The First Father’s Day

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**I posted this on my social media on Father’s Day

When Keith and I started talking about getting married, I was really not interested in having children, and since he already had two children from his first marriage, I asked him “are you ok if your two children are all the children you have?” He told me “yes, but I think you will change your mind someday!” I told him, “I don’t think so,” and we go on with our lives.

But then, my beloved grandfather dies, I realized what it meant to have a family of my own, and having watched Keith with his own children, I knew that he would be a great father to our child. I told Keith, “ok I hate to admit it, but you were right.” “I think I want to have a child, just one, and also I want to go back to work after six weeks, are you ok with that?” of course he was thrilled!!

On February 26, 1990, our beautiful daughter Megan was born. As Megan got sick, it became apparent that I would not be able to go back to work. Keith was working at the Marriott Corp. at Paine-Webber, and he took on two more jobs to make up for our lost income! When he would come home, the first thing he would do – if it wasn’t too late – is tell me to get some rest, I will take care of our little girl! He was the calming force in our small family, and Meg loved when her daddy held her in his massive arms against his chest. On the day she died, he whispered in her ear; you can let go, my little little (his favorite thing he called her), we love you, you do not need to hold on for us!

One year later we gave birth to our daughter Kellie; it was challenging being pregnant and mourning at the same time! Keith, was my strength, my rock, and my navigator through our new norm. He took on all the stress of everything so that my pregnancy would be as “stressless” as possible. When are beautiful daughter Kellie was born, completely healthy, we started to build a life again.

In January 1994, Keith’s son Justin had an opportunity to live with us, and just like that, we became a family of four! It was so amazing watching Keith with his children. Cultivating their strengths, teasing them with pranks, reading stories to Kellie and telling Justin stories of his adventures! Both kids were able to go to him and tell him anything. He was not judgy, but he was not a pushover either. If the kids were in trouble, my first reaction was to freak out and ground them, but he would have his calm Keith way, and the kids would usually feel far worse because they disappointed their dad!

As the kids had become adults, Keith, became their best friend! He loved the man that Justin had become! He was proud of the husband and father that he was, and I was so happy that Justin had the most amazing example of what it means to be a husband and father. My heart goes out to Kellie, who has yet to start her life, Keith will never see her career choice, who she decides to spend the rest of her life with, or ever meet her children. I am confident though that with the special relationship she had with her dad, he will be with her throughout every decision she makes through her life, and he will help her to make the right choices.

This Father’s Day will be the most difficult for all of us, but as we think of the kind of father he was, all we can do is smile throughout the day! HAPPY FATHER’S DAY! #keithandmegan💜💜 #fathersday

Madmen Have No Remorse

 

From high in the treetop
The vulture viewed the lambs
Innocent thought the predator
Who but I am genuinely innocent
I hold all the power in my arms
I need release
The wondrous smell of gunpowder
The echoing pops of rapid fire
The scattering of the sheep
Some fall some ramble chaotic
But all are stricken with panic
It is I who holds the power
They bleat and whine below me
Only I can stop the killing
I wish this could last forever
But someone is at the door
It is time for me to worship
Holding the holy death stick
I point it to my head and pull
My power to you I commend
I join you, my lord,
Take me in your forgiving arms

War Is Unhealthy For Children And other Living Things

 

 

 

 

 

J.T. HILLTOP

 

