Just got back from Niagra Falls vacation. Went to see the Modigliani exhibit at the Albright Knox Museum. It's funny how much more attention someone will pay to something if they've paid money to see it. I've never seen so many goatees and berets in my life. The AK has a Duchamp, though ("Why Don't You Sneeze..." or something like that). I was happy about that.

I've got a few things to say...
1) I LOVE not celebrating Christmas. Hahaha, suckers! Don't be a corporate slave. buynothing!
2) All my energy is artificial. Instead of sleep and food, my veins are flowing with caffene and ginseng. I'm sorry. I just can't get to sleep.
3) Know what? Sunday was great, despite locking my keys in the car. Thanks to the homeless dude that hung out with me and you know who you are.
4) Not sure if I mentioned it before but Hope and Fear is really good. I saw him play at the Against Me show. Check him out if you get the chance. Also, City of Caterpillar was mad chill on Sunday. I love detournment.
5) a new poem...

*Teetering Around 4*

Light the flaxen wick with the passionate fire that burns deep inside you
I've seen it before
You can be quite beauiful when you need to be
As if the butterfly has landed softly on yr cold nose and struggles to decide where her wings will take her next

The light switch on the wall
Metaphysical objects that make more than sense
The one thing God can't do in Her dreams is adjust light levels
In our dreams we are gods
Is it true that thw whole world and everything in it is a metaphor for something else?

Why am I afraid when I realize I'm dream?
Is it because I fear what monsters I might conjure from deep within my convoluted sub-consciousness?
Standing like a statue on the crest of a wave
Marvel in marble
Not just being, but becomming

This is where fear and alienation meet
The disgusting corners of the mind
Where the winds of consciousness have swept dusty memories

Aparently "bloggers" "brought down" Trent "Lott"... whatever.

*The Future Says She Loves You*
by Mitch Jones

This boy is my one and only
This boy is my pride and joy
He’s the boy of the future
But can you face the pain when he stares you right in the face
The laser eyes and the pulsating glands
The steel teeth designed to rip apart flesh
And you say the television made him sick

I’m gonna fight the dark skinned terrorists with this boy
Not the patriots who kill in the name of Christ
But those infidel ones who crucified the twin shrines to capitalism
I’m gonna make this boy kill
I won’t be happy until I see veins in his teeth
After all, he’s the latest and the greatest machine
He always follows orders without questioning
And you told me he’s sick from the tv

I’m gonna give him a medal
So all the neighbors can be proud of their native son
They don’t have to know he was born in a metal shop
Their white eyes beam with excitement at the thought of turbans stained with innocent blood
They bake us pies and shower us with wax kisses because it’s Christmas
Their brains are baking in the oven
They’re baking bricks for the crucifix; they’re being whipped by Pharaoh’s stooges
And the television made them sick

Has it gone too far?

Yesterday felt like the end of the world... but after much soul searching I decided not to leave home just yet. I might wait to decide until after next semester. I've got a lot of things to figure out and I need to decide where I want my life to go. Props to everyone who gave me hope at the Against Me show!

I've got Mad Pride! Do you?

commentary on the billboard music awards:
beneath the crass commercialism, divisiveness and glorification of violence there is unity and even love somewhere to be found in all of us. the tribute to jam master jay was inspiring as artists from different races, sexes and genres joined together to celebrate the life of a soldier of peace. i was moved to the edge of tears by the unity and hope embodied in the embraces on stage and darrel mac and jmj's wife's speeches put me over the edge. unfortunately, somtimes it takes tragedy to bring people together.

Last day of class! Yay! Life is sweet.
To anyone that I've offended, sorry. I try to be a nice guy, but sometimes I don't do everything right and personalities clash.
Finally, I'm considering changing my "stage name" to Dorian Gray for a few reasons. Dorian Gray is from Oscar Wilde's book The Portrait of Dorian Gray which is a great book. Dorian Gray is a person's name so it might be less confusing for those who think that Hastheboyfallen is a full band. Also, Hastheboyfallen was originally a screamo band and I did not think of the name. Dustyn (ex-Arms Length, To Fester Within) made it up so I sometimes feel guilty for still using it. However, I've already come a bit of a ways with Hastheboyfallen already and it might be a mistake to change the name now. Any opinions: e-mail me.

And now for something completely differet:

*Set Apart: Set It Off*

There's one night I might try to remember for the rest of my life
But I promise nothing
they're made to be broken
After you
They broke the mold
After you

There are things left unsaid
Untied like the loose ribbons down her back
Or the shoelace that I wore with shame
Walking from the south end of the gym to the north end in a graceful fashion
Or just sitting this one out
Dodge ball in the ash age

These lines were drawn lightly
Meant to be erased
Friendly and unanchored
Just something set aside
Like her soft hand across the dividing line
Set aside like something dying

This chord of twine is metaphysical
Above it hangs the cosmos in the balance
The greatest acrobat
Below hangs the paperclips of deceit
The closest facimile to hell
Below hangs the demons of self-image

This used to be a clock
There used to be a chair here
The homes of age
The aging homes
Ignite with the slightest spark

A pyre is where they put the past when it's over-extended its usefulness
A final resting place
A battleground between the tears of youth and the ravages of age
I've been afraid for a long time
I've lived in fear too long
I've been afraid, but not anymore

Courage means faith and the opposite of faith are the same thing

My favorite commercial right now is the one for the VW Bug Convertable. Ok, I don't endorse the Bug Convertable or VW (they used Jewish slave labor during WWII), but I think it's a great commercial. It's basically schenes of this guy's monotonous life: waking up, eating breakfast, going to the office, looking at the womyn across the street longingly, but knowing he can never reach her, constantly doing the same tasks for the God of Capitalism. When I first saw it I was thinking, so commercials are critiquing the monotony of commercialism, interesting. So I'm on this high because it's been revealed to me that cynicism is the new 'hip' until the end where the guy is on a bridge over the road between office buildings. He looks down and aparently sees the product they're selling. They're trying to say that there is a consumption solution to life's problems, but it really doesn't go with the commercial at all. I like the comercial because it's good art and it doesn't really even make me want to buy what they're selling. Plus there's a wonderful song in it. It sounds a lot like the Beatles. Commercials have had good songs lately. Other commercials with good songs:
Both the low rise jeans ones, but especially the one with the French dictionary
The VW one with Pink Moon by Nick Drake (duh, Nick Drake is amazing)
The Nike (Nike is evil - sweatshops) one with the cool piano music - I'm not sure if that's the same one as the one where all that stuff is about to happen but never does so it leaves you feeling all unresolved at the end, but that one's good too

The moral of this story is... there's art in everything, just ignore the corporate crap.

I wrote this poem for Carl. If yr wondering why I haven't wrote a poem about you, chances are I have but I just didn't post it here. Please don't e-mail me complaining that I wrote a poem for Carl, but not for any of my other friends. Whatever.

*Real Ways (For Carl)*

The words that float out of my head like bubbles swelling with weight
Ready to burst and burn someone's eye
You are the one in the corners of consciousness watching as the bees unfortunately survive their honeycombs
You with yr idealism
You roach on an old dirty couch breaking dried leaves into a glass bowl
You were there with eyes shining and face lit like a torch

The wings that my lungs become stand to gain from the new found grasp of the metaphysical
Sometimes I just can't help being the way I am
Hello officer welcome to my world
Welcome to the steel gates between anarchy and totalitarianism
How can I help you?
What seems to be the problem?

You were there with bright eyes shining and an handful of smoldering ash
You were lurking like a wallflower in the corners of life
You couldn't bare the flashlight in yr face so when I looked back you were gone
Just another aparition blowing my mind like a 12 gallon drum

*On Feeling Sorry For Yrself*

The worst part is no the death of the moment but the loss of youth and all its idealisms
Like the way I left long ago but just haven't got around to going yet
So I wrap myself in my grief and snuggle with my sorrow until I fade into the background of the universe
I will hold yr hand and ask where yr hand ends and mine begins
Because our metaphysical material is endless and infinite and eternal
We are all parts of a whole, but unique at the same time
That's why I struggled for so long to understand the holy mystic writings until I just gave up
And then one day the answer was just laying there on a tiny scrap of paper that said, "Ecstacy is only the outward and lucid expression of what is going on inside us always"
And I closed my eyes to try to imagine the author of such beautiful revelations
But all I could think about was the smile on her face as the old womyn's sinapses burst into stroke
I'm looking forward to the transitional period between death and life
I'm looking forward to lucid dreaming
Every night I crawl into bed and I'm excited about the parallel worlds I'll visit in between my ears
This is life: the screening
I remember seeing War and Peace at the Universiry where you were hospitalized
I thought I'd make some friends: meet someone
Instead I just felt alienated and alone
Funny how songs trigger memories
I am not looking forward to losing those sinapses - those memories

So I saw Solaris today. It's really really good, especially George Clooney's nekkid butt! The peeps I went to see it with didn't like it, but they wanted to see Extreme Ops (the movie about snowboarders who save the world from terrorists... ech!) so I don't value their taste in movies too much.

