Do you know what it is like?
what it is REALLY like
to wake up in this world and truly feel
and wonder and say to yourself things:
"My world is different,"
but then, is it? What are you? Am I?
I am that leaf on a tree, I glisten
but the sun shines off me,
and where am I?

That dirt
That tattoo
that song
that bird
those children
that wild, intangible
the way a beautiful girl smiles
or plays with her hair
my world is comprised of these.

So I smoke, I don't even sit,
I smile and I laugh at the inane
the battle on the television
the babble of the news,
my horrible, petrified feelings:
feelings of war, lust, greed;
gay pride parades and preachers screaming,
"OFF WITH THEIR HEADS! INDECENT
EXPOSEURE, CHILDREN, THE BIBLE!"
Then I listen to rock or rap music and fall alseep --
in the mainstream,
we are the main-stream.

SO, BE FAITHFUL. YEILD TO TEMPTATION
BUT YET SUBSIDE IN IT, SUBMERGE YOURSELF
AND SUBMIT TO THE ULTIMATE GOAL
THE "INTANGIBLE FEELING" WHERE YOU ARE BLOWN AWAY
BY A BEAUTIFUL NIGHT, IN THE CITY, ON A BEACH,
IN THE SKY, FLYING AROUND AT INCOMPREHENSIBLE HEIGHT.
BE WHAT YOU ARE AND ALWAYS BE WHO YOU MUST BE.

Much love and feeling, always,
-RBM.

it's a short blast..
it's a quick trip to the bottom,
radio noise, white and black and terrible sounds,
where the hell is this all coming from?
Neighbours? Sunshine? Blood and tears?
Where the hell are my parents?
And the phone rings..

WHAT DO I NEED? TIME!?

I woke up again, yeah, where was this dream? This script I am apparenty living every day.
I don't know but there was some banging at the door. It sounded like a wounded band, all screaming for mercy and in pain.. They sounded late for something, like they were all collectively on the way to work and their bus crashed. Was the driver drunk? I don't know, but it probably slammed into a movie set: Tons of actors, cameras, pyrotechnics, all that good shit.

I was just in the shower and I had this dream, I fell asleep and I'm ALREADY supposed to be at work, and my boss is mad. And no, it's ok, I'll be at the bar after work for sure, man.

Conclusion: It only gets easier as you get older. Soon enough you learn all your own vices and that's how you escape. Life is just escapism? So what are we doing now? You are just trying to get thru this and that day, this and that moment.. And you're not on camera, which is a huge disappointment because that's all I really want. I want some Truman show kinda shit where I build a boat and sail away to find a wall.

Shit. Then I woke up again.

Pop that top
you can twist and turn
move to the music?
Whatever you want..
Just know I am watching
I am right here, and I love it,
I crave that swing, that stagger,
the strutt and swagger,
and where have I been?

How we've changed, no longer idle,
hands tied and heads slammed together,
in the public, the pubic area,
where the fuck are we?

BOOM, here we are, bright white light.
It dies off, further and further
leaving me wondering:
Is this who I am?
Send here?
For now, at least, where is the future?
Past moments in present tense, blood pumping in my veins
and I fall asleep, again.

So I wake up, on a boat, in a dead sea
and I wonder, really, is this how it is?
Reality backhands you and you stand back up,
but there's no water to float your boat,
and you smile, knowing you just woke up.

FUCK.

So here I am..
Finally..
Except what do I _DO_ about it?

I'm TALKING here..
HELLO?
PALM TREES?
SAND?
NEEDLES?
FEET?
GRAVY?
YEAH!

So what the fuck is goin on, daddy? WHERE ARE YOU? IT FEELS WONDERFUL! BUT I'D LIKE TO FEEL IT!
I stopped spitting when I talk years ago, especially when inside..
I tried going the other way, but I couldn't see..
it was too bright, amazing light of day..
I forgot what it is that you would say..
I'd do anything you'd say, at that point..
but please, forget about what it was I said to me..

Why is it I can talk to myself more?
I can't forget anything you said but I forget what I meant..
I already can't forget..

Stem to stem
flowers cut and bundled,
and bled,
where's my head? Put me to bed,
please? I can't stop talking to myself..

Why is every cloud kissing my poor pillow
in the morning
?

Why so tense?
Getting closer?
What is this?

Light mornings, warmth so soon.. and I'm starting to understand that whole cycle of rebirth.

It sounds stupid, yeah..

I'm getting closer..
Why can't I get inside?
imitation
situation
but it seems I've got neglected reservations
salvation
but I try and I try and I try..

I swore I'd never turn into you
I'm closer all the time..

No...

I started thinking about these things the other day..
(and when it rains it pours)

like how the sky blew up and rain poured,
and it doesn't get much worse than that..

and how I fell down in a dream
but where was I? Was I free?

and I couldn't walk, or see,
or when I woke up, how I heard the birds

and they would chirp until my alarm went off..

I woke up to these things I thought about all day,
and I still wake up that way..

Wander the streets of your city
at night
and stare up and think
where have I been?

The crowd of people
it flows, it keeps on moving,
never have I seen so many faces:
hungry, happy, tired, drunk;
old, young, stupid, smart faces,
faces I feel when I close my eyes at night
and I wonder about all the other people..
I wonder about THAT crowd of people in MY city.

Walk around that block one more time,
find an alley,
feed the pigeons,
tip the homeless,
find a bar, another bar,
there's a bar downstairs!

Smile, nod, and then pass out.
Smile, nod, and clock in.
Nod, nod, smile, laugh,
handshake, handshake,
awkward but righteous gesture here and there,
jaywalk, it's fun.

Wonder where you are? Ever?
I love the glass and steel hive,
the way we fend for ourselves,
the way we adapt, even at night.

I can sit on trains for the whole night,
just staring at the reflection of a girl
in the windows.
She looks back at me but we will never speak,
we both know this.

When the train stops, in the city,
I get up and walk to it.

It's the quiet moments I crave
when I quit breathing and just lie
and think to myself,
"This is great, this is really great."

I know those moments for you
are terribly stressed
you feel gamed on
like the elephant between five lions.

The city feels like a savannah
sometimes, in the summer,
when the dry hot air blows
off the hats and hoops riding in style.

In the summer, where will I go?
It's hard to say, the day hasn't come,
but I think I'll go towards the sun,
like Icarus, but much better dressed.

If you wonder about me:
the plume of smoke and feathers;
pinion and singe;
falling from a height greater than either you or me,
then you've already began the same ascent.
You can smell it.

But falling from the sky has no sound,
no noise,
except at the end?

I dreamt about this HUGE open public area, it seemed almost like a wholesaler or something. Perhaps a home depot.
It was filled with random people and strange looking objects, but the one object that fascinated me was the bundles of what appeared to be sticks..
The sticks were dark black and filled with spikes and horns. They looked unhappy.
I picked a bundle up and immediately knew that I had some something wrong. The sensation of pain crept thru me, it started in my feet..
Upon inspecting my feet, I noticed hundreds of tiny spines from the branches sticking out. The pain was almost unbearable. I got a tweezer and started to pluck them, one by one, slowly making progress.
I looked at my right foot, on my pinkie toe, and saw a lasceration, with a stick jutting out of it. I could see all the bone, the tendons, but no blood. This unnerved me quite seriously.
I crouched on the ground and began to weep, pondering out loud, "why does anybody make this stuff?"
A few everyday friends of mine came over and saw my situation. They grabbed a hose and started to spray me with it. It seemingly cooled me off, washed the black needles away, and I stood back up.
We left, but I couldn't walk properly, and everyone was looking at me cock-eyed, like I was the stupid one. Perhaps I was.