The effects of the booze and drugs didn’t manage to dull the fact that my brother is dead in some country called Vietnam! It did however manage to leave me an ass kicking hangover teamed up with emotional overload. Jameson’s body, or what’s left of it, is being flown home tomorrow from Vietnam. So now what? Time to make preparations Old man war lover said of his son’s death . Just what in the fuck did that mean? How am I supposed to cope with losing my mentor, my big brother?
Kids in school barely spoke a word to me, afraid I had a dozen eggs hanging precariously around my heart. Maybe I did. I told them at work I needed a little more time off which of course was not a problem. Mom was in her denial stage wearing a fake smile but her vacant eyes betrayed the true feelings. One look at the hollow abyss of her glazed orb sockets and the masquerading smile fooled no one. Dad had spiraled downward and was drinking way too much, which for him was quite a feat. His precious fucking reputation around town had now become the poor martyr that sacrificed his son. Bullshit on that. Jameson was the one who fucking gave his life and Mr. well respected man about town was soaking up the sympathy like it was he himself that had fought in Viet fucking Nam. The only possible good side to all the bullshit was that my sister Mandy was coming home. Mandy sweet and innocent Mandy my older “true hippie” sister who had left home. I had always suspected my father of kicking her out of the house but Amanda maintained she left on her own. At the very least I was sure Dad had made living here impossible for her. Mandy had left and moved in with her boyfriend upstate New York in a town called South Fallsburg. I had been to visit them once when Ken and I drove up to the Catskill Mountains town to get away for a week two summers ago. Her boyfriend Todd had studied Club Management at Sullivan County Community College while Mandy took some photography classes and worked part time as a bartender at the Bending Elbow. Todd finished his two years and landed a job at a resort club in Monticello as assistant manager. The last time I heard from her she was still working and was trying to find work as a nature photographer. I would find out soon enough because part of the preparation was getting a room ready. I really missed her.
Dad was too drunk so I had to bring Mom to the Funeral Home to make arrangements. Jesus shit this must have been the hardest thing I ever did. Mom sat and nodded her head as a sleazy mortician described what services they offered. It was downright offensive that he was asking my Mom about tips for the gravediggers, and did she want to spray some air freshener in the casket. I mean I know it needs to be done, but all we were getting from the US Army as I understood it was an American flag and a uniform once worn by my brother and his remains. Remains? He died in a fucking bomb massacre and truth is I have always had a distrust of the military but give me a break. They most likely scrapped together whatever organic shit was left of the troop that were killed and shared it among the families of all the deceased. Who really gives a shit if it smells nice anyway? The fucking topper was getting her to buy a vault so the “a umm, bio-organic scavengers don’t infiltrate the casket.” Oh, do you mean so the worms, maggots, and grubs don’t eat his body? There is no God damn body you scumbag, only remains! But again, I guess he had to do what he had to do. I would absolutely hate a job like that. The memories of all the bodies being discreetly removed from the Nursing Home patients that died flooded my mind. I imagined a similar conversation took place with their families and thought how many of them wouldn’t have even cared about the worms and such. But Mom did, and I knew it was all about her and not me. My loser old man couldn’t even make it to the funeral home. All that did was added to my already boiling distain for his sorry self-pitying ass.
On the ride home I knew I needed to get Mom talking. “When is Mandy getting home?” As if on cue Mom broke out of her desperate trance. “She is coming in Sunday night. I can’t wait to see her Can you pick her up at the train station JT?.” I was going to respond but she immediately regressed back into her sad and morose meditation. Jesus shit this was tough, and I have no idea what to do. I let Mom wallow through the five steps of mourning as I continued to attempt to make sense of the world. This fucked up Jameson free world. I can’t handle all this death shit man, I gotta do something!

 

 

 