I have a feeling I'll be coming back to this site again and again: http://www.deeplyshallow.com/
Especially since one of his short stories is about rail-riding and that's a major theme in my latest songs.
I'm nothing if not what you want
I'm everything beautiful
I'm nothing if not apathy
I'm everything dispossessed

Go search for my name and then go to the Fire Theft website and listen to their new song.

here are the words that go with the music for the question...

autobiography in stitches

this is the prelude to my bleak post-modern book i am walking alone away from the light from the pavement to the grass with hands in pockets and face down turned i am walking away from the light to this pot holed parking lot i am the loner poet spending nights at the library making love on paper and never making love happen to me surrounding myself with beautiful things but never quite touching them someday we’ll crawl down this campus with windows down and music blaring and silent smiles on our faces on our faces i can feel it in the way my bones ache because it’s that same song that scares me every time because the vocals seem so painful and i can’t help but imagine losing you and that’s always the way the murphy’s law scenarios play out in my mind

gorky

did you ever think you’d be alive and aware on this day i’ve head about the prophecies from yr dark star i want you to stay i want this moment to last forever i want this star to never fade away this poet’s dry again and quiet in his little mind games building the global paradigm to make the faces in the pictures not look so sad or at least soften the stark shades of gray get up stand up stand up for yr rights get up stand up never stop the fight so i had an idea once when i saw that ghost deep inside yr beautiful brown eyes so i had a vision once but now it’s just become some sort of idealistic nonsense but i told them to stop controlling the minds of their disciples those rebels never listen this only means the future

the failure of mathematics

these shapes take up page space trade paperback metaphysical these lines define every perfect moment in a hero’s life these images sway in arrogant eloquence howls echo down the cobblestone the trails i’ve inherited i can’t speak i can only yell angels are evil curves are angels

the flowers that grow all around my hat

she was left years ago to be replaced by synthetic skin and steel bones like a war hero loser lost across the sea he’ll come back and find love wasn’t waiting for some childish killing black flowers grow all around my had for a year and a day a tribute to my true love then thousand miles away she is scratching the days on the wall of her sorrowful cell waiting for me to find her to put down the flag and find out what is truly on my mind black flowers grow typical greenie willow warn all around my hat so the spider can spin her tapestry breathing fate to life and the stars can spin in a deep and dancing melody black flowers grow all around my hat

g8 (banjo song)

isis with wings swings her chariot down low she’s become the sugar in the tea of the fates clad in shoes and polished shoes all around the caldron bubbling with the aftermath of a disease the bitter leaves steeping in the polluted and fluoridated water of the great machine someday you’ll find yrself in a new crib of concrete and steel hanging precariously from the tree of amerikan lynch justice

dioxin

the rain will wash the glass clean the water washes everything away the dome of the sky is overcast with clouds that break like the sand in the desert on fault lines and i’m scared i am scared i’m sorry divine rays of light creep through the cracks at twilight they are an oracle guiding me and blinding me

six stars surround a crescent moon

a festering despair grips tightly and pulls us down the cries can be head in the streets the desolate hiways paved with broken hearts ‘dear fatah i have no home’ identity is locked tightly with the key inside the yellow envelope just a memory of the life once lived ‘dear fatah i have no home’

tomorrow is a day

remember when there were brilliant dragon puppets going through the streets on new years eve everyone got under them and danced in their own way and it was magic now the dragons have become individual marionettes their strings are being tugged every which way i get knocked down but i get up again no one’s ever gonna keep me down

Here's a short story by Nick Torres...

A Heart as a Home

Wills eyes fluttered and he was slowly stuttering back from sleep. His bare back lay exposed to the wind from the fan. The gentle melodic humming of its engines was calling his mind back into dreams. He was dreaming that his friends had forgot him. There he was standing alone in blue jeans and a gray shirt. On a balcony over looking blackness. They had left him on purpose and he was all alone standing, gazing at the moon. The moon appeared to be moving closer to him and slowly growing. He felt all alone in the whole world and had the sense of betrayal and fear, that he was stuck forever here. This frightened him out of sleep. He turned over making the covers wrap tightly around him. His mind was very clouded and the feeling in his dreams remained. He wondered where his friends had gone and began feeling sad and very depressed. These thoughts kept churning inside him over and over again. The slow repeating of these thoughts in his mind dulled his thinking abilities. He soon found himself drifting back into his dream. The moon was now gigantic and amazingly white. It seemed as if you could step inside it, into another place, and go walking off into the distance and be lost in the white. Now the scenery has changed. He was looking down into a room. The room was somewhere he had never been. There were several large leather couches and big round carpets spread throughout the floor. Lamps and tables full of coffee mugs, pens, papers and napkins, movie tickets, and nickels and pennies were sporadically arranged around the area. Everybody was very comfortable and pleasant. They were all wearing their favorite clothes and they all looked quite attractive. The music was great. There was one specific group of people standing near the stereo in the room. They were huddled around it discussing which cds to listen to. All of the cds were outstanding. He very much liked the music he was hearing and so did everybody else. He wanted to know what they were going to listen to next. He tried to listen to what they were saying but couldn't understand a word. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there and that is why he didn't hear what they were debating to put in. Several of them were laughing, others were arguing that it should be this while others still argued that it should be that. He wanted to hear them, he wanted to be involved in the discussion. Finally he started yelling "Hey! Hey! Hey you guys! Come on! Hey!" but they kept on not hearing him, he knew he wasn't actually there but he was just looking at them. For some reason though he knew they were ignoring him. Will knew that they knew that he wasn't supposed to be there, he wasn't there, and they didn't mind. He was desperately flailing his arms and jumping. About ready to jump off the edge. Nothing changed. The laughter grew more boisterous and the arguments grew more fiery and witty. The music was so loud it was deafening and turning into silence. Every passing moment was leading to a climatic crescendo. He was growing more and more desperate. Jumping, screaming, kicking, waving. He even tried to concentrate all his efforts on one person. Thinking that he could connect with them maybe mentally. All of his thought was bent on getting this persons attention. They saw him in the corner of their eye, but they did not pay him any attention. He gripped the balcony banister so tight all the muscles in his arms instantly hardened. The skin in his hand turned white with pressure. He began shaking himself violently against it, pulling with all his might. Either too tear it apart or to tear himself apart. Yelling constantly. He began yelling vulgar words and became consumed with anger and sadness. Knowing he wasn't supposed to be there and he wasn't welcome. The laughter, the yelling, the terrific music, and all the voices were reaching an unbearable static. Everything was leading to a dramatic ending. He felt it coming. Like how you see an object flying towards you at incredible speed. You know it is going to hit, you know it is going to hurt, you know you cant stop it. So you just close your eyes and brace yourself. This is what he did as he bent to the ground still clutching the banister. Holding on to it for his life. He closed his eyes and braced himself by relaxing. It was coming. It was so close he could feel it touching his soul. Then it hit. Everything went quite and disappeared and he was hit in the heart with the greatest pain imaginable. The pain of being alone, the pain of having nobody, the pain of no one caring. He sprawled out on the balcony floor, trying to grab hold of his heart to stop the hurt. He suddenly felt very cold. He breathed out and he watched his warm foggy breath fly up into the empty sky. He followed it up and up until he lost it against the shining whiteness of the moon. The moon expanded at a terrific rate. It had already stretched beyond the horizon and was now widening and stretching. Will was no longer on the balcony, he was now laying upon the void. He didn't care. His heart was paper cut in half. He spread out his arms and legs, exposing his chest. Trying to let the pain inside him float up and dissipate. He felt as if he had been shot or stabbed in the chest with incredible force, but very.....very... slowly. The knife was going into his heart deeper and deeper, one fiber at a time. And with each passing minute that the knife went that much deeper the pain would multiply. With each fleeting cut the pain would be twice as bad as the last. He lay with his chest open in acceptance to this torture. Wishing upon a star that an anvil would come crashing through the sky, shattering the moon, and falling onto the knife. Gouging out his heart, anything to stop the pain. The moon had now completely surrounded him. It was as if the moon flattened out and then stretched itself around him, forming a ball. But it wasn't paper thin. It was infinitely deep and went off into forever in all directions. He was floating there in a dazzlingly white, infinitely empty, crystal clear, never-ending universe. His pain was gone with this new home. He was all alone. No-one existed. He didn't exist. He was just, "there". No one was there, there were no problems, everything was perfect. Everybody was okay. He smiled to himself and felt warm and happy. He was content with no one, as long as everything was like this. If there isn't anything in a world, if there is nothing, then everything is okay, and everyone is alright. He breathed in and the smell of summers long past filled his lungs. He suddenly felt wanted. There was someone out there that cared for him. It is a great feeling to be loved. It made him happy that he was still thought of. But there was no need. He felt loved being alone. This world was his friend and its emptiness was his company. No more hurt. He knew he wouldn't be alone forever and that he couldn't stay here. That one day he would be found and he would break free or be torn from this wonderful, paradise, prison. He would find love in that person, he would be in that persons heart, and that would be his home. A place where he could love again.

Stachefest was way fun. Props to all the bands, especially Helen of Troy, Ensign and Endicott. I wish I woulda gone Friday so I could see Shai Hulud, but whatever. Anyway, I was gonna post another poem on here but I forgot my notebook.

*Confusion is Impotence*

Right now I'm feeling low
Earlier I was way up high
Tomorrow I'll be somewhere in between

The ceiling closing in represents Chicken Little's little discontent
I dove into the falling sky
Only to find that it was just a pile of acorns

Despite what you may think, it is not over
It never really ends, does it
I mean it hardly even had a beginning

There's a phrase that used to be written in French on a wall in the city
"Buy Less, Live More"
Can that be why I always channel surf when commercials come on

Things are a changin'
And all this change has brought me to wonder what living truly means
At what point does 'this life' end and the 'real life' begin
Because this can't be real

Indian Summer Redux!!!

Hey, thanks to everyone that came out to see me and the June Observer Thursday at Java Junction. It was a fun night. Also, the Food Not Bombs show Saturday was off tha hook. Hedaya is amazing. Speaking of Food Not Bombs, there is a FNB food drive going on right here in Brockport. If you'd like to donate a non-perishable/vegetarian good there is a box in the basement of the Seymour Union, near the Womyns Center.

