Friday, August 13, 2010

Gritty City Notes, June 16, 2010

We, who are here on this precipice, this particular turning round the bend, are at the end of the lifespan of a culture, it heaving heavy sighs of its demise. This time that we call the beginning of a new millennium, the ancients called nearing the cataclysmic shift to something new and entirely different.

We are the pirates living on buses in warehouses in zombie towns. Here cracks flow like rivers down alleys and crack wheezes into lungs, eyelids permanently pitched open and that nervous twitch blows the cover of not-sleeping under boxes by the dumpster.

We are singing songs that we co-create in the darkest depths of manic-solo nighttime churnings. Piano-pounding fingers contemplate where rent will come from again this month.

We put ink in our skins to remind us of the muses we stumble onto, the stories that keep us honest, the images we burn onto the insides of our eyelids daily.