. Smile. Get lost inside the feeling of being lost so you can be found in the feeling of being found. Get out the guitar will you? Light a fire. Watch what it doesn't do. Watch it not burn you. See the bees? Watch them not sting you. You. Who are you? You are me and I am you and they are me and you are they and I am them, their once was, their will be's, their untolds. Stop looking at my ankles. Folded hands around a waist.
Basura Pristine - June- NYC - FF