AND THEY OBEY

Smash down the cities.
Knock the walls to pieces.
Break the factories and cathedrals, warehouses
and homes
Into loose piles of stone and lumber and black
burnt wood:
You are the soldiers and we command you.

Build up the cities.
Set up the walls again.
Put together once more the factories and cathedrals,
warehouses and homes
Into buildings for life and labor:
You are workmen and citizens all: We
command you.
-Carl Sandburg

I made a bunch of copies of ¢¯Besar o no Besar? so you can pick one up if you see me or e-mail me with yr address and I'll send you one. I'm doing the CDs on a donation basis from now on (unless something strange happens like I get on a label or something) because I feel like selling them commodifies them and I don't want to be a capitalist. If you're ordering one through the mail it might be nice to send some money for postage, though. I'm just as poor as anyone. I'll have some at the show today at Northampton Park. The show is at 5 at Knolwood lodge and I think it's $4. It should be pretty fun. There aren't enough punk rock shows around here anymore. Speaking of Northampton Park, I had a free show with Sam Sofia, Josh Gillikan, Mike Daniels, Little Techie and Hastheboyfallen at the Northampton Ski lodge a couple of weeks ago. It's a pretty nice place to have shows if you ask me.
¡Ä¢¾*

*Catching Up With Time*

There's a box full of infamous algorhythms in the middle of a room that stars in a low-budget indie-film
I've given it a lead role in my new novel about life and death: the voodoo effigy
It'll be locked, for sure, and you'll need the key in the skeleton
She'll give it to you willingly, Pandora is her name, she's immaculately arrid and brittle
I climbed an old weeping willow from the top ddown to give her a piece of cake: she gets very hungry waiting inside her closet

There's a phongraph blasting the nostalgic anthems of the past in a jingoistic sauna of heat and beating drums
Maybe it would be better if I left this schene alone
But I can't help myself but to be elegantly cynical
The scratch in the rekkid makes the same trembling line perpetually repeating
But I said I'd leave it alone so I guess that's what I've done

There is a metaphysical twig motionless as wood in the middle of a hardwood floor in a Victorian log cabin somewhere
And now it's dancing like the MExican jumping beans I saw thrashing inside their plastic prisons at the convenience maaket
Something's disturbed it's Feng Shwe or the cosmic balance that holds the twig exactly at the only logical spot on the floor for it to be
Perhaps it's an omen that tells me not to follow the path I'm hacking out with my machete in the hobo jungle paradise
Maybe it means I'm too far gone and there's no turning back
Or maybe my arms are finally behind my back and my eyes are finally blindfolded with black cloth and the pigs of some colvoluted mind's regime are finally raising their guns and aiming between my eyes

Everything in my life that I love
Could be swept away without warning
Yet the birds still sing and the church bells ring
And the sun came up this morning

Life goes on as it did before
As the country drifts slowly to war
- Billy Bragg
From "Rumours of War"

*On Being A Pariah (The Beast in Me)*

There's something inside that's simply dying to get out
It's the post-modern behomoth locked in the ghettos of a nation's capital
It is the one eyed monster haunting every AmeriKKKan tourist's vacation nightmare
It is the sand in yr sunscreen lotion
It is the static on yr cell phone
It is a native village that doesn't take major credit cards
It's subversive, it's radical, it's rebellious and I think it's inside of me
I'm not sure what it is yet
Some paracite shaped like a slimy sort of crustaceon and breathing acid like a fish
Some apocolyptic chicken scratch becoming deeply and famously obnoxious
It's getting old, annoying, amazing
It's growing more beautiful everyday
It once was a caterpillar feeding off my chest, now it's a butterfly burning out of my throat
I once was romantic, now I'm mechanic
I once was philanthropic, now I'm philosophic
I once was individualist, now I'm subversivist
I've become the enigma
I am the leprechon
I am Chiapas' Marcos
I am Little Brother
Darwin was wrong
it's not how fit you are
It's how much you don't fit in.

I don't usually have time to update this, and today is no exception.

Here's a short story I wrote.

Fallen Leaves
by Mitch Jones

August Hartman was speeding down the road in the dead of autumn with fire in his eyes and acid burning a hole in his stomach. He barely watched the road. He was looking around and taking in the tranquility of the forest in autumn. The leaves were fiery colors that reminded him of the ulcer burning inside of him. He was going about 90 mph and accelerating.

He had just come back from coffee at Sarah Whiting’s house. She told him she had something very important to tell him. He had laughed as he always does. She was telling him about how insensitive he seems sometimes. Was she breaking up with him? As the conversation wore on the realization of that fact became inevitably clearer. When it finally hit him full force it was like his heart was filled with lead and sank to the bottom of his soul. He got up angry and said simply, “Goodbye Sarah,” with little expression on his face and then walked out of her house and probably out of her life.

Now he was driving down the wooded road that leads to her house in his station wagon, circa 1980s, and feeling every bump in the road as if it were a punch in the face. He looked to the trees as if they were oracles. He looked for answers to what he should do next in their fiery leaves. No answers came.

A curve crept up on him without warning and he pulled the wheel sharp to stay on the road. It was a little too sharp and there was rain left over from the night before. The car spun out of control like a macabre merry-go-round until eventually a tree caught the back of the car with a big crunching noise. August had hit his head a couple of times. He was sleeping an unnatural sleep.

August is in the hospital. He is still dreaming about the accident and how much he misses Sarah. He hasn’t awaked since. Sarah and his best friend Nick are there. They’re watching him dream, his eyes rolling under his lids, his chest peacefully moving in and out. Sarah is crying and Nick is holding her. The nurse comes in and puts something in August’s I.V. The dream gets fuzzy for August. Sarah can see him waking up, she calls to him. He opens his eyes and reality is fuzzy now.

“How long was I out?” August whispers. Nick and Sarah smile.

“Only about 10 hours,” Nick says. “We came as soon as we heard. That was about 2am last night.”

“Awesome, what’s the damage?”

“They haven’t told us yet. They wanted to tell some family members, but since you don’t have any they just withheld all that. They weren’t supposed to let us in, but we told them we’re all the family you got.”

“Thanks for being here.” August is 18 and already he feels old.

“No problem, I’ll go get the doctor and tell them you’re awake.”

Nick is gone just like that and it’s August and Sarah alone again, just like last night before the crash. Sarah sits on August’s bed.

“Listen, I don’t know what I was thinking last night. I don’t think you’re insensitive, it’s just that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about our lives lately and I decided that you don’t need me. That was my pragmatic conclusion, but now I realize that I’m madly in love with you and I can’t stand to be without you.”

Sarah reaches over and kisses August. Color and warmth fills his sallow face. Now she is lying on the bed next to him, holding him gently like they’re some sort of couple. She is crying and so is August.

There’s a knock at the door. Sarah gets up. Nick walks in with the doctor following behind him.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Hajik-Jabar,” she says as she offers her hand toward August. August takes it and limply reciprocates a handshake. “You’re very lucky. You had quite the concussion. That’s why you were out so long, but amazingly you got out of that car with only a couple bruises. You can leave tomorrow if you are feeling up to it.”

“Thank you doctor,” Nick whispers.

The next day August checks out of the hospital with Sarah at his side. They don’t ride a car home. Instead they walk through the woods behind the hospital. They are holding hands.

“I can’t help but think how fortunate I am. It seems like a dream. There are so many people who go through these things and don’t get out safely. And you, you’ve been so great. I can’t believe how lucky I am,” August says still whispering.

“I don’t know why I said you were insensitive. You can be quite sappy when you want to,” Sarah responds.

Somewhere in the intensive care unit August was being kept alive with machines. His eyes were still rolling around inside his head. He was dreaming that everything was great, everything was okay, everything changed. He was dreaming alone, his chest barely moving, working with the aid of a respirator. He was comatose. Nick and Sarah were in the waiting room; they weren’t allowed to see him. August stayed that way for quite some time. The doctors would occasionally say that he looked happy and indeed, every once and a while August would seem to be smiling.

This is a cute little cartoon.
Also, Michael Moore's new movie, Bowling for Columbine is out in NY and LA. I haven't seen it yet, but I plan too even though I'm not really sure about gun control.
I watched this movie called Focus today. It was quite good. I'd recommend it. It's based on an Arthur Miller novel (a plus right there) and it's about anti-Semitism in America during WWII. It's something that people don't often think about. Also, it's preachy and pro-Zionistic. It's more human.
Plus! I saw George Burdi on TVO today (I always like Canadian TV better than American). He's such an inspiring person. He was a head honcho in the White Supremacist Punk movement, but is now an anti-racist. Anyway, the way he talks is so great. He's way intelligent, but isn't preachy. He gets you to understand the white supremacists, but doesn't condone what they do. He is truly trying to reach those blinded by the movement. I read an interview with him in Punk Planet a while back, but it was cool to actually see him speaking. He talked about being interviewed by CNN and being on the Geraldo show when he was with the white-supremacist movement. It made me wonder, why doesn't American TV have an interview with him now. Obviously you can see what their priorities are. Check out his band Novacosm.

This is a cool site from someone who goes to the same college as me.

Here's some lyrics (I hope) for a song I'm working on:

*The Great Placebo Disease*

Alone seems to be everything these days
I’m not trying to see things that aren’t really there
In the sky that glows colors I’ve never heard of
It’s just that nothing seems the same as it used to be

There are no ravens that fly overhead and drop bombs on Baghdad
There are no soldiers that carry bouquets of flowers to brighten the day
There are no ropes that hold lonely hearts together
There is only a mirror cracked and distorted trying to tell the future

If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to make something out of nothing
Sometimes I don’t think anything’s anything
There are those times that I see little flecks in grains of dust
And then I find myself starting pathetically at something unreal

I feel like I’m constantly looking through a window into my life

I wanted to hold a sign that said “You All Should Be Crying”
But instead I said “Punk Rock is Dead”

Saturday was fun. Josh recorded one song called Wandering and Nick came too. I must say, it was some of my best stuff yet. Ok, well, it's late and I have a lot of homework so leave me alone.

Going into the recording studio tomorrow. Gonna record some new songs. I guess it'll just be me and Wesley, my brother/banjo player. Also, I already recorded 4 songs in my room so I'll add those and we'll have a jolly time. The new release (which I'm making into a full length eventually) will be called...

Here's a cool website about the Middle East conflict from the perspectives of both Israelis and Palestinians.

And here's a quote about Iraq:
The obvious difference between Iraq and the U.S. is that this nation is a democracy. That means that we U.S. citizens are responsible for the behavior of G.W. Bush in ways that the people of Iraq are not responsible for Saddam
Hussein. There is good reason to believe that Bush, in his highly personal,
irrational, and thoroughly Manichaean campaign against Hussein, has set the very world on a course toward disaster. No one can change that course but us.
- James Carroll

I'm going to see Karen Alkalay-Gut read/speak today at the brockport writers forum. She's an American whose been living in Israel for years. She has an interesting perspective on the whole thing. I've been trying to figure out if she's pro-peace or pro-Sharon or what. I've decided that she's not pro-Sharon, but that she's not a peace activist. She said that the peace movement assumes that the Palestinians want peace. But she heavily criticized Sharon and the Israeli military's actions in Palestine.

Oh! and also, you must check out the Rochester IMC. It's hip and happening and they have a cool article on the Lackawana 6.

This is a letter from the (in)famous mistachuck of Public Enemy on the MTV music video awards.

eMpTy V
by Chuck D

The aftermath of the MTV Video Awards carries a ‘business as usual’ stench
across the ever influenced cultural, uh, black planet. The new power elite
in America…the selection board of MTV. If I closed my eyes and ears and went
back in time it would’ve been an oily Rockefeller gathering in the 20s, or a
scotch and politic driven Kennedy gathering in the 40s. The new power breed
of selectors who govern images being fed to the world youth, invisibly
anonymous to most, while being the choosers of who, what, when, why, and
how. In the words of my friend Kyle Jason … we (black people on screen) have
been reduced to comedy. All of my career, as an artist, I’ve been fighting
in a genre that has been hijacked by ‘culture bandits.’ Simply, cats who’ve
used rap music and hip hop as a personal whatever without putting anything
back where they got it from in the first place. That’s the ongoing complaint
by the figureheads that started this thing and I don’t blame them. The lack
of image balance is killing us.

Cutting to the chase, in this so called business I've overstood the bullsh#t
as much as possible, navigating the lunacy to the masses and cats within.
But here’s the deal. MTV standards (whoever this roundtable of culture
caretakers are all I got was a cat by the name of Tom Calderone who waffled
so much on the issue I swore he was swimming in syrup) has clarified to my
people, both at KOCH and SLAMjamz Records, that the ‘Gotta Give The Peeps
What They Need’ video would have to delete all affixed logos, in accordance
with a policy to not promote gear. Although I’ve long thought this to be
ridiculous... but whatever... I’ve conceded that this is their little thing
to keep situations from making the money they make and the thing that has me
going to war, and that’s to vanish ALL AUDIO AND VISUAL references to Mumia
Abu Jamal... the Free Mumia lyric. This is serious. In a climate where
they’re playing the hell out of Nelly and Khia, dumbing American kids (17
and under... who else is gonna be fanatical about adult life requesting
videos?) down to; ‘its so hot i'ma take my clothes off down from my neck to
the crack of my ass with a shot of courvosier.’ No offense to the prior two
artists, because I really don’t think they know any better. I’m pulling the
race card here because MTV has admittedly reduced black faces to blackface.

This time the control factor is the intangible grip on a designed
generation, three generations across the MTV span since my 21st birthday in
1981. Well you have designer clothes, designer cars, designer drugs and
designer mentality for a designer generation. MTV has successfully tailored
a generation through the thread of popular culture to pied piper itself, to
detach itself from a past while blurring a future, thus dumbing them to the
American way of weighing people based on quantity as opposed to quality.
Quantity is the measurement needed for the almighty bottom line a la the
corporate dollar. Blackface at its dumbest makes a lotta money for VIACOM.
On VIACOM owned BET peeps know BRUCE BRUCE more than newsman ED GORDON,
reducing us blackfolk to comedy. Where we think America’s laughing along
with us in reality they’re laughing at us. It’s the same reason I left DEF
JAM. We start off rebelling against the one sided control ways of the
establishment, only to find that it eventually becomes a worse establishment
itself. A joke in the shadows of making money…holla!

Really it ain’t about playing the Public Enemy video. So be it. I do art and
songs to provoke and not be a joke. It would’ve been simple as hell for them
to say rather they didn’t like the video. But as a black M-A-N… it’s the
NERVE of them judging what’s acceptable coming out of a blackface. If they
think having a political viewpoint in music is irrelevant its because
they’ve taken the nazi approach in censoring it themselves. Deep down, rap
to these standard people, is disposable romper room sh#t that will never
resonate to the LED ZEP, BEATLES, NIRVANA, AEROSMITH, FLEETWOOD MAC, BON
JOVI status that they still uphold in their hearts and minds. But based on
the ridiculous yet influential decisions they make while in bed with their
big business partners (major labels) it is unacceptable as far as my
community is concerned. Judging that anonymous circle of people in the
‘standard’ department I feel, think and ultimately know that they would
rather reduce us into a screen of swinging monkeys, and retreat to their
tri-state bridge and tunnel confines.

Thus it always seems I exist in a twist of paradox. I refuse to edit out the
MUMIA audio AND visual, that’s crazy and they must be out of their f#cking
mind. And since then eMpTy V has rescended a bit by saying that the names
and the visual images can stay in but the word ‘FREE’ would have to be
removed. It’s getting funnier by the week, that’s something you never say to
a black person (maybe why they would never understand DEAD PREZ's "Lets Get
Free"). This is 2002, so much insanity swirling around Manhattan itself its
ridiculous NOT to make a statement about things like this. The paradox is
that the fight completely vanishes the visability. The edit allows the video
to be seen, but compromises and weakens it, which music is supposed to
hurdle anyway. They didn’t mention the H RAP BROWN part which befuddles me,
for he’s accused of the same thing. Maybe they’re so unfamiliar and dumb
that they don’t know WHO he is and think I’m talking about some brownrappin
cat or something …I play the race card for real in this case. The charge of
VIACOM/ MTV reducing us to comedy through images forces me to flip that card
out. Would MTV News cover this story, especially one in which they’re guilty
within?

joshlength: mac-n-cheese
HalighALieHaligh: bernie mac
HalighALieHaligh: mac-n-disease
joshlength: pauly shore
HalighALieHaligh: um hum
joshlength: hey,i rented the new Pauly Shore movie,wanna come over
HalighALieHaligh: cheesecake on the rocks
HalighALieHaligh: vegan
HalighALieHaligh: do i!>!??!?!?
joshlength: dont cry for me Argentina
HalighALieHaligh: the 60-year old man who shot his wife, daughter, granddaughter, as well as himself in 1998, just two days after starting on Paxil. GSK has also been forced by the British FDA to issue a suicide warning with Paxil. !!!
joshlength: cant win em all
joshlength: you snooze you lose
joshlength: you take Paxil you lose
HalighALieHaligh: true that
joshlength: do you like the hives?
HalighALieHaligh: i haven't really heard them
HalighALieHaligh: i've heard of them
HalighALieHaligh: or do you mean the rash?
HalighALieHaligh: i love the rash
joshlength: how about the vines
HalighALieHaligh: it feels good when you scratch it
HalighALieHaligh: you mean poison ivy vines
HalighALieHaligh: they give you hives
joshlength: nevermind
HalighALieHaligh: did i frusterate you until you gave up?
joshlength: shutup mamas boy
HalighALieHaligh: mmmmm
HalighALieHaligh: aunt jemima's boy
joshlength: Greenglass
HalighALieHaligh: mmmm beer
joshlength: its people!!!!
HalighALieHaligh: power to the people
joshlength: soilent green is people!!!
HalighALieHaligh: shower the people you love with love
HalighALieHaligh: show them the way that you feel
joshlength: i hate you
HalighALieHaligh: i love you

PS: below is a design for my upcoming fulllength entitled... you guessed it - Besar o no Besar (It's spanish for to kiss or not to kiss)

Visit this website. It's really really good.

I just got this really inspiring e-mail from a 'fan'. It was so great that I just needed to post it up here.

recently i have had the pleasure to listen and live by the album titled
"The world after April" by the artist hastheboyfallen. Where am i now can
be described as a hellofuncertainpathsofjoy. one very special decision making
night in my life hastheboyfallen was there. i mad a decision that night between
touring and helping the band Complicate, that i work for, or being able to
go out of town and see the one person i have ever fallen in love with who
i hadn't seen in over a year. hastheboyfallen was there for me as i got really
stoned sitting on my bed with a pad of paper and a pen. it played loud as
i shook profuselly nervous and not sure of myself or what decision i had
to make. the only thing i could do is sing "sometimes we just want to wear
black, armbands" and get so fucking into it. I made my decision and began
to write, i made career choice and decided that i had to go with the band
this weekend. I started to write to her as i sang "bright eyes, and dreamy
perceptions...". tears falled from my face as i wrote the most emotion poem/love
note i have ever wrote in my life thinking about "sometimes i whish i wasn't
so alone." hasaboyfallen has become a big part of my life everyday. i need
it, its just a part of me now. thank you for that
i need to see hastheboyfallenlive soon, i live in fredonia at the time being
but its necessary to see you perform live , come around here and rock

-strauss

I'll try and get a show out in Fredonia. That would rock!

A marine recruiter called me today. I was home alone. I had come home early from college because I had an exam for my last class and finished early. I was supposed to go to work. When I got home there was no one there, I guess they went to the mall. Anyway, I told him I'm opposed to war and he asked me if I'm opposed to military. WHAT!?!?!?! If I'm opposed to war why wouldn't I be opposed to military? What do I expect the military to do, just make a bunch of bombs that they'll never use and train and occationally accidentally bomb Canada and the Red Cross?!?!?! Anyway, he shut up pretty quick, but he asked me if there was anyone else who he should talk to. I paused a minute, pretending I was pondering, and then politely said, "No, I don't think so." The whole conversation was very cordial. I have nothing against the man. I'm sure he's probably very nice, unless he's the one yelling in the faces of the kids doing push-ups or scrubbing the floor with their toothbrushes. He said he was a General or something. Since when are Generals calling my house. Don't they have something better to do like figure out how many Iraqi children it's okay to kill and still say they've "taken every precaution." I guess military people don't want war though. Why would they? They don't want to risk their lives. I know most soldiers hope they can get their reserve time in and then go to school on the GI Bill. Anyway, that brings me to an interesting article: http://argument.independent.co.uk/commentators/story.jsp?story=333275

a couple of things...

this site interested me, especially the wheatpaste exhibition.

this is a good archive of personal print and e-zines.

i'm recording on the 28th of this month at watchmen studios with my brother on banjo and hopefully josh from arms length on guitar. those songs will be added to those that i've done in my room on my portable 4-track to make a full length, hopefully.

here are some good graffiti sites:
http://www.heathenworld.com/graffiti/
http://graffiti.netbase.org/NEWS/0226.htm (translation)
http://www.e-underground-art-gallery.com/html/graffiti.html

...and of course, the infamous art crimes

I have a couple of poems here. One because I still have goosebumps from the Rocking Horse Winner show Saturday and the other because I'm angry, very angry.

*lalalalampshade*

you don't know how it feels to feel the embrace of a thousand winds int he autumn ambience of a park where we played when we were kids
you don't know what i whisper to the sparrows as i approach before they fly away like a flock like a wall
you won't ever close yr eyes and just feel yr stomach as you imagine all the good times that are long gone now
and the way those magical feelings seem to fade away as you grow older
i can draw eyes and a nose and a mouth on you and turn you on and off but you still won't know how it feels...
to feel...
to feel human to feel alive
you can't write a love letter or experience a first kiss
you won't know what it's like to hold yr breath waiting for something good to happen when it never does
i can turn you on and off and even into a puppet, multimedia, metaphysical, extravaganza, anything i want
but you won't understand the way it feels to miss somebody
you won't understand

I Am The Protagonist In My Own Story
I only need you as a supporting role
I live by my own book of rules... authored by no one, ISBN: 0-0000000-0-0
There are no categories, no good news, no truth
There is only my story and the setting, characters, plot
Nothing means anything
and YOU! you vulture smiling silently and glowing as if everything's fine
you demon of the subconscious
you who bringeth light and taketh away
you are why i spent so many nights awake until the am hours

but i guess it's not all yr fault
you can't even feel
and i pity you for that

*bombs in the sand*

A child named Shafir is carried into the emergency room
Tears and blood drip from his face
He is 6 years old
A mine or a bomb
It doesn't matter
It was something left by "us": the protagonists of progress, America yesterday, Russia long ago
Gift wrapped to look pretty so children will pick it up

Why isn't HIS face on the six o' clock news?
All I see is those hideous towers that don't even have any meaning
3000 in NYC
7000 in Afghanistan
I don't see it
I close my eyes and try to imagine the face of justice but all I see is that boy in the hospital bed screaming, "Allah, Allah" as peroxide is poured over what's left of his hands

Get yr flag away from me
It's getting hard to see
Stop waving yr flag in my face
I'm getting tired of blindness
I'm getting tired of Bush
Sometimes I wish he'd just go away

Bombs are meant to kill
But freedom must be protected
Ask the child in the hospital whose father was killed by a "surgical strike" if he feels liberated

I haven't posted any new poetry in a while so here's a new one that I tried to get out on labor day, but had technical difficulties.

*idealist mouse*

They all heal wounds deeper than sorrow with lamb's ear and acacia like tiny toy soldiers made from war surplus tin
And they sing to you when the moon is low and yr feeling about the same altitude
I can hear their haunting and quivering voices now
I left the party to call on a velvet friend I left hanging up the phone on the gallows
Red is the color of royalty
Black is the color of savegery
Fire is red
Shadow is black... coincidentally

I'm looking through binoculars at a view I paid a quarter to see hoping it was worth it to maginify some small fraction more than my own naked eyes
You'll get a turn
Opps, the time's run out
Got another quarter?

Idelitikantofalastinanastasiumtorianisticalinoliip
This game has gone on too long
The monotony of monetary interchange, the houses, the hotels, chance and community chest
Where is the card for, "Union demands shorter hours, higher wages. Pay $500 to all players."?

http://www.raversonly.com

TO: ACLU Action Network Members
FR: Angela Colaiuta, National Field Organizer
DT: 9-05-02

A new kind of social event that mixes an electronic music concert,
light show and dancing--popularly known as raves--has been portrayed as
dangerous, sinister drug fests and the people who attend them as
criminals who only use the events to sell drugs to youth. Raves,
however, are a legitimate cultural event just like rock concerts, art
exhibitions and film screenings, and are an important outlet for youth
culture today.

In a misguided spin-off of the "War on Drugs," the Senate is
considering the Reducing Americans Vulnerability to Ecstasy (RAVE) Act,
S. 2633, legislation that targets raves and would impose huge fines and
even prison time on the owners of venues into which customers bring
controlled substances. No matter how much security event managers put
in place, they can be held responsible for the actions of just one
customer.

Holding club owners and promoters of raves criminally liable for what
some people may do at these events is no different from arresting the
stadium owners and promoters of a Rolling Stones concert or a rap show
because some concertgoers may be smoking or selling marijuana.

Take action! You can learn more and send a FREE FAX to your Senators
from our action alert at:

http://www.aclu.org/action/rave107.html

Well, I tried to post some stuff on Labor Day, but that didn't work out. Anyway, I've been kinda busy with school and all. Right now I'm at school. Currently I'm sending my demo out to different promoters, record labels, radio stations and bands trying to get exposure and shows. Drop me a line if yr interested in doing something with HasTheBoyFallen. I'm also organizing a party that should take place soon. I'll let you know how it goes.

I've got to go to a reception thing for college right now so here's a poem by my friend Nick...

*Fishing for Waters*

These cds and pillows are too much for me and
bonnie raitt will always
sound the same.
Vibrations and shadows pass us by as we race the setting sun.
I fear it will beat us there while the tires are still spinning and
these voices still echoing.
I am fishing for the waters but bonnie raitt will always sound the same
to me.
These air conditioned airs are clouding my head and its making me sweat.
We will meet the setting sun down there and shop at the piggly wiggly.
The roads here are all too familiar but i have been off them for far too
long.
But i know bonnie raitt will always sound the same to me as we our
fishing for waters.
Soon i'll be there but it wont be the same. It will never be the same
without you.

-Nicolas A. Torres

This is an interesting site: http://www.brettonwoodsproject.org/

Going to see Little Techie play at Java Junction @ 8. You should come too! I'll be there with some CDs incase anyone wants one. I have about 4 The War Inside My Brains left and about 6 The World After Aprils, but with crappy covers. In person, payment is on donation basis only.

I've been writing a lot, but haven't had the time or ambition to post any new poems lately. Here are a few to make up for it.

*Hearts Locked in Lethe*

Isn't it just like the black sheep to not leave a will and testiment
I've been beautiful and broken for a million years if a day
Naked corpose stiff as a statue

The ghost of the living lays next to me in bed
I can feel her here like one of those dreams where she flys in through the window
She is breathing faintly, struggling

The young have a tendency to pair off
Now hear the word of the lord all ye unfaithful
Dem dry bones gonna walk around

They're getting louder and more frequent now
The locusts of self-doubt draw closer
Sometimes I can talk myself right out of what I tell myself to do

The aphids are restless and intoxicated with their ambrosia
The pollen lingers on their lips as they move to squalk out another proverbial chapter
They love the story too much to think of any decent ending

I'm lost again in the hall of mirrors
Someone lured me in; I was closing my eyes and holding their hand
Now I'm somewhere in the middle wielding a brick

We've bent the bars of our cages too long
It's time for someone to bake a cake with a chainsaw inside
I hear the blades stay nice and cool in the oven

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life
Today I'm just too old to change
And the steel joints of this rickety old skeleton are rusted from hanging in a closet for too long

*[untitled]*

I had a great name for this poem but I forgot what it is
I couldn't remember if I tried
It came to me in a daze like a dove from heaven and left my mortal head just as swiftly
Now it's gone gone gone like the candy after the piñata breaks
So why even bother

Am I right?

Tell me I'm right
Because I've been through a lot lately and I just need to hear that
To make me feel like the victim of sincerity and the forgotten amidst chastity

Sometimes we just close our eyes to things we'd rather not see
Like that day she moved her desk closer to mine and we accidentally held hands
Then we just forgot everything; just friends again

So is this one of those things that just get filed away under 'stuff it's best if I didn't talk about ever again'
Or is it one of those magical touches like they describe in the movies where paradigms change and hope is resurrected

I had a feeling
But it's long since passed
I was too scared to describe it for the longest time
But now I'm just hoping you'll listed

Dolly Parton's on the television singing about riding horses
Then she drives off into the sunset in an SUV
A cloud of smoke follows her
And someone wonders where the flowers ran away to as they kiss her glossy-paper lips ont he wall of a mountain shack where ghosts once sang the blues at night
But now even they're too scared to come out

a good website: http://www.sonicyouth.com/

What is this world coming to? (3 stupid things)
Ever notice how many stupid blogs there are? Go to blogger.com and look at some of the latest published. The internet doesn't exactly attract the crem de la crem.
Jonathan Frakes (Commander Richer on Star Trek: TNG) directed that dumb Nickelodian movie, Clockstoppers. Oh Jonathan.
IM conversations:
* the wrong way -
HalighALieHaligh: hey, do you have any spare change?
ThisIsntJoeSoto: yea
ThisIsntJoeSoto: in my pocket
ThisIsntJoeSoto: i like the coise it makes
HalighALieHaligh: do you mind lending a brother some for a cup of coffee and a bowl of soup?
ThisIsntJoeSoto: oh why not at all **(cleaning monicle)**
HalighALieHaligh: thank you brother
ThisIsntJoeSoto: oh why anytime you ball of filth, just never ask again
HalighALieHaligh: thanks you fat capitalist pig
ThisIsntJoeSoto: thats what im here for...now when will i be getting my pennies back
ThisIsntJoeSoto: i need some bacon
ThisIsntJoeSoto: BACON!!
HalighALieHaligh: go kill a cop
ThisIsntJoeSoto: BAAACCCOOONNN!!!!
ThisIsntJoeSoto: ill stab him with a 100 dollar bill
ThisIsntJoeSoto: like i did your mother
ThisIsntJoeSoto: o well.....pobodys nerfect

Good British TV shows:
The Prisoner
Chef!
Doctor Who
Red Dwarf
Monty Python's Flying Circus

Trendy people are only trendy as long as being trendy is in. After that they go out like the suit they wore last week.

So I finally have a few minutes so I'm posting some crap up here. First of all, thanks to everyone who came out and saw me play Friday. It was way cool. Especially thanks to Savannah, Pat, Carl and the Brockport kidz, Hitli$t, 17th Class and everyone who gave me money for a CD. Too bad the Young Ones couldn't play. I was looking forward to seeing them. One of their dogs was on stage when I played though. Here's a new poem about being young.

*Frail Youth*

We are the ones who reach out our arms just to touch the sky
We are the ones who dance 'round and 'round in circles
We are the ones who believe dogs can talk
We are the ones you can call when you just need someone to be there because something terrible's happened
We are the ones who write little things in our little books for no one to ever read
We are the ones that you see marching through the streets at 2am blowing on stolen trombones in a paganistic procession
We are the ones that understand individual strands of yarn in a tapestry that covers the wall

We are young
We are alive and proud
We are all strange
And we are all revolutionary

We are the ones who break mirrors and sprinkle the shattered glass in the driveway just to prove there's no such thing as luck
We are the ones who dream of being cowboys, astronauts, presidents when we grow old, lose our hair and with it our fighting spirit
We are the ones that will run into the middle of a POSTED wood and proclaim our love at the top of our lungs with arms wide
We are the ones with broken hearts that cut ourselves with that same shattered mirror from a few lines up alone in a dark and empty room
We are the ones pounding on guitars or banging on drums in some illegal assembly at some overly romantic location
We are the ones that fall in and out of love constantly
We are the ones that scare you because you remember when you were like us and you secretly long for those days to come back again in some quite, desparate nostalgia
But you are set in yr ways and will never live again as we do

We are young
We are alive and proud
We are all strange
And we are all idealists

My friend said this song is good: Patife - Carnival

I've got a lot of things on my mind, but nothing to say. Here are some websites that you should visit.
City Newspaper finally has a website up.
Regrets and Worthless is a Rochester band that was passing out free CDs at the show Sunday.
and finally, Twothirtyeight is a cool band that played on Sunday.

Here's the flyer for a show I hopefully will be playing next week. Line-up is subject to change.

Greetings to the Bradford, PA crew. This weekend's gonna be off the hook at the Coheed show.
Here's a new poem.

*www.theworldisnotforsale.com*

"It's good to see you again," I warmly said and faded off into introspection
I'm such a bore at parties
I hid in the corner behind a wall of faceless, sweaty bodies and meaningless chatter
Or I band on some crappy guitar and promote myself to executive in charge of ambience

And it all breaks like the 7 year mirror
I'm confused and scared but strangely elated in anticipation
The sheer unpredictability of the moment delights and sickens me
Yes, I'm quite literally sick to my stomach

I write with a pencil that says "MITCHFIELD K. JONES" printed in all capitals above the cartoon images of coolness and felinity
It's nostalgic significance is integral to the aesthetic balance of feng shwe (sic) in this room

I know I'm not changing the world, but maybe I can at least clear my conscience
And stop spiraling downward into this matrix of self indulgent ecstacy
It goes no further than skin deep
It is no more like a revelation than a banana peel rotting in an art deco wire trash basket

Last night I chilled with my friends for the first time since I got back from the American West. It was so fun. I wrote a poem to commemorate the occation, as well as seeing the last episode of The Prisoner for the first time.

*The Number 6 Manifesto*

We need to get a few things straight
You don't decide what I see as ethical
You are only a manequin; a statue for me to gawk at
You aren't even an astronaut, an explorer, a revolutionist

I watched the last episode of the Prisoner tonite and it brought up some questions in my mind
Like what is freedom?
And why do we spend half our lives striving for something we can't even define
And the other half we spend in desparate servitude

My friends see things in the sky like the way the fat moon shines
My friends see things in me that I can't see when I squint into the looking glass
And they sometimes seem to remind me of how much I love my life
And how dang good the future looks

But we'd better act now because time is running out
These hour glass grains wait for no human
It's an assembly line game
Hurry up and wait

All these songs are memories
And with the memories the emotions come flooding back
I remember dancing at the wedding with her and I thought she was the one then
And now when I hear that song I can't remember why I was wrong
I remember the late night call from the hospital after the movie about India and Pakistan where I had wished someone I knew would show but I was only alone
And the hospital visit that day
And how we were still so unsure and still grieving
And the lonliness when I left Nick's room and hugged Annie goodbye
But mostly the fear

One thing I've learned from my third eye
If yr gonna get sick in Amerika you'd better have faith and a good lawyer
The court room dramas never end
But I take courage in the fact that I can tell myself the things I want to hear when the broken and twisted arm of the law comes down on me

I know it will end with me alone in some room of concrete and steel
And I'm not afraid
I'm just so glad to be alive
And so filled with love for all of humanity that sometimes I think I'm going to explode in a painful orgasm of altruism

http://www.jenniferdaydreamer.com/

Is being Arab/Muslim a crime for which one should be locked up?

http://www.girlhero.com/

I'm using the computer at my aunt's house in Colorado so I thought I'd post some poetry here.

* E - Motions *

The desert is both divine and boring with its dead tumbleweed monotony
I can hear the electronic sounds like bees buzzing behind my head
I can see the passion in their eyes
Their dissappointment, frustration and anger at their failures
And their elation at their triumphs
I've seen them weep in sorrow and shout in joy over those mindtraps, swearing under their breath
And society looks puzzedly at the bi-polar adolescant
Pumps it with profit making pills until they have not free will
Eventually the only responses are those induced electronically
So now Nintendo and Pfizer are merging
And I'm in the desert with the answers to the questions no one's asking yet everyone stands and scratches their heads over

This is probably the last communique before I merk out to the American West. I'm going to post some poetry in a second. Anyway, just wanted to thank everyone that made my summer fun so far. I'm real excited about getting away, though. Sometimes you just get too used to your life. I guess that's called a rut. Did you listen to Arms Length on WBER last night? I did for 2 minutes. It was way boring and they played Memento all out of tune. I still love you guys though. Thanks to everyone who came to my graduation party on Friday and to Kelly for inviting me to hers yesterday. I'm coming back on July 22nd so if you still want to book me for a show for late July or August here's my contact info. Remember, I probably won't get this until after July 22nd:
Mitch Jones (HasTheBoyFallen)
17046 LaDue Rd.
Holley, NY 14470
boyxfallen@positive-youthfoundation.org
(I don't like to give my phone # away over the internet as there are certain parties that might like to abuse that knowlege. E-mail me from a secure server that isn't monitored by FBI's carnivore (not AOL, EarthLink, Hotmail, Yahoo) and I'll give it to you.)

...And now for some poems for your enjoyment before I leave...

