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.]