The Revolution will not be televised



sure, yeah
I know the revolution will not be televised

It will not be witnessed either

Infact
It's happening right now as we speak
even as you read
Inside your heart
and inside my mind

I have no doubt
There will be no large uproar
with mob chantings

There will be no hyms of praise
Nor records reflecting
how the event was carried out

There will be no heroes
There will be no saviors
There will be no hope

The transition will be filled with silence


while your sleeping


It will happen SO fast
that before you realize
what is actually
quite literally
taking place at that moment
you will already have been

changed


The Revolution cannot be televised


It cannot be seen
It cannot be heard
It cannot be smelled
It cannot be corrupted
It cannot be taken for granted either

It cannot be the "end all, be all"

It cannot save you from
Coffee Houses
Cafes
or traffic jams

a 9-5 job at the mini-mart
a job that requires you to file papers
and call phone numbers with extensions

The revolution cannot save you from
Water Cooler conversations
nor getting up at 6 or 7am
on sanday mornings
to calm a screaming
infant


The revolution will make itself known
like a small breeze


quiet whistpers brushing against your cheek...


and it will take place on the eve of a morning
as you lay sleeping still

The effect will cause you to getup out of your bed
and to use the bathroom

The revolution will have no witnesses
will have no heroes
will have no records
nor documentaries
with individuals speaking on
how they played out their parts

For some
the effect will be SO strong
that you might even get something to drink
or a light snack
before retiring back to your room


It's quite possible that the revolution
has already happened to you


if it has
There are counter measures to take

1. Continue to live out your days
as you normally would
As if you'd never seen this message
As if it happened months ago
But I assure you
it hasn't taken effect yet

The revolution will have no witnesses

Pinnochio's theme

I am your writer
the know
your current generation
your generation Z
I am also your past
and will be your future
baby fan boy of raves and mad men on fire
your novella band-aid
Inside me is a human heart made of glass (break in case of emergency)

guilty of wearing pink
amongst
malevolent black dynasties
and
correcting the grammar
of ghetto scholars

me?
I was born secular
confined to a woman's head
but I came out through her legs

me?
They confined my youth through a woman's eye
but it came out through her fists
where I fed on insight
and grew wings

I am your midnight youth with endless city dreams
and you own the sky
the lost cities of my dawn
the ones I can't get back

But your electric laws
hold a loose translation on my being
and my crooked
and broken
and bleeding existence
is falling through the cracks
where it meets inspiration on time
but shows up late
for everything else

I am your - everything else
your amber ego
your - 25 year old
art cliche
placing
blunts beside
rusted coffee cups
of morality

spending my midnights starving
from books on hindsight
that question Socrates
from street corners?

you crazy dreamers
you beautiful dreamers
Did you know there's also a beautiful and long fraud in nature
with so many punch lines running through it
that it all becomes so funny

And though I'm sick
my mind is a muse
a gold stadium full of guns and girls
just a few seats from the front row
just a metric sick muse fantasy
just another one

Nite Bites

I've been having trouble lately
controlling changes
before those
i barely know

the change hurts
and when i'm fully transformed
i'm swallowed
in a sea of snow

I wake up.
to crumbs of pain
not shallow bruised
but burnt

And though
i sew up the wounds
they still
continue
to hurt

i scratch and itch
until they tear
It's only
when i change
they reappear

And
I destroy anyone
even a friend
when the moon fills up
again.

I hate this
how nobody knows my pain

Because their
the only ones
who I allow
to see this change

until i destroy them
when the moon fills up
again.

Bonus Stage

Lonely lonely
When I was young
secrete heart inside a gun

rumbling wire
drifting alone

amid
blue smoke
skull
and cross-bone

alchemy parts
along a path
to later cast
a spell of flame

that cuts-off Icarus
and hits Apollo

a new-found placement
though dark and errant
shines a light
on path to fame

18% to eat you

old fantasies
of times when I ate leaves
and was told
to put my hands under my ass
to keep me from touching
what I was really
sitting on

Remember when I said I'd always be a kid?
I don't
but I want to say
I thought that with you

We were a great team
me and you

banana-split gorgeous!

fighting off beggars
and liars
and cheats
and dirty ex-husbands
and saints



Galactic memories
of times when i tried
to eat the leaves
that fell from your bark
tried to taste their journey
over vicious terrain
and their climb
over some of the highest
mountains





recurring dreams
of times when we ate leaves
in the park
beneath the pumpkin moon

And that is how the moon is I thought
A dangling carrot above me
above all of us
down here

But as I was dreaming
I realized you'd already
left
and I was standing alone
eating leaves

tasting their pain
from prodding blunt objects
and being yelled at
like some kind of obscenity
or curse



festering memories
of insanity
When I had to
dry heave thoughts
to create explanations
for exhausting games of tag
and cracked pictures in my head
framed by merry-go-round chases
of parting gifts
from window dreams



knock, knock
whose there?
Waiting...




I held your hand
considerably shorter than you

but we worked...

you trained me well

now what to say?

I've gone off and become something of a metaphor
in your life

no longer bartering jellybeans
for lunchbox specials
or watching
from the wing of foreign walls
as your frowning
gargoyle eyes
release and open
manually

as you speak
fantastically
on staircases
and tight ropes
and think like Fraud
in some grand
light speed manner

I was a
Grissom hero
with a screen door
telling my baby sister to go to sleep

Remember?

When I could
touch the bottom of false beauty so easily
and then quickly
swim to the top

create maps to find that liquid sky
where silent harks of joy
are born to nice guys
and let my Macho confessions punch
a forbidden future
twisted vision
be my demise




I'm beyond competitive backpack expositions now
and
brown bagging lunch
or
Needing assistance to
persecute the philosophy of others

I've run my boyscout muscle ship
into this weird rotten hell

i've got your dance down

and i see myself sometimes
I'll past myself on the train
seated by the window
writing
Eyes glossy
as if
dazed and confused
as if
THINKING about the world around
but unable to see it

I wonder what you're thinking

as young as he is
with as much as he hasn't seen
he writes a great deal
leaning against that universal high
secure in saying nothing but
suspicious or unattended words

I wish him a safe voyage