*What if This Morning I Never Woke Up*

I can't roll out of bed because it's the last night on god's green earth
Tomorrow I'm millions of miles away
So turn on the trusty Yamaha keyboard and burn Patchouli and Frangipani
Because tomorrow we're all cosmonauts

We are all shooting stars
We are all ravenous wolves
We are all egalitarians
We are all cosmonauts
And we were just leaving

I gave up long ago trying to make sense out of my misguided spiritualism
So I closed my star struck eyes and embraced a liberal social doctrine
I believe in the frogs singing on long summer nights
Tomorrow my spaceship leaves for Utopia
Because we are all starstruck frogs singing

We are all cowboys
We are all Palestinians
We are all astronauts
Bleeding and slowly dying
We are all six feet under
We are all finally finding ourselves

Roll yr eyes if you don't believe me
We are all prisoners
Some folks don't like folks telling them what they are
Did you ever just listen to that little voice in the back or yr head
The plate glass window's shattered in a spider web crack all pointing to where the frusteration just became too much
Because we are all alone

We are all gods... Baals...
We are all brick walls
We are all shattered plate glass
We are all borders
We are all lone gunmen
We are all weeds, parasites
We are all shining stars
We are all beautiful
We are all prisoners

What if this morning I didnt wake up?
We wouldn't even be
The planets would align

*Boo Capitalism*

Why is your life so calm? I said
I guess I just don't worry about it. The shattered reflection replied
Why do you fill your head with sad moments? I asked my alter-ego
I just keeps me normal, regular. Was the reply in a broken and trembling whisper

So the guests that are now ghosts haunting the party tent and the lawn all wished that this sad moment may last forever
And may my life be filled with many more sad moments like this

And then the tunes became pathetic
The chords and rhythms all lost the beat until utter noise ensued
And the sound was beautiful
And it filled the heavens with it's cathedralic radience in rememberance of the departed guests

I'm happy that the guitar didn't die
And the lude didn't turn into a flute and then into a snake which bit the heels of all the righteous
And the sins of darkness were not dragged into the light
And the biosphere didn't come crashing down like the delacate ecological dome it is

Sometimes I'm just like this
My voice just shakes
I've got a quiver in my bones
The storm is fast approaching
Quickly hide under the blanket of patriotic songs and Ronald Regan shaking hands with Mickey Mouse to hide from the rain of open debate and serious discussion
We're not being silly anymore

A plastic butterfly
That's all it is
A plastic butterfly
Flew into my mouth and came out a bird

Human machines in perfect and unholy unions
In bed with Beelzabub on the pillow to the right and Phil Knight on the pillow to the left
And Local Infinity (∞) is in the middle tripping on acid
And Local 24 is just out the window in a line holding up signs and fists of solemn solidarity picketing the whole ordeal

And your mother told you to always picket scabs

*...And I Wore Bowling Shoes*

Youth burns wrikles onto innocent faces
It is the fire and the fuel of a radient existance
And like all fuels it burns itself out eventually

[...]
I don't have anti-passionate and irrelevant rules
I only have wings
And the rules and the wings are both transparent
But one represents servitude to self
And the other epitomizes FREEDOM!!!

[...]
Don't worry about her
She's just a leech
And I'd like to stop letting her bleed me

And I will be the one imprisoned in velvet tied with silk lace
And I will be the one with blood shot eyes
And I will be the one living in austerity in mental poverty in the desert in the bathroom
And I'll have a bachelor's degree
And I'll still be waiting in four years
Can you see me
I'm the one in the dark hat and trench coat holding a black, suburban, post-modern umbrella
Because it looks like a hard rain's gonna fall

Hahahaha
Sob

[... there's more to this poem, but I omited some parts because some people might figure out what I'm talking about here from the clues in the omitted portions.]

Conspriacies

My Unisex Fest Experience:
Yesterday I got to the Unisex Fest at about 5:15. The Young Ones were playing. I saw Pat and talked to him for a little bit, caught up on things, talked about the Working Poor program and other stuff. Then the Young Ones stopped playing and Carl and Savi came over to me. We went outside for a little and then Armed with Intelligence played their set. I went to some table and was looking at this zine (Handjive) and the guy told me it would 'blow my mind' so I bought it. After that I went over to the This Bike is a Pipe Bomb table and started asking people around there who was selling the records. Eventually the womyn from This Bike is a Pipe Bomb came over and said it was $6, but I only had $11 so she went looking around for $5 to give me for change. Soon after that I had to leave, so I was only at the fest for about 45 minutes. I wish I coulda seen This Bike is a Pipe Bomb, but at least I have their LP. It's cool since the jacket is printed on the back of a Casket Lottery jacket. Also, I hear they were printing their shirts outside before the show.

STOP IRRADIATED MEAT AT WEGMANS!

Come to a local press conference / rally and
voice your opposition to irradiated food!


What: Press conference / rally to oppose irradiated food at Wegmans
Where: East Avenue Wegmans, 1750 East Ave. (northwest side of store) Rochester, NY
When: 11:00 am, Saturday, June 29, 2002

Wegmans grocery stores have recently begun to sell "fresh" irradiated hamburger meat under their own Wegmans label. They will tell you it is safe. They will tell you that with this technology you can eat your hamburgers rare.

Here is what they will not tell you:

Irradiation exposes food to a dose of ionizing radiation that is equivalent to millions of chest x-rays to kill bacteria and to extend shelf-life. However, it causes the creation of new chemicals in the food, many of which have not been tested for safety, and degrades the nutritional content of food. The real purpose of irradiation is to mask filthy conditions in slaughterhouses and food processing plants. Irradiation can kill most bacteria in food, but it does nothing to remove the feces, urine, pus and vomit that often contaminates meat. The bottom line is this: irradiated filth is still filth.


This event is being held by Irradiated Food Free NY (IFFNY)
Promoting Healthy Farms and Healthy People

Groups Include
EMPIRE STATE CONSUMER ASSOCIATION * GREEN PARTY OF MONROE COUNTY * POLITICS OF FOOD * PUBLIC CITIZEN * ROCHESTERIANS AGAINST MISUSE OF PESTICIDES

Get Involved
If you or your group is interested in learning more about food irradiation, please contact Monique with Public Citizen at 202-454-5185 or check out
the website www.citizen.org/cmep/foodsafety/

To get involved in the Rochester area campaign, please contact
Judy at 585-383-1317.

Also, you can register a customer complaint online @ www.wegmans.com or fill out one of those cards at your local Wegmans store. It's a very useful way of sending the message. Since their schtik is customer service they will seriously reply to your complaint. I registered a complaint about GMOs a while back and they called me at my house and talked to me for about a half hour about it.

I was about to update the top page and add another page, lyrics, but I found that I'm having troubles with dork.com, and I paid those pop-punkers $5 too! Grrr! Anyway, I made the interim top page the blog. It's only temporary until either dork.com works out there issues or I get another server. When that happens I'll have some lyrics for you from The War Inside My Brain, my first 4-song cdrep and The World After April, the upcoming 6-song cdrep.

Also, I wrote four new songs that I'll probably be recording at Watchmen in September. They're names are "L(arson)y", "Zu Zu's Pedals", "High School Globalization" and "The Flowers That Grow All Around My Hat."

http://www.the-prisoner-6.freeserve.co.uk/
http://www.thestoryinthesoil.com

http://www.911nationalnetwork.org/

This poem may possibly be made into a song. I don't know yet.

*Guilt*

Smoke rings rise from Isaiah's tomb
As I spiritually fish the shallow waters of Jordan
I am sorry
Heartbreak at Hyperion Bay
I'm sorry I'm so beautiful

I am the enigma and the stigmata
I am the son of sam - the shining light, the devil's passenger
And I break these promises like threadbare twine holding these relationships together

I've always been here
I can be so free
But I feel so helpless
Suddenly life doesn't look so good

The cavalry's been called and the stallions are galloping to Kennedy's camelot to save the day
Pigs don't sweat
And cows don't sing

The prodigal son begins his journey
Can you dance to this revolutionary beat?

The shoe fits the wrong foot
Where is Ishmael to go?

It's all over
It's all over
It's
all
over

Visited Visual Studies Workshop today and got these cool links:
www.adanon.org
www.disincorporated.org
www.annikab.com [she's a quite good singer/songwriter, dennis monroe played with her for a little]
www.galvinglassworks.com
www.premavastram.com

other local designers/artists:

www.mitchydigital.com
www.danbress.com

I'm home with a cold so here's a short poem I wrote last night...

*Our Own Baals*

Sometimes it can be so quiet
When I need it to be
Sometimes the war is only inside
And the fighting becomes cold//robotic//automatic
Sometimes the machines grind their monsterous gears with apocolyptic sound
And Gehenna cries over the lost children of Molech
Sometimes the dawn can break so subtly
I barely noticed it when the fire bled into my room from the rising sun
Sometimes the answer is so simple
But it takes a revolution to realize
Sometimes the dogma is unreal
So we sacrifice in a jingoistic bill of rites at the cold and tarnished altar to Baal

Nationalism is Fascism (Part 1)
Nationalism is Fascism (Part 2)

Announcements:

Attention Social Justice Community!
Join us for another FOOD NOT BOMBS cookbook promotion:

Saturday, June 15 from 1 to 3:30 p.m.
Abundance Cooperative Market, 62 Marshall St.
entertainment by Mike Strobel and Ray Baumler of the Golden Link Folk
Singing Society
free refreshments

If you already have a cookbook, come party with us anyway. This is a good
time to socialize with other activists, exchange ideas and strengthen our
solidarity.

47 Pages packed with recipes, photographs, essays quotes and far left
attitude and philosophy! Guaranteed to give Rush Limbaugh a heart attack.
An essential purchase for any Rochester activist determined to feed the
people, improve their community or build grassroots social activist
networks.

The FOOD NOT BOMBS Cookbook is only $10 and helps us get supplies for our
servings. We are serving over 100 people every week.

For more information, contact Elaine Russell at alienartist@hotmail.com.

This band, Flowers in the Attic sent me an e-mail asking if I could pass along a request for a show in July as they are touring and will be in the area. Dates and July 10 and 11. I won't be around, but you can e-mail them @ kennakool@aol.com. I guess comparisons are Converge and Combatwoundedveteran.

Also, if anyone wants to book me for a show before I leave for Montana to live with some Cowboys on July 5, e-mail me: boyxfallen@positive-youthfoundation.com

Well, Sunday I saw Arms Length's comeback show with Coheed and Cambria and the Paragraph on Cosmonaut Records.

I'm going away on July 5th to be a cowboy, so if anyone wants to book me for a show before then that would be great. I don't use the internet much these days, but if you e-mail me @ boyxfallen@positive-youthfoundation.com I'll definately get it and we can talk business.

