The New

As days go, this was nothing special. I loved. I lost. I was reborn as a Roman emperor. And all this before I made myself a bacon, egg , and cheese. Like the one , Sophia made on 125th. This continued to be the way I attacked my consci0us awareness. Within me I knew the secret to immortality is to blast the naysayers with wisdom. Whether I lived in an old barn, or was born in a manger, I would continue to shine. All that doubting shit. That was not me. Please, at best, it was like ducks in a row. Knock them down and they will think twice the next time. Me? I would have thought better ahead. Think once act twice as fast. If I ever had a weakness I would not have one.

Looking around, born to die, I decided to die to be born. The old hip hop rebellion cry, " Word is born.", lifted me thru places I never thought I could get out of. I see my parents. Born in an old barn as well, they conceded their parental obligations though only to the rafters. They thought the higher level of the building would produce a higher level of thought. Were they right? I never thought them wrong. I just never felt like reliving their mistakes. The close mindedness . How dare they conceive me when I was trying to be nowhere and nobody! The only universal attempt at being everything while maintaining the whole no-thing persona. I wish them well. I will file for divorce from their ideals and their paradigms as soon as find a pen or become an ideal.

Walking, strolling, or dancing in the rain whatever I chose to with my body. As it is mine. One of the only things this circle grants me without hindrance. I deserve it to be so. My body deserves it to be so. Yet it is not so. So many rules so many conditions. When I jump through hoops another hoop appears on the bottom and the top. I laugh. Because I refuse not to. I dug in a long time ago. My feet rough as they are, the callouses have sewn in their joy. Their determination. Fuck the old barn mentality and the apparition of a fence that tries to surround me. I see. I saw. I conquer. My parents look upon me with such disdain. As I am a brazen warrior. Hindered by nothing. Oh wait. I am born. Dammnit got me again.

The scene shifts. The old barn becomes last years condominium. I become a third wheel to a philosophy that has a gimp leg and no longer knows how two step. Looking towards the future, I see my rivals gather in clusters in nail salons and barber shops. I never felt the need for chit chat or idle laughter. Almost like a teenage giggle. Never useful and sometimes it hurts. These people. Pedestrians. Figures. cause they place themselves on a such a pedestal. They look down they see only the truth. Truth represented by the chosen few. Me and my shadow. And maybe you as a figment of my imagination. As I am of yours. Together affirming the apparitions of society. We belong. In the distance a lone naysayers suggests.

Now time has past. The old fades away. The new is rewritten piece by piece, focus by focus. I seek answers for the only question there is . Why? I have an answer for I am an answer. Certain guidelines I still would love to rewrite. Starting with my birth certificate and the inherent signatures fore with. The pen guides my fiction like the wind studies the fairy dust. I love the chance of me being here, yet can not escape the problem of choice. Generational gaps, curses, and programming although parental guidance is suggested yet not encouraged. Live once, act twice as fast. Just watch the entry the old barn stands in the way.