When we got home from the funeral sales floor the old man was sitting in his recliner and was clearly out of it. My anger began to gather in the pit of my stomach and work its way up into my overloaded brain. I looked at that sorry excuse of a man and decided that this was the time. I got right up in his face. “Why don’t you get up off of your self-centered pitiful ass and go comfort my Mom? She is in so much more pain and all you do is sit your worthless ass here and get drunk and feel sorry for yourself. Where are your patriotic self righteous principles now? Jameson is fucking dead! Dead! I told you this war would kill him and now it has. Mom cries every god damn night and all you can do is drink beer. You call me worthless well what the fuck are you?” It was the first time I ever cursed in front of my Dad and it felt strangely good. The only thing that could have possibly felt better was if I had a picture of the look on his stunned face. He had no clue what to do because in his cold heart he knew I was right. I just read that asshole his rights and I liked it! He was speechless and I sensed his angst not directed at me for a change but at himself. He looked sheepishly toward my Mom, looked at me and then back at her again. I believe he was debating whether he should try and beat me to a pulp or go and comfort his wife but surprisingly after a short deliberation he chose to do the right thing. As soon as they embraced I knew it was time for me to head to my room, my fucking sanctuary. I needed some comforting too! I also realized that things had changed profoundly here at home and nothing will ever be the same. Sometimes my life is just so fucked up I am not sure what I should do.
As fucked up as it was though as soon as I walked through the door I knew what I was going to do. I knew that I was gonna snort some morphine pills. The twin tablets Ken had left me had been singing a sweet love song to me ever since they made it into my pocket. I grabbed my stash, a cleverly hollowed out bible, and grabbed the pills. Next I pulled out my new Grateful Dead Album. It was a live double album of the Dead who are by far my favorite band. Not a Deadhead yet but I have seen them quite a few times and I own every album they have made so far. But today this album would serve double purpose. Music to soothe my soul as well as “drug paraphernalia” to soothe my brain. I opened the album cover and placed the pills in the center of one side. With the back of a soup spoon I crushed the 2 pills into a pile of powder. I had seen movies so I knew what to do and I took out a razor blade so I could chop up the pills even finer. Then out came my driver’s license and I formed two long lines of white powder. I rolled up a 20 dollar bill, put one end in one nostril and closed the other with my finger. I sniffed hard and fast as if I were a Hoover vacuum cleaner until both of the lines had gone deep into my sinus cavity. It burnt so much I thought I would get a nosebleed but I immediately clasped my nostrils shut so nothing would escape. Next I drew in a hard breath through my nose like a strong sniffle. Jesus shit it was like I could feel it making its way up my nose and into my brain. I looked up feeling like I was going to sneeze, my eyes began to water, but within 15 seconds a new sensation set across my whole body. Wow, a warm and fuzzy! It really is warm and fuzzy, and as if by magic every bad thing in the universe disappeared. Not gone but certainly forgotten, at least for a short while. I whispered to myself intending it for Ken. “This shit is like 10 times better than ludes man, you were right! I felt good.” Not just good man, great. Fuck everything man. James is still dead, my old man is still an asshole, my Mom cries all the time, but at the same time, everything is okay. Not gone, but okay! Holy shit, I think I just found a new religion. I will now become a morphine-ite and worship the serenity it has bathed me in. And the music was perfect, I had chosen side 3, an18 minute jam called “The Other One” and I closed my eyes and drifted. Praise Jerry. It was Jerry Garcia’s guitar that scooped me up in a magic carpet and set me on a course to wonderland. I was chasing Grace Slicks White Rabbit and feeling great. I plopped on the headphones to help drown out the sobbing and reconciliation of Mom and Dad. I wondered for a second if they were going to have sex, and nearly threw up in my mouth a bit at the thought. Fuck this man, I need to drift off in this music. Take me away Jerry. So Jerry and Sister Morphine took me by the hand and walked me down into the garden of serenity, hoping the piper will lead me to reason. And a new day will dawn, if I can only stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter. I really love laughter. As always the drugs took me away, so very far away from this mad fucking world! Knowing it was Dangerous didn’t make me more cautious, it made me want to continue doing it forever.

Continued Tomorrow

 

THE STORYTELLER

 

The storyteller unlocks the subconscious
A locksmith using memories as his tool
Reminding us knowledge which lay dormant
Sleeping in the memories of our own hearts
Wishing one day to sort out real from imagined
So we listen with intent hoping to be free
Because feelings that lay frozen in our minds
Plead day to day that they be un-manacled
Free of the fears which lock our hope away
Holding hostage that which we already know
The knowledge that dawned with our births
Stored in the vastness of our repressive minds
Inside the temples of the storytellers graveyard
Where secret knowledge is preached in solitude
So we listen

 

 

The storyteller he makes no claims nor judgments
His tales are the dreams of visitors from the night
Imaginary and manifested friends of midnight lore
Some welcome some unwanted but all unfiltered
Preying on our eager and vivid imaginations
Reaching in to unleash our suppressed emotions
To strip them naked exposed unto ourselves
He asks not to be paid in silver nor gold
Only hopes to enter into our hearts and minds
And allow his words soothe or injure wakefulness
Offering no direction nor instruction be followed
Exposing incognito the paths of our choosing
Oftentimes he tell stories of profound love
Allowing many to reflect fondly of experience
So we believe

 

 

Yet for others love never seems to be enough
So he recalls stories of deep pain and loss
Sharing the pains he lived through and died from
Exposing himself while revealing our profound grief
And in the end with the many tales he’s woven for us
He blankets us all from that darkness which resides
Obscuring from inside the desires of the incendiary
Coaxing emotions to come bubbling to the surface
In a desperate search to find our own reflection
And fix the broken parts we tried to forget
Whether memories make you sad or glad matters not
It bears no significance once the story comes to end
The teller leaves carrying our hurts without reward
Upon his shoulders to cast into his healing heart
A mutual exchange of what is and what should be
As it was intended

 

The biggest fish of the fishing rod, a thousand tales from Scheherazade
Saviors of the suicide squad that make us stop and think so hard
Should we disregard our own backyard or traipse on down the boulevard
Scary streets abandoned yards, play at risk of being scarred
Don’t blame the words of the traveling bard its only a tale
The storytellers veil to hide his wails
Be he poet or prophet or teller true
He gives freely of words to me and you
Words plucked from his heart become his art
Right from the start
He writes them down not for glory
Only wants to tell a story
To reveals our eyes to our mirror
Put perspective little bit clearer
So gather round come in nearer
Stand naked before his story moral
Thank him for his message oral
Once he’s gone only words remain
Because no one notices his barrel of pain
They only ask him to tell it again and again
Until he has no story left

 

 

TODAY

 

 

Nine fucking eleven. I wasn’t going to say a word about this Day, too many emotions. The shedding of fear for family and friends in Florida, the memories of my days at Windows On The World and all the hours spent commuting through the WTC. Everyone telling me not to forget without considering for one second it hurt me so deeply I could never forget. Believe me, sometimes I wish I could…

 

Then I started thinking about how we define our lives according to traumatic experiences both societal and personal. I was far too young to understand the implications of the murder of President Kennedy but I clearly remember how the adults were so unilaterally shocked and hurt. In my lifetime it was similar to the day Reagan was shot and for one collective night we were all Republicans, praying or chanting for him to be allright. I was far more conscious about the deaths of Martin King Jr. and Robert Kennedy as my political views were beginning to form. The trials of the Chicago eight, the civil right denial of our brothers and sisters, the emergence of a group of young kids who cared about every culture proudly assumed the name of “Flower Children”. My question tonight is WTF happened to those children? Did half grow up to be angry white racists? Seems like it to me. Many of the kids who locked their arms with mine now question If people of other faiths and cultures are worthy of the standard my one time brothers and sisters felt were open to all. WTF happened to your souls?

The terrorist attack on NYC, Pennsylvania, and Washington DC wasn’t committed by the people but of a religious cult bent on hatred. It was committed by a break out faction of Islam not that far from Joel Osteen and his band of fuck you if you’re not Christian Faction. Sound harsh? Racism is a harsh reality we need to confront. I am relieved that most of my Florida family are safe, I am relieved that the evil religious zealots have been compromised , but TBT, I have many reservations of who my fellow Americans blame to ease their minds, while turning a blind eye to their own racist assumptions.

I had a long history at the WTC. It was a marker for me, a family member, and when they fell I cried for days. I still cry when someone posts the planes flying into the buildings… It hurts me as if I lost a family member. I have so many fucking memories tied into the Twin Towers that every year it hurts a little more, almost as much as losing my daughter. It hurts…… it hurts us all, but today I am a bit more concerned My family are safe, I grieve for all the families, but I am not willing to target a specific group of people because of their beliefs, or Christians would be on my hate list too If you truly believe yourself to be a believer in God, now is the time to prove it . Jesus didn’t argue, he preached love…..Or at least that’s what I was told ……Live and Love in Peace……