My new hobby is herbs. I don't mean people you don't like. I mean the plants. I have a garden at my house and I use the herbs for all sorts of wonderful things.

I don't think I'm going to release the World After April for a while until I get the layout and everything perfect, so saying that it would come out last month was probably a little amitious.

My graduation party is on the 28 of this month. I'm so excited. Today was my last day of high school!

Well, recidivism is a good word.

My new article is up at YellowTimes.ORG
Resisting the Script: Q and A with Prisoner 8

So yesterday was the first of 3 events this summer at my house. We held an outdoor party for my father who has just completed his Master's degree. The robot and I played by our house and at the fire. Also, I backed my brother up on jawharp while he was playing banjo. The songs I played were Wilde Mountain Thyme (with the robot), L(arson)y, High School Globalization and Zu Zu's Pedals (with the robot). I'll probably play at my graduation party later this month. Also, I'm planning a coming home party for myself after I get back from the American west. I haven't asked them yet, but I hope to have Mike Daniels, Josh Gillikan and Little Techie play.

Quotes from Amerika's leader:

"The vast majority of our imports come from outside the country."
- George W. Bush

If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure."
- George W. Bush

"One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Governor, and that one
word is 'to be prepared'."
- Governor George W. Bush

"I have made good judgments in the past. I have made good judgments in the
future."
- Governor George W. Bush

"The future will be better tomorrow."
- Governor George W. Bush

"We're going to have the best educated American people in the world."
- Governor George W. Bush

"I stand by all the misstatements that I've made."
- Governor George W. Bush

"We have a firm commitment to NATO, we are a part of NATO. We have a firm
commitment to Europe. We are a part of Europe."
- Governor George W. Bush

"Public speaking is very easy."
- Governor George W. Bush

"A low voter turnout is an indication of fewer people going to the polls."
- Governor George W. Bush

"We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur."
- Governor George W. Bush

"For NASA, space is still a high priority."
- Governor George W. Bush

"Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children."
- Governor George W. Bush

"It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in
our air and water that are doing it."
- Governor George W. Bush

"It's time for the human race to enter the solar system."
- Governor George W. Bush

I should really update this page one of these days. Probably some time this summer.

The girl who was sitting next to me in the computer lab just left. She was pretty and smelled good.

I like female vocals like Azure Ray and Jejune. Those two are my new inspiration for living.

And now...
A NEW POEM!!! YAY!!

*My Dreams These Days*

Standing up late watching a candle burn to the end of the wick and then snuff out like it was punched in the chest
Sometimes I cry at how pathetic I am.

My dreams these days are happy and filled with fantasy - creativity
These days all I do is sit and wonder up at the moon's bright, shining, singing face
And I invent psalms and canticles to pry electronic eyes closed and positronic circuits blinking intermittenly

A song came to me in a dream and I tried to sing but only uttered a low hum filtered through a sustain/delay effect pedal and the system platform's standard reverb
I sand in a church and it must have been god singing back at me his/her universalist chorus

Sometimes when these gothic towers get too tight I jump! and then wake up right before I hit the hard ground at the bottom
These are all dreams
But I would like to marry an elf
She would bring me eternity and wishes and whims
We'd play badminton on a rope and lawn bowling and croquet
I think the new renaissance is coming

Isn't it about time we've declaired independance from something?
Corporate escapism perhaps?
Have you heard: it's a revolution
A renaissance
I am reborn, but not as a mortal
As a god
And I embrace divine existentialism

I breathe in and I breathe power
But I'm still alone
And I guess that's the hardest part

But sometimes when these corporate walls get too tight
I mentally jump!
And now I'm a revolutionist
And now I'm free from mental bondage

Go to this site and learn some stuff, but you might want to use a web-based CGI proxy first as the site is hosted by AOL and there is a disclaimer at the beginning that says...

Warning #1: Under the new police state -- uh, I mean
the new anti-terrorism laws -- accessing this site
automatically opens a file for you at FBI headquarters.
This warning, of course, comes too late. Sorry about
that.

so i wrote a new song called Zu Zu's Pedals. It's kinda based on the movie It's a Wonderful Life. I use the robot (keyboard/drum machine). I'm doing more electronic experimentation these days.

OK... so this weekend:
Friday; saw spiderman with wesley and kevin. out until approx midnight. bed around 1.
Saturday; out with pat and carl. was supposed to see againsttheodds (what happened dan?). ended up at analog shock seeing joe+n and then at cobbs hill. bought jejune cd - this afternoon's malady.
Sunday; lunch with matthews. hilarious. work until 9:15. home 9:30. watched red green and then chef!. bed approx 11:30.
Monday: star wars with josh, nick, audrial and irene. home approx 11:30. bed approx 12:30am.
Today: catching up on my homework and sleep. i'm so glad the year's almost over.

Comics:
WildStorm
Bone


_________________________________
Good luck Jeff

I think a government agency may be monitoring my internet access. From now on I'm being very careful.
http://security.tao.ca/

http://nosweatapparel.com/

Los Altos Hills, Calif. (AP) -- While conflicts between Jews and
Arabs rage halfway around the world, Jewish sixth graders made a
gesture of peace Friday.

The students presented a $1,300 check to the Antiochian Orthodox
Church of the Redeemer, which an arsonist burned last month. The
church is attended by many Arab-Americans, including
Palestinian-Americans.

When they discovered the fire was deliberately set, students in Anat
Harrel's sixth grade class at the nearby Mid-Peninsula Jewish
Community Day School decided it was time to act.

"Upon learning about the arson attack on the church, my sixth graders
became very concerned,'' explained Harrel. "They decided they needed
to do something to show their support for the rebuilding of the church.
They did not want to be bystanders and let hate go unanswered.''

The students planned a bake sale, and urged people in the community
to make donations.

The class presented the check to Reverend Samer Youssef and members
of the congregation Friday. They closed by singing a song with the
word peace both in Hebrew and Arabic.

Sweatshops in the US
Multinational Monitor

I'm going to this show saturday:
May 18th
at the Perkins Green Apts.
at RIT, #265A
starts at 4:00 p.m., $5
featuring:
Againsttheodds
Nobody Cares
Magneto's Intentions
The Awakening
Staple Gunther

Something by Rajesh Barnabas... or you.

* What if the mainstream?????????????? was extreme????????????*

What if everything you knew was just slightly off?

What if the Bushes were covered with poison IVY?

What if every laugh was just a scoff?

What if there was a ground lower than zero?

What if your President was really no hero?

What if the editor was controlling the print size and the boldface?

And what if he gave you the back pages cuz you isn't his race?

If it wasn't his taste, if it wasn't his color

would he put this here story in color?

What if you were just brainwashed like the rest? just like most..

and he buttered you up like toast, and burned you like a slow roast…

What if you thought you were thinking but you were just missing?

What if you were still in your nest? yet you thought you were at your best…

What if every word was a little misspelled?

But what if you were in a spell?

And what if this spelling bee really stung…

what if this false sophistication got your tongue...

and now your all hung out and rung…

washed your mind out with soap…sell you intellectual dope…

but they washed your mind at the wrong temp...

and now while you were thinking your mind was actually shrinking...

as they added more deter-agents...and now that soap is a rope...

tethered to the weathered words of the holy feather...

and your mind still can't find the right slope…

no you won't stray far from the pack…

no tangents, no scalenes, perhaps just maybe isosceles…

two sides the same…and you think that is right…

but A squared plus A squared does not equal see squared…

nothing adds up to your logistical charades…

nothing makes sense to you but your sixth, no

seventh, eight-hundred thousandth cents…

enough to buy a presidential library after you retire…

or perhaps a name of an airport…

Ironic that those high-queened heirplanes were flown from JFK…

Iconic that he's the one that might have saved our nation's soul…

Repercussions for assassinations still play out in their own hockey phucked up way…

so weight this military men while you plot to take another…

your bullets ricochet in the most nascent die-rections…and now your suit is blood soaked…

What if everything real was cloaked?

What if the host smiled and said, "here can I take your hoax?"

What if the guests asked for more than a coke?

What if everyone knew, would we then all choke?

What if the words you read were just all jokes?

And the comics were the real news?

What if this was our q? What if….what if?

What if dyslexia was a gift?

What if your President's raft was another man's rift?

What if they all finally caught the drift?

What if people could all at once shift?

What if peace was an automatic?

What if violence wasn't a habit?

What if the military wasn't rabid?

What if history wasn't bad adlibs?

With all that's gone wrong, is there anything that can right?

What if the Messiah is just messing with us?

What if the only true Americans are near extinction?

I wish time would stop for us to catch our breath?

To taste the bread,

to read in bed,

to clear our head,

to really hear what she said,

to be better red than dead,

came on, commas to comas,

when the mainstream has gone extreme,

and they demonize even more eyes…

and they despise with still more lies…

and now another Korankazi is on the rise..

and I can here the propellers buzzing…

as the jet took off from Hero-shame-a,

stopped in Sigh-gone, re-fueled in Beg-dad,

and just one or two more stops and …

and the war planes will be on their way here?

But have no fear, there is nothing you can do…

they don't show Kabul on cable,

yet they will broad cast your splintered thumb from here to kingdom come.

Don't worry your funeral will be covered in depth,

your coffin covered with the dirt of television…

no one will ever forget us!

We will be out own best friend, our own widow, say our own eulogy,

will say our own prayers, pray for our own, pray for our own, pray,

to the very last day,…God bless America, God bless America,

what if it was just God bless?



by you...



also...
http://www.organicconsumers.org/supermarket.cfm
and
http://heist.fabricoh.org/