Don’t wanna be an assassin for half-assed sins. Don’t wanna ever claim I’m hate’s next of kin. Don’t wanna boast about toast if I’ve burned all its whoas. Don’t wanna be the dumped Humpty Dumpty that knows only woes. Don’t wanna be the caution tape wrapped around history’s crimes. Don’t wanna be the never mind that never offered no mind. Don’t wanna be the bomb whose aplomb is a big fat boom. Don’t wanna be the junk-bond singing a chump-change tune.
we must build new bells. Better, more beautiful bells. Bells resounding with a spectrum of human melodies—sorrow, sweetness, optimism, and healing. When this music fills other hearts, they become the new bellringers, the new hope bringers. The bigger and brighter our sounds, the less room we leave for emptiness to fill evil’s lungs. Hear our songs cut into the flesh of air. As if to let something out, as if to let something in.
Midnight’s dice roll the numbers 2-0-1-9. Time to forget about another year of snake eyes. It’s all about breaking the bank of love and life. No need for sad eyes to hitchhike or take an Uber to find their way to joy when it’s right there on the tip of our tongues, and woven into the breath of everything we say and do. So dare dreams to graffiti your heart’s walls. Rain down lightningstrikes of good intentions. As for last year’s lingering doubts and sorrows, lay them down across the land, let them bleed into the horizon light of a new day.
Outside my window, a streetlamp that is both halo and interrogation light. Sounds of distant sirens tattoo the once silent air with murmurs of emergency. When held over fire, the invisible ink of our hearts reveals its deepest secrets. Any of our bones that haven’t been picked clean by day’s cold suspicions get to dance beneath another jukebox moon. Sing a song to glitter you beyond graveyards. Whisper a prayer for those who left us too soon.
When we are tuned in to the instruments of the moment, it’s like life is playing a symphony just for us. When we are tuned out, nothingness resounds its hollow bell in our bones. We can travel west of west or east of east but still end up right back where we started. So many of life’s journey’s feel like echoes of previous life journeys. Only now we’re a little older and hopefully, hear these experiences with more attuned ears.
Come evening, the border between the living and dead grows smaller. Tombstones lay their ears back as the clatter of shoes on shadowy streets sounds its cold bone parade. Mother gun growls, her merciless womb packed with bullets. Sirens, the soundtrack of ill-fated hearts. Above us, the keeper of night secures heaven in its chain of stars. The ageless moon stands sentry. Where mingle the living and dead a redeeming light must reach.
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is a chronically congested, peace-detesting, bed-hogging, bomb-headed hooligan. An alphabet-bashing, net neutrality-trashing, Bruce Lee of lethal lethargy that can’t even kung fu his way out of a wet paper bag. Happy holidays anyway, one and all!
Wizard a whammy of wonder onto the world. Make the poor fortunate, those on their deathbeds get up and dance and remember everything again. Wizard a whammy of wonder onto the world. Be earnest in your earthiness. Sing oceans, mountains, deserts, forests. If you’re off key, all the better. Nature adores chaos. Wizard a whammy of wonder onto the world. Ensure that all crazed ids and egos attend psychic open mics to work out all their demons before entering society. Turn serial killers into cereal thrillers that get off on making us breakfast each morning. Unvirus society’s vitriol so we’re left with only a petrol that fuels hearts to love.
If by President Trump, you mean a lying and cheating, philandering and embezzling, race-baiting, tax-evading, felonious and erroneous, treasonous and poisonous, Mexican-bashing, Obama-trashing, soul-bankrupt individual, then yes, I guess you could say President Trump.
To have our good deeds outnumber our failings. To maintain balance during human tsunamis. To encourage diplomacy instead of daggers. To teach halo’ed speech instead of hate speech. To scrape the pulsing blue ache from disillusioned souls. To remove the graveyard from sorrow’s heart. To supply the rank and file with weapons of wisdom. To make the human race a fair one to the finish line. To be DIY instead of DOA. To slow the receding of time’s hairline, or at least figure out new ways to style it.