Friday, May 15, 2009

Feliz Yo Mamma

Come all ye christians and learn from a sinner, Santa Fe. There were birds all around, but I was sixteen going on seventeen. Remember when the bloods circled us and did the mexican hat dance? There was lemon then. There was cinnamon.

Look at this stuff, isn't it neat? Wouldn't you say I'm the counterpoint? The counterpoint that's got everything? I am the very model of a modern major counterpoint. The minor key is for adolescents and people with shallow minds.

There's a heartbreaking story at the center of all this. A tale of love and loss and things that never got a chance to be. Eggs which never hatched. Blankets never woven. I held you til you fell asleep and then I woke up and found out I was just a car. Did you have fun fun fun til your daddy took me away? I know I did.

Nobody wants to have to crawl through the sewer pipe in the pitch dark, hunched over, things moving around the ankles, hunting for something poisonous but necessary. These are the positions we find ourselves in when first we begin to wonder why. Pass around the bottle and everybody put a note inside. On the other shore they may find them and not be able to read our language but they may send help anyway. Or else they may try to conquer us, a fool's errand, we who meet on the streetcorners, we who are already conