good one

Own it Reg. Feed on it if you must. Like the vampires that consume us …but their time will come today. They feel it too: can you smell it? They say no vampire goes out the same way but they ALL go out badly & LOUD & not without a terrible fight. So feed on the ire if you must, Reg. It’s not my fuel anymore—although it’s there to remind me…that the Earth is keeping score. So feed on it if you must. But own it if you’re gonna throw it Reg. Be it a bullet or a hatchet or a shillelagh or a scythe. There’s a place for all our ire . . . & it pools blood & lives. Believe me I will fight you if you need to dish a blow, but as far as I’m concerned I won’t be deafened anymore. The din has blocked my hearing for a lifetime maybe more but I’m gonna hear the screams now ‘cause I trust that it’s for sure: That nothing’s gonna ever fucking change about this world . . . if the caretakers of Love & Vanguard swim outside the curl. The tide was nearly turning come the end o the Twentieth Century ‘till the sons of Mordor planted their most hooved hypocrisy and they rode that back for 8 years like a psycho cavalry with the white’s brigade all safe behind the sons of you & me. Then when we turned the Century into our present "free" …the white’s brigade went shopping for house warming gifts: impunity. & now were here at the shaky start o the Age of Aquarius . . . but all we KNOW is just how pissed we got from all o this. ((We’re fucked, so what, we’ve seen the lot, still we’re not rust or mold.)) But it’s just because the wolves still have the upper hands all told . . . because they own the buttons that indentured servants bold …indebted and incented by work ethic and th’ fear that they may miss a payment and be put outside this year. But you and I, were not like that, we’ve seen the curtains fall, we just got up and walked behind and with our eyes we saw, that all of it was just a very well-staged Awful Rule and the cast was there and they mussed our hair ‘n raved on about the fools. But we learned it then and we know it now that: we’re people and we’re tools. & at the birth of every Sun we start again anew. Even though it feels like we’re a portrait of A Stain ..we still could make the best of this: our amber waves of grain. So go on kick some sand up from your shoed foot into my face. I’ll still reach out & hug you Vanguard of the human race. Not the affluent who’ve denounced the noble side of life . . but those of you who still remember late night firesides . . . when guitars rang & drums were true and heart & gut preside. ((Denied…but tried...& left smoldering in the taciturn of dusk & dark.)) & no sand kicked in any face could ever leave a mark ..wherein the sound of People & Humanities embark.

Go ahead Reg. Fuck with me. I love you too, man.