The sky is clear and the sun shines bright.
But I'm a sinner, the sky and the sun, even the stars and the moon are witnesses, and they remember me how guilty I am. The winds whispers my unconfessable thoughts, my soul is tainted, I look at the sky, looking for forgiveness, but it's empty and so are my eyes, I try to hide but I'm just sinking.
The roses have faded but the thorns remain.
Sometimes things get hijacked and diminished to the point where you have to just scratch your head and weep. You blow your horn, but the vessels don’t respond! You ring the bell, but all you get are a flock of birds blocking out the sun. This, then that?Prude penny-pinchers smirk as they collect their little coupons into a pile. All I want to do is color and draw pictures of silly things and write poetry and stories that make people smile in their brains. But all this gets hi-jacked and smoted and instead I’m dodging traffic and holding my breath every minute of every day. People are sending me “Get Well” cards and I ain’t even sick. People are writing eulogies, but I ain’t dying! I’m just hijacked and a little diminished. I’ll be alright.
Productivity gains in China were greater than expected. But not everyon is performing beyond expectations. Athletes flex their oiled pectorals and we spoil them with attention. Melodramatic actors say inspiring words and we raise them above the dingy to-and-fro. I stand my ground. I walk casually through doorways I am not allowed. My world is constantly changing. I wear sunglasses so I do not make eye-contact with any celebrity. I’m provoking power brokers and parking my car where it is not allowed. China is working hard, I am trying to work harder. Every creditor has been tapped. Every celebrity has been spoiled. I am exceeding expectations. What are you doing?
This is the thing that grinds me: I waste so much time awaiting pointless affirmations. My heart is always in a mud puddle. My thoughts are stuck. And sometimes even music doesn’t free me. But these things pass. They really do. They pass away. And I will thump and stomp again with a grin. With a mug of fun and a chin of cheer... Open the windows, someone is coming to me. Open the garage door, someone is coming. The great affirmer. The mud puller. The grin bringer. Come to me and tell me where my hope lies. Pull me from the mud and lead me to a home. I won’t resist your gentle knowledge. Just know that I am damaged product. A bruised reed. A tainted soul who hungers for wicked things and longs for pointless affirmations.
It was an age of poofy hats and telescopic innovations. Disenchanted priests were pondering the cosmos. Disillusioned missionaries were constructing mechanical workforces. It was an age of wonder and a wonderful age. There were powerful punks who bemoaned the coming change. There were Enlightenment Salesmen who were peach with glee. There were innovators and instigators and exposed magicians looking for a home. There were magic movers and "humanity inflators." We were empowered and moving forward. We crossed the ocean to a promised land. We conquered the natives and comforted the pilgrims. The church was scattered. Authority decomposed. Structures crumbled. And men wore poofy hats and fancy pants.