Moving in fast high horse gear, can�t even sit and watch a movie without having to comment on all of the symbolism. Disney was crazy, crack for kids and great way to plant in views at an early age. But full of sex and no wonder I was so horny when I was three.

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hum sing spit grieve laugh rir. Quit smoking and have it feel like you�ve lost everything. Not hating it but its good to get an example of what not to do.

Dream of sarongs and bellies. Walking on beaches and breast milk full. Kiss me in the morning and hold your hands on me. Put on black dresses and ride the physics professor until he screams. MMM, that�s the way I can communicate me.

Drink coffee down my spine, and what was I doing? could�ve gone crazy. Sometimes I feel like a hand full of that drug is still living in me. Like those crazy old ladies who cackle at the moon and think they feel rain. Mesmerized by the elephants in the distance and I wonder what dinosaurs used to live in Tucson town.

Climb up hills in Saguaro valley, how I loved dreaming to your house. Windows down low and music in my ears until it feels like a static dust.

Sat down on bathroom floors curled up and felt what it was like for a second. To hear voices not my own and to dream up fears. I threw it up from me and I guess that hit was supposed to happen before I left. But why did it have to be so crazy.

Like peyote taken from Castaneda, didn�t think a couple bites could do that to me.
Count down the months now without it in me. I don�t think I need any of that for a long time. And why is it when I close my eyes. I still see the pigtailed me?
With big eyes and stray away frizz. Big pink glasses too... what ever happened to that me. Still buried deep inside.

ME, ME, ME

not good to get too used to that 1 letter 2 letter words.

Try to talk about light streaming through cracked open janelas, and place my self in his feet for a day. Rode passed in our fast bikes. One grunt and I knew it had to be he. Called out to my brother who now lives again on the streets.

Should�ve asked him if he wanted something to eat. And its getting cold now in the nights, I wonder where he sleeps.

How to conduct a search party from thousands of miles away and will they ever listen to me. Caught up in our own singular lives and have we lost the ideals of family?

Turn our heads from our blood, and he used to take care of me. Grey hair grows on thick, and chipped brown tooth, with reeking alcohol from his pores. But you�re still beautiful to me. Biggest brother crush, where you were everything. Where have you been? Sleeping too close to the gutters, and who holds your hands when you don�t even hear your own voice anymore?

Living in your mixed up world, complete separate reality. But why is it so easy to turn our heads... just adding to the mixed up scheme.

We turn our heads away from the crack heads, prostitutes and crazies. Separating them from the world, where they are left to rot in their own living hell.

BUT STOP!!!!!!!!

My brother was alive once, and now he�s walking dead. Knocks on doors and stoops to his knees. Asks for nickles and dimes, pleads. He was strong once. Taught me how to dance. To lift myself with only the music in me. And where is he now?

How many times can we question until we start looking? Isn�t it the families that started the search parties for those that have gone missing? Or have we just lost hope. While our brother is lost on the street.

It makes me sick, how we don�t even see. World growing up quick and we can�t care for all the rats in the street... but what about when it hits close to home. To not care for someone that we have lost is just saying they are another rat. Making us rats, because we turn away from the dead lying on the ground. Turns into something we see everyday.

Rat Race Game.

Learn to avert your eyes. And how can you not wonder about the false pains from the man�s missing legs who looks for coins in the cracks of sidewalks that we run past.

Escape into a bed of drugs. Close eyes where everything is fantasy. But I can�t take it any more.

And you can�t help everyone. After all, its the people that get asked for coins when they look into the eyes of someone who lives in the street.

I see how they sit and watch, living in this hard path. Walk past with our clean shirts and Nike shoes, only nodding to those that look like us.

What a great form of another discrimination.

And this is driving me crazy. When their land is covered with bananas and sugar cane. Coconuts and beans. And the people who harvest them are like walking bones, while they feed to the people who don�t give a second thought to how their breakfast got there.

How can you scream out a thousand times. So many people trying, so many people dying. So many people living. And so many people ignoring.

But people have their separate paths. Isn�t that what makes the world run? We always need balance. It can�t always be just one way. Balance yeah. Balance. Yeah. Balance.

But where�s the balance when you cut it away. Not accepting the people at your feet. That they once stood too. That they stand too. ---