 

racism,

Defeating Hate

 

 

 

Crouched in the dark of hatreds shadow
The Phoenix of bigotry waits in patience
Someday it muses……. Some day
Hoping to kick off the dust of its ashes
Spread its alabaster wings of oppression
And soar on the winds of prior atrocities
History of hatred is attempting a comeback

 

The ghosts of the slave
Buried in dirt
Still shackled
Not even in a proper grave
The shame of one nation
Scarred by war
Remembered the words
We are all equal in the eyes of creation

 

We can never again allow bigotry to soar
Cause our rainbows to cower in disgust
Destroy a commonality built on trust
We shall rise in unison to tenets of hate
Stand and resist supremacists doctrine
Sip from cups overflowing with compassion
Side by side and hand in hand love will win
Only love can defeat Hate

 

George Santayana.. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it

Unknown…A fish rots from the head down…. Remove it before we all stink

JT Hilltop…. Speak out against racism, bigotry, and hatred every opportunity you can…. Silence is complicity

 

Live and Love in Peace

Rage Against The Dying Of The light, and The Rise of Alt-Right

 

Moral outrage. A personal and emotional switch which turns on and off depending on what disgusts you. It is really simply your conscience expanding and retracting. Bigotry and racism has a way of flipping the switch in the blink of an eye. Both of those seeds grow crops of hatred which will only blossom into violence. In our country we have a long history of racism which today is growing like a cancer, quiet and deadly.

 

Last night was yet another example of what corrodes our shared values and increases the dividing rift further making us the Un-United States. But lets be serious here, if you find yourself unable to abhor and condemn any group which holds itself superior with a show of violence and force the likes of which we HAVE seen, and as a world united against to defeat, then you are not part of the problem, you are the entirety of the problem. Any asshole can hate and become violent, that’s easy, but to truly believe in and strive for peace is a difficult and noble act which is far more gratifying in the long run. I watch various newscasts to get a large view of things and was very disturbed when one news network went on to say we need to stop categorizing each other in defense of the hate filled mobs, wondered why no one reported on the other sides violence, then categorized the liberal observers as leftists and blamed them for dividing out country.

Name calling should have been left on the playground somewhere around fourth grade. How we all react to these incidences will have a long reaching effect on the future because our children are watching and listening. It may seem they are not paying much attention, but any parent worth their title knows they are silent sponges always trying to process what’s in front of them. Be the example you want to set and rage against racism, bigotry, sexism, and religious persecution in an honorable and respectful way.

As always sisters and brothers, Live and Love in Peace

 

You May Be A Racist

 

 

Money for opioid addiction. Man it seems to be a very important issue these days, and Politicians are jumping on the bandwagon in an effort to prove how important it is to them. It’s an epidemic! So is this a new phenomenon? Hell no, its been in the ghetto’s for years but it only infected the poor, the disenfranchised, or the thrill seeking suburban teens. It was a problem for the urban youth, code word for minorities. We were happy as hell to just lock up anyone who used drugs so mainstream America could feel safe, far away from the losers and evil criminals. But now it has infiltrated white suburbia and suddenly addiction is an epidemic that must be addressed. Now white America is prepared to spend all kinds of money because it’s a problem that has infected their youth, urban drugs in mainstream Suburbia America. That’s privilege and racism whether you are willing to admit it or not and like it or not, if it took these circumstances for you to consider addiction a disease which knows no race, class, or environment, you may be a racist.…..

 

 

You’re a racist
Too busy bitching and moaning jawboning and groaning
Screaming so loud that your hatred showing
Your face is all glowing your bullshit is flowing
As you seethe in self pity your racism keeps growing
Believe it or not you continue Jim Crowing
You be exploding and disowning cause you need more melatonin
But shit man that’s whack
You can’t be more black
Sport lash tattoos on your back while smoking your crack
Pretending you’re stacked and hip hop ain’t just black
You don’t know Jack
Time to admit
Who da cap fit let them wear it
You’re a Racist shit
Being politically correct isn’t a solution
You ain’t some old white man exclusive
Verbally abusive full of mental pollution
Read your constitution the retribution and the revolution
Is causing confusion
You’re an unusual delusional on a stay of execution
Aughta be in seclusion
Just an obtrusive nuisance whose abusive excuse is to hate your brother
And become a recluse
Think you got game but you ain’t nothing but shame
Flickering flame looking for someone to blame
Hating on your brother just shows that you’re lame

