dir/new_school/rant: S p r i n g   T i m e

I don’t care what kinda dope you smoke, whether it come from a pipe made of silicon and circuits or if it's plucked from the clouds you intentionally hang around yourself.  Consumption can be evil, constant escape can become wearing and your hypocrisy is tacky.  And I don’t understand how so many people are either bugging out, frustrated or feel intent on telling me “You’re going to be miserable regardless” So I should be miserable in a relationship, so I won’t be miserable alone?

Fuck you…and I’m sorry, I’m sorry you feel that way.  I went through it all, from the sadness, the despair, the self absorbtion the lack of progress, the Marion Barry crack times.  I came out on the other side.  I woke up one morning without hoping I might mistake my gun for the snooze button.  The mud on my shoes are drying and flaking off, I don’t pick grass from my hair anymore, I don’t have to lay beside his emnptiness to feel him close to me, he's dead, i'm not, we can both live on with that, in the change that he brought me, the wakening.

We have started to settle for less then what can make us happy, from the pleasure which maintains the balance, from the droll of work, the crawl of traffic.  And I walk through the same line, constantly searching for distractions.  I don’t play much in the way of games, I don’t watch tv, but I do zone out, I go inside myself, but it’s not with ache and buzzing flies, it’s just to relax. 

KungFu is rage, it is peace as well.  He says: you should train from the start with the sword and long sword in either hand. This is the truth: when you sacrifice your life, you must make fullest use of your weaponry. It is false not to do so, and to die with a weapon yet undrawn.

Our weapons come from hand, with words, from voice with tone, from actions with sense of consequence.  Too many Ben Kenobis stinking up this bitch, trying to build up the force or something.  Chop my fucking hand off as a lesson, dress me all in black, for the cool of it, and let me strike with wood or steel, but let me strike. 

I keep stumbling in the dark, tripping over your bodies, cause all of you thought to lie down and just let it be like that.   Sorry to keep waking you up with my bitching.  But don’t drool on my shoulder, I got shit to do.

Circles are drawn
intersecting
feet shuffle
alone, together
Blade meets wood
birthing splinters
crossing back, folding
calling razor clouds
raining blood
with slash and arcs
And…
wood waits.
the feet dance
together
and again
splinters are born
worlds collide
and the crossing back
is halted as wood short
and sharpened, like a edge
calls to awaken blood
from beneath the flesh
with force and blow
that ends the 
cawing rain dance
And the ground
awaits a offering
of flesh 
to feed the pyre
 

You guys still don’t get KungFu….