This world has no place for genius. Artistry, love, beauty, creativity is warpedand mangled like raw steel into financial gain and social profiteering.
Whathappened to the traveling gypsies, the gleemen and the circus? A generation oflost souls is found in this mess of suits and ties and pumps marching head onlike lemmings over the cliff to an end that is all too predictable. Education,Job, Marriage, Children, Retirement in Florida, and Death in a Mahogany Coffin 6Feet Under with the Other Poor Souls trapped there with you. No, no, no. No sir,thats not me. Me and Jimire going up somewhere else, somewhere that thefairy tales come true and dreams are waking memories.Order now
Nah, I dont want autopia, thats an illusion, man. I want magic. Thethird-star-on-the-right-andstraight-on-until-morning *censored* that yourmother packed into your head at night to shut you up and make you sleep. Youdidnt know it then but its only when you do sleep that you ever find thisplace.
A few pockets of leftover magic from a time past and present in aparallel future all hidden in deep glorious caves of wonder guarded by flamingred swords and fake walls and Mr. SandMans sleepy, dusty, night beams. Creativity is just memories of a time, a place, a generation that wasnt lostin the briar patch of reality, a muck of modernity that we find ourselves innow. I guess Im just waiting for that next life to take me back, pull me freeof this tar pit hell hole where a smile is a sneer and a friend is a foe. I pitythose who dont realize the beauty of a soul smile, a child in her own world.
In the sand box: they are they only ones who know how to get back to that place,but no one believes them. Even I have trouble now. I get glimpses into the lifeI want to lead because its right but a craving deep inside tells me thattheres more and Im just not looking hard enough, taping the wrong vein;startling myself awake from the wrong dream. I want to break out.
I feel likeIm just sitting out on life, just watching the silly people go by, on theirsilly missions. But I cant tell if Im just being lazy and waiting forsomething to happen or if Im dreaming a nightmare-ish existence in a Hellcalled Earth and when I do finally wake up again Ill be back where I belong. “Click you heels three times, Dorothy and say, Theres no place likehome, cause theres no place like home, cause theres no place likehome. ” Ill meet you there, I guess, cause Im not sure what time mytrains coming in.
And maybe, just maybe my place is real; but maybe its onethats just a little bit higher than your own.