x-x-x-x-x. Renegade Geeks. Mutiny Zoo. Zef Noi$e in Philly.

TwentySeven/January/Five

Heard some wild stories about Mom leaving Dad, taking me with her and him coming to get her at the train station or something. One time she didn’t speak to him for a week. Another funny-ass story about her sister leaving her husband and going back home. Her Dad was like, “No girl. You married him. That’s where you live now. Go home.” That’s fraternity.

We all called him Pa. Remember him lying in bed in the same sister’s house with lung cancer, six months after Nana died. A kid, I laughed when Mom told me she’d died. ‘Nother story. Sent upstairs to see him in that bed. He immediately started crying. Didn’t have the wisdom to ask, “Why are you crying, Pa?” Just felt awkward. Later wondered if he could see his oldest daughter’s oldest son turning into an evil, selfish, drug-and-sex-obsessed teenager. Twelve can be a hard year.

Great Martin Luther King Day concert with lots of classic folk, gospel and union songs. Thanks to the musicians and all volunteers. Mom works herself to the brittle bone.

Wild train rides to New Orleans and back to Pensacola. Amtrak. Both trains at least four hours late and by the end of the New York to New Orleans ride the only bathroom working had no lock on the door. Think this kid bugged out seein’ a green-haired iller squatting on the toilet when walked in. Get used to that shit in this biz: “Ah. Shitting in THIS bathroom again.”

Yo!; Y’all need to listen to the new release from Mutiny Zoo. Shit is off tha hook. Zef Noi$e and Kill Audio. Spiritual funk from the dark side. “Brick City Nightmare”, what?!?

But you won’t buy that. You’ll do what everyone else does and buy what someone else is buying, ‘cause your money is precious and scarce, and you’re tired of sucky, hard to listen to music and scared to explore. You want it easy. Don’t want to work.

We understand.

Whao. Whao, Mike iLL. Slow down. These readers. They’re the good, strong warriors who are out there, out here on the streets. Digging through cyberspace to find these words. These subterranean thoughts. They need and feed on the poetry of corpses. Revolutionaries who’ve been dead from the future for years and exist only in shadows. The shit. Manure who feed the seeds that feed the weeds that grow the flowers that inspires through corporate barbed-wires.

These are the people who know that one can NEVER, “never have to work again”, no matter what the wealth. Cause to serve is to bliss and to sleep is to run. Work is love made visible. Stop working, start dying. Just to deeply breathe be hard as cement. Doing nothing the hardest.

Y’all are the people worth visiting Earth to see, again. Nice to see you. Please keep makin’ it worth the trip. Keep workin’ hard. Works if you work it. Remember to ask, “Why are you crying?”

Thank you. Thank you so much. Mike iLL

27/01/2005