I make things. Some are serious. Some are funny. Most are curious. If you’re interested in history, community, humor, stories, music, and the odd corners of human nature, I think you’ll find something here that’s worth your time.
Every word I've heard shows the liars. I see the torches before the fires. Ice forms on the windows before the freeze, Your hateful words drift over on the breeze. Please excuse my malaise, my bleakness, But unlike you, I admit my weakness. I don’t lock step behind the youth, But I’m not saying I always know the truth. It comes in late, like the life of the party, And I get blindsided as my faith departs me. I'm not saying I’m a victim or a martyr, Not saying my life is greater or harder, But these collisions, they come with a tax. The crowd gives your voice the axe, Without a single question ever being asked. Here’s what I’ve gathered from my social exile: I been standing out here in the rain a while. Meaning doesn’t come because someone subbed it. Hate ain’t personified in the ones who snubbed it. If you launch a retail sale on your every thought, You discover that a soul can be cheaply bought. But if you think you’ve bought me, think again. The whole of me doesn’t fit inside your pen. This is not a soul that’s up for indictment. I refuse to cower at your vicious incitement. It's a real sad state of affairs, When we pretend that we care, For these hearts that are aching, For these souls that are shaking, But minds ain’t yours for the taking. Focus a little closer on your words, sweetheart. Spend less time on yourself and more on the art. Stop spewing your weak-sauce philosophy. Stop selling every single word monstrosity. Your epic Godzilla philosophical gobbledygook, Well, it don’t make a very interesting hook. We can all write about existential shame, Point the finger, find someone to blame, But correction and deception, they ain’t the same. To tell you who you are ain’t never been my place, So keep your opinions in your sacred space. Inside your self-serving capitalist endeavor, Because honey, you ain’t a third as clever. My world doesn’t need your words, as you insist, But you ain’t got control of His pulpit. No, honey, I ain’t bona fide board certified, But I can call you out, so stand petrified. You think your words are unassailable. You think attention is infinitely available. But look here, I’m turning this page, Escaping the bondage of your little cage. It's a real sad state of affairs, When we pretend that we care, For these hearts that are aching, For these souls that are shaking, But minds ain’t yours for the taking. I don't belong to you, and no one should. When the heck is enslavement ever good? Who are you to own and possess? Who are you to sell fear and distress? Ever considered you might be wrong? Ever written "I don't know" into a song? Here’s the thing about your certitude: It don’t contain an ounce of turpitude. Flash paper says you went to university, But that don’t mean you got certainty, Because wisdom comes hard-earned, From every fall and scrape and burn. It's a real sad state of affairs, When we pretend that we care, For these hearts that are aching, For these souls that are shaking, But minds ain’t yours for the taking. So here I come to bang the gong, Show you something might be wrong, Not with your state of selfish being, With the perceptions you might be feeding, With the damage you deny ever seeing. Don't tell me to shut my mouth. I'm not a servant of your house. I'm just a man trying to survive, To push back hard against your lies. It's a real sad state of affairs, When we pretend that we care, For these hearts that are aching, For these souls that are shaking, But minds ain’t yours for the taking. Yeah, tell me God hates me, and that I should die. But before I do, I’m gonna reverse that critical eye. Look upon yourselves, you many vagrant souls, And see how you’ve been bought and sold.
