You have to understand …
We’re just riding imaginary rocket ships to Neverland.
And we didn’t buy the tickets.
Sneaking off when the night plays cards with crickets …
(the laid back kind) not those forever fiddling types,
pompously offering (without actually asking) the seeming serenade
(seeming … because once again, they didn’t ask and neither did we)
of unwelcomed noise.
But these other crickets, the card players …
They have style.
And when they put their bows to their fiddle legs … they mean business.
Not the currency of exchange type business … I mean Bizzness!
The musical kind … the kind that crawls up into your ears with mining lights on their hats and don’t stop searching till they find the motherboard of your internal makeup, cause they’re explorers, truly exploring ….
Digging for truth … and the occasional peanut (they get hungry).
Listen … I like what I like.
But I don’t have to.
I mean, that can change. And should it not?
Really – think about that.
Why so rigid? Why so inflexible? Like old ironworkers trying to do yoga at 97 … it’s a stretch.
Seriously, they would really be tight at that age, considering their background and all.
So let’s consider the perpetuation of the Status Quo. I don’t suggest actually perpetuating it, quite the opposite actually … I merely suggest considering the notion of it as a concept. I’m not going to lie to you as there is no reason (no dangerous situation or feelings to consider), I don’t like the word status anyway … the implications of the word bother me (think title and class, or military – “Hey! What’s the status on the box of grid squares?”).
You get the point.
So back to what I like or don’t for that matter:
I saw a beautiful girl the other day ordering food from a hot bar at an organic grocery store and before I had decided to secretly marry her, I looked down to find her legs were hairier than my own.
A bit unsettling – yes. No sense in lying (we went over why).
Why unsettling? Because somewhere, deeply rooted within my inner psyche is a seed planted from some cultural conditioning propaganda telling my ego what I should and shouldn’t like. What is beautiful and what isn’t.
Holy shit man … this is getting a bit heavy (but keep carrying it – we’re heading somewhere).
Do you think those crickets (the cool cats, with sunglasses and poker faces) give two flying firecrackers
(you thought I was going to say ‘fucks’ didn’t you)
about leg hair on a lovely, cricket maiden who plays the leg violin like David Garret on shrooms?
I’m going with Nega Tive my friends … no Sir REE Bobby Dylan.
They don’t … and why not? Cause they’re cool (really cool).
Not like me, who obviously has much evolving to do before I can play cards with those guys.