A toy train and dinosaur loving boy

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He was A train and dinosaur loving boy, set his boyhood sights on engineer, fighting giant reptiles or the future mean machines of evil men.

A lost childhood dream, he finally makes his peace,

Looking out for revenge, a release,

He doesnt know now who he seeks, but he makes his stand, 

dies with a gun blazin in his hand,

Long before he becomes a man.

Whatever vanity he had inside tHen,

Has since evaporated from his soul, and left him, 

if not a better man to be, at least a lessor one, i see

And that is good in a funny sort of way.

Love. that love that rises from a violent free world, a love whereby, his socialized tendencies must be thwarted, for they contain all the fragments of his own oppression, and his repression of them is a mirror.

The revolution within a revolution within a revolution that starts right here, in all our hearts, moves like a dream, a collective dream, 

Its appropriate but probably an odd coincidence that black history month includes valentines day, a sort of incongruity, beautiful contradiction where one, the descendants of slaves learn how to love their own humanity in the face of hate and women in general learn how to define love in their own terms, and guess what, everyone is better for it.

Guerrilla art.

Take up your art, take up your humanity and make it everywhere. 

City of joy.

Heroes all over the world who rise to the occasion and provide a realistic pathway for what the people have held inside themselves, desired but how is it that thousands of years ago humans worshipped and believed in gods who were versions of men and women, animal and human, and today we are left with believing in the power of ordinary men who are as intransigent as any god because they have money, ownership, and the only super power of invisibility.

Is it all a matter of the emperor wears clothes because he doesnt bare his power to the masses. 

Somebody needs to throw back the curtain.



Sent from my iPad

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