A Vision Against Violence Part III

Let us remember that nothing is surreal. And then remembering becomes akin to imagining and more honest as that. The warlike crackle of helicopters and the importance of green in the desert and way too casual for itself. And nothingness is too real for sure, to be honest. But I fell for it. I fell to my knees and wept for nothingness, smack in the center of the project jungle gym. It's true that a lot of so-called rappers smoke fat blunts and wear green in the desert and weeping and smackdown in the projects and way too casual for themselves and that it feels very good to be camouflaged like that in the purgatory between love and money. Fetish object, fetish object/ come see about me. It feels very real like when a flame wanders up your spine and doesn't leave a mark. I’m blind, dammit. About the captivity I ran in neither direction. I pretended to be angry at first but I wasn’t angry at all. It feels very normal like the shadow the bamboo petals make on the ceiling, a brokedown crown leaking into the sea and drowning. Or is it the sea itself that's drowning. Its safety turning up on the shore in the pact between drums and sugar-- for the new world is full of rhythm and sweetness and we are some of it, aren’t we? Any of it? As soon as you stop loving your enemy he dies of natural causes as well as justice. But there's no such thing. And aren’t we in love? Aren’t we alive again?