 

 

 

We traded their blood for free white economics
With atomic vomit poking fun in Ebonics
Time to end the onyx vitrionics
And add to harmonics
Have you even listened
To songs of freedom
Ever really heard the pains
The chains and unheard claims
Of our brothers all bleeding
Pleading and seething in shackles of grieving
Or are you blinded by your heritage
Sipping on your favorite beverage
Using law as your leverage
Is it the garments they wear
Or the skin beneath the thread
That makes you fear and dread
Their lives have been fleeting
Whipped just for reading
They’ve been bleeding and pleading
Too many hearts stopped beating
This shit should end today
I hope the fucking KKK
Simply burns away
Charred by the flames on the crosses
Of the hatred they made
That shit leaves me perplexed
So what’s next?
We need to bear of the scars of the rope burns across their necks
Yes I’m pissed amidst this unforgiving hateful mist
You can continue to say racism doesn’t exist
But if you really believe that…..
Take me off your hypocritical CHRISTmas list

Peace out my brothers and sisters, Live and Love in Peace

Cardboard Purgatory

 

The Homeless. Everyone agrees it’s a problem yet no one has a solution. Many of us would refuse to walk an inch in their shoes but most of them would walk a mile with blistered bare feet just to have a pair of our shoes. They are looked down on, looked at with disgust by many, looked at with sympathy or empathy by others. Most of us walk past them pretending not to see them, or maybe throwing them a bit of spare change, but seldom do any of us stop and talk. Or better yet, listen…..

 

How did I get here?
Too many the days of pain
Too long the pain of days
Was what brought me to this
Alone in the jaws of depravity
In the confines of hopelessness
Left naked and empty of hand
Crouched in the shadow of despair
Possessing only the gifts of the Earth
And the stipends of the caring few
While the gates in my face are slammed shut
The gates of my heart remain ever open
What little I have I share with the world
But the world doesn’t often reciprocate
Ridiculed and held in distain from on high
I am the dust beneath their Persian rugs
Catching scraps from their linen tablecloths
Judged as lazy, useless, and worthless
Praying the generous winds of humanity
Will lift me away to place I can call home
And free me from this cardboard purgatory

 

 

Spit it BeBop Street Flow…..

Listen up to the story of existing in purgatory inside a cardboard dormitory
Where guts ain’t got no glory dying is pretty but livings gory
A metaphoric allegory that ends in a repository
Am I striking a chord here?
My shelter made of cardboard is an upgrade from the psyche ward
Got no money can’t afford more been abandoned by the good lord
My universe yet un explored I was floored
Had to fall on my sword
Guess I got a fitting reward but I hate falls
Want to tear down the corrugated walls
But that takes protocols and balls and my balls are all I got left
Feeling bereft because I turned right when I shoulda turned left
So I turned to theft
I was busted disgusted and couldn’t be trusted so I fled
In days past my life seemed complete, had the world upon my feet
Riding high living sweet a big time player playing Wall Street
Until my defeat
Took quite a fall and lost it all, took both eyes off of the ball
Dropped like a giant cannon ball into a tub of alcohol
Anyhow, that’s all I can recall
Lost my job and lost my home lost my family was all alone
They stripped me to the bone locked me up in the crazy dome
Then set me free
Below the Bourgeoisie
No longer have home so with homeless do I roam
Stockholm syndrome
Misfortune as my captor, my pastor and my master
Lead me straight into disaster faster than a slick Bastard
So I got plastered
To be clear it was wine and beer until my problems became severe
Then I blazed the drug frontier and all my worries disappeared
Acted cavalier
But it gets you in the end destroys your life and all your friends
No matter how hard you pretend all the shit comes back again
Only worse
Life becomes perverse obtuse and terse
You’re immersed you can’t converse the only way out is in a hearse
So you ride alone

 

 

 

How did they end up here on “skid row”? Some are simply born into poverty and never have the advantages of good schooling we take for granted. Illness, loss of a loved one, domestic abuse, mental illness, PTSD. Some came back from fighting a war and were simply left alone in the cold. Some simply couldn’t find work. The point is don’t assume they put themselves there from lack of will, or unwillingness to do even menial tasks. Most homeless humans have stories to share that could curl self righteous hair.

