The slow release of tension made us giddy

What harm did you do on your knees

Lies should be very simple, like the truth

I always wake up

At 3AM        smiling broadly   and looking generally symbolic     Sun Ra rants about harmony and

      John Cage whispers   about dreams        each   with   his theory   and the burden of genius   :

liberation        can   lean good in the transition from ideas   to beliefs   I   always wake  up   clutching my grandfather's id card from the   Freedman's Bureau   just to be   sure    our capacity   for hallucinatory   relief    is still   in tact       and    Duke Ellington is still a Free Mason    and anguish still acts  surprised    


Funny how things can get away from you     for years  you can't remember anything     and then   one day   it all comes back

"Your father was a slave?" he asked.

What kinda foolish question is that, 'course he was.

To take those encores

As if the cult of self presupposes either optimism or a dilettante's attitude toward life

With the righteous showmanship of a depressed addict       As if your   isolation is staged   and emphatic    cave   for one   alliance         in a faded California      

Do these niggas nurse sadness for soul

Or are they     ecstatic   and you ain't  been told


Next, we all warmed ourselves in the evil of opinions   and the fast ones got emotional   like  exact histories   of the lie    that reliable    lie    told your hands to rise  like this was   the other   routine


I saw Biggie Smalls strolling through the other routine     smile  on his   meaning       said he just missed   holding   the   pen   sometimes     and can't remember anything       clumsy   like war  and bookeeping   as if   the  slated   distance    means a future  

Niggas with wings or a luminous continuity

Everybody Evil on Monday Morning

Sun Ra Research October 31, 1988 from peter hinds on Vimeo.

They Shook that in Los Angeles

Put the good brand on television      with   a live studio audience      watching him repeat    the same rehearsed affection    to   sell    beer and candy          And right in the middle of my laugh I felt the crazy   urge to cry  

Papa                      look at my shadow   

Mama is no hardworking         martyr by the stove 

Vous etes des faux negres

Tough guys with heart

Rockefeller Consciousness       a smart sense    of      ruin       gathering in the uprising   as the shanks     rattle   spirits    for thinking    beasts     for thinking   beats   feeling    on nights   like    these            that token phonograph Lester Young savoy solo   wisdom   become   the drum   in my mission     what's   my mission    again   oh yeah,   Rockefeller Consciousness      a practical backlash just sheepish    enough   to make       us   numb     and    famous     all the headlines    became    tame   hellhound   on   his    trail      blame    the    man    who     knows his   own   mind    for      telling   you      this news   is minor       this tiny    inevitable   killing spree   of the men   in uniform      is     the final     hour's     fault     all octoroon   alternate   daylight    injustice   has  fallen    on    us        in   search   of    a pitiful rage     the   end of ideas       but our bodies   mimic concern    and the fates can feel   it    soft   and detached        tears    of    habit    and   then what

You're gonna make us late for church

Really Food level 11

I miss those ghosts

The absolute justice of choices         /    resurrection          the nestled      voice a tunnel   poison  in    the mule's town                                     a dramatic indication of what can be done

They said we'll never leave
They said this is our territory            

           As we sit in our own besieged ghetto         their prayer grows trivial   sterile    real      nice and quiet   and     solemn in the golden  heights  of our  bald alphabet      where     the    wall     reflects    the    image    of   the    wall     all      take a look around   ,  take  a   look around    

Charlie don't be stuck there

In that contradiction

Yeah, so?

Even when the shine bursts  of emptiness and everybody wanna be a nigga but nobody wanna be a nigga repeated until   the demented    senses of being  belong   to   neither   and an advanced yearning sneers with hurried shells  and the   blood  dwells    on  the first wanna   and   like a mellow   winnow    in    the non-song   element  of brass singing   act    single    act single    this is an ep   and exactly   as   brief    as exact      as     folded   fare     but we all survive     in flying   telling        You can't go blind to the trembling reminder that the outsider is eligible for health care and dime pieces (the finest hoes)       just like the button down    soul    in  the   town's   way of city     move  

    get out the way     won't      you      shake the   promise   free of rhythm   and   it just becomes   

some   arid   land -  like sumerian     tablet     answer    to   respecting   the outsider's    fear of     watermelon   as   a love of       watermelon            Nature's  meat      and    the outsider    can fuck just like a filmstar    after   a couple    of seeded     hours      this      side  of   being    born 

Hey, I saw you

The outsider is drugged and brought inside

It's the creator who's running  Jesus nigga, Zeus, same man, and how Spartacus get in here brutal in his love theme mood to move me into my otherworldly presence when you have so much fun with yourself I just want to smother you with absence, that's one variation of the false casual I can satisfy my tribe so loyal they had to bribe us into freedom and we still say tomorrow every time the news gets nearer to the heart like shatter martyr comeback babble, daddy is a man who leaves, father is a man you smother with absence, lover is a bandit unusual kind of both, yeah, I saw him, he made the land into ideas and never apologizes. The nervous thing is we don't even know what we know. My shy violence is in love with tomorrow and the outsider accidentally inside like a politician he swallowed his words with muses and guns and called the slick angle freedom some more until it hung there like a reason come inside

We must have gone to the movies