$20 bills and empty liquor bottles lay calmly on the coffe table next to cigarette butts and glass pipes. A syringe is surely falling to pierce the toe of a guru. Happy faces reveal the bags under the eyes of ghosts. A smile is a curse and I know you know what it is. And it seems like yr always backwards in the mirror. And it seems like yr always backwards. But does a heart pump blood if the aortic chambers are on opposite sides? And do we really know the white devil yet? Beneath the coffee stains and chicken bones the coffin of black nationalism is rolling around. Can we recover? Or are we a doomed race? I never knew killing whitey would be so painful. I wrote a poem last night about friends and how I have none. That's a larf. A continuation of the story of the DC trip: Went through Conesus Lake and Livonia rocking old timey music. Reminded me of Christina and that party. There is an awkward silence in the car. It and the wind and maybe the MAOI's make my ears ring. Stopped at a truck stop near Bath. Rednecks started asking us what our T-shirts say. *****'s had an upside down Amerikan flag and "Fuck right off" on his. The protest was fun. We burned some flags. We had to go party in the car afterwards because our host didn't want drugs or alcohol in the house. I had a great time in the DC slums. We got some herb from a crackhead and hung out in a revolutionary resturaunt and had conversations with the black nationalists who own it. One of them said, "If you see a rich person, shoot them." I wondered if I should shoot all the condo dweller in the neighborhood in which we were staying. The pro-choice march on the last day was kind of boring. We got lost looking for the unpermitted radical-bloc march. We eventually found it by following the bike-pigs. Somehow we got separated from the radical-bloc and had to hang with the more "mature" (older) liberal crowd at the Planned Parenthood rally. It was very boring. We ended up leaving early. I got some hugs from old friends I haven't seen in a while. On the subway I talked to this girl sitting next to me about politics. I think she was flirting with me. She touched me at one point. I like outkast. He doesn't.
*Sisters of Socialization*
Look at me, I'm not that bad
I got thrown in with the wrong crowd
I am a pirate and outlaw
Druggie shoplifting anarchist
And I am a criminal, but not a revolutionary
You drink to me
I'll toke twice for you
Chained by the oppression of distant geography
So much depends on location
And the space-time continum
So take these, my drinks and my tokes, to escape time-space
Because we all want something different
But none of us know how to get it
So some of us break windows, some of us vote, some of us go to marches and some of us retreat into the mental embrace of drugs
Recently I've found myself in the latter category
But when the chemical haze wears off capitalism and my lonliness still exists
And although I'm often distracted from it by bright shining moments
My misery is always there
And all I have to show is a half-smoked cigarette, a blunt roach and $1.53 until next week
No hickies or used condoms
And I didn't save the world
And the revolution didn't come
Sometimes I think it never will
*The Low Life*
I was a lost soul swimming in a vast aquarium of existence
The blood and the veins
Fill the holes
To rid me of the pain of living
Neither alive nor dead
Just comfortably numb
To dull the pain of living
And the realization that I am not a revolutionary
Only a failed visionary
One of the last of the dreamers
A generations crippled by junkieism and neurosis
The last personal adventure
Clip and paste
The words on the page aren't even my own
How's this for originality
One thousand skulls picking god's nose
It's easy to paint a picture with black
When everything's a copy of a copy of a copy
Sweat that shite out of yr system
Broken bones
It's just my fucking jones
Nothing's going to bring me back
Tomorrow I pack my bags for the moon
This earth has only disappointed me
Wars, class, power, the meaninglessness of change
The meaninglessness of protest
The meaninglessness of originality
The shattered dream of a revolution
And the retreat back into the deepest corners of the mind
Searching the soul for a fraction of the spark that once fueled my own personal Jihad
Everything seems to me coming full circle
And the pressure on my temples is symbolic of the shackles on my liberty
Will I one day snap?
Will weapons be involved?
Am I just confused?
I am lonely
Just let me fuck you, anyone will do
I am tired
Let me rest
It's been a long journey
And there's still so far to go
"On April 25th, Anarchists not only failed feminism, but anarchism itself. Instead of an anarchist presence which aligned itself with feminism and directly supported the expression of feminist anger, we showed ourselves as opportunists and holier than thou radicals with a lack of respect for the feminist majority and the important work they do. Our actions were more antagonistic to the goals of the day and our feminist allies rather than supportive." <- This was me, I am an antagonist, not a protagonist.