So don’t point a finger and yell that lazy bitch got no will power, that’s all. Pull themselves up by their bootstraps and face the world, get a job instead of getting high. But getting high isn’t why most of them do it, they do it to numb the pain, the physical, the mental, and most of all the emotional. Bad decisions often lead to worse decisions and the dominoes of life continue to fall, a little harder each time. Judge not lest Ye be judged…… Live and Love in Peace

 

 

Mourning dew

 

In the lonely shadows
When morning is still dark
Nature cries
Into blades of grass
Morning dew or Mourning dew
They’re still tears
Natures sorrows
Crying through the ground
Wafting upwards
From the graves of the gone
The tombs of the gallery
Soulless bodies
I know quite a few
Some from natures equalizer
Illness and disease
Some from natures randomness
It’s wheel of misfortune
Accidents
Murders
Wrong place, wrong time
Some from natures irony
Suicide
Self destruction
Drugs
To numb the pain of leaving the womb
Facing the cold cruel world
Yea, I know a few…..

 

In a therapeutic session I got the impression that depression was the cause of my dejection
No emergency that I could see but an urgency for my emerging need to escape reality
I got no prescription just a transcription of my transition so I got a subscription to scratch an itch and
Standard transmission for a bitchin’ ride with my magician whose mission was to alter my cognition
What I mean is I got high
Splattered my brain across the sky
I know its not the way
But it made depression fade away
So I did it everyday
Until I couldn’t get away
But misery loves to have company
So I took my best friend Bump with me
The product of such ridicule
Starting back in middle school where asshole kids can act so cruel
Where they forget the Golden Rule
Together we headed into obstruction
Strolling side by side toward our destruction
Seduced by sexy opium seduction
Believe me son
When poppy makes it’s Jones abduction its gonna suck son
You end up shit outta luck son
When it comes flying you better duck son because its the suction of deconstruction
One better know better
What I’m trying to say is I snuck out but he stayed stuck Mon
Sticking himself and tricking himself all the time he was inflicting himself
And addicting himself with the powdered ball and chain
Took away the pain
Faking out the rain
Telling everyone he was cool
Making us seem loke fools for making him look cruel
But he could win it
I turned my head for just one minute
Never realized how deep Bump was in it
He never made a sound
Though I totally related he was so goddam sedated he thought he was elated but to this date he remains underground
Thrilled with pills knowing speed kills but drugs were the only true solace he ever found above ground
I never heard his heart pound
Paid no attention to his pleas
Help me please
I turned away like he was a disease
No one listened
No one cared enough
They laughed it up and
No one helped
Not even me, his best friend
An onus I will carry until my end
The day I betrayed a friend
Now this may sound hypocritical and I don’t wanna get too analytical
But its oh so typical when people ridicule the individual
Waving ones own banner is almost Biblical
This may be cynical but I was his umbilical
Because no one else understood he was atypical
Another wandering child in a world apocalyptical
Just wanted to be who he was
But they laughed from a distance and broke his will
Pointed their fingers to get their fill
Pshhhtt, Y’all called him ill
Now who’s the hypocrite?
Now who’s counterfeit?
Wish I could reciprocate but here’s a promise much too late
His tears rise as my tears fall
When we meet in the early dampness of death
Walking barefoot in the grass
I step upon the mourning dew
I think of him the man I knew
The brother I loved despite your view
His days were far too few
And if one of you fuckers ever laugh at him again…..
I’ll walk your ass out in the mourning dew
That’s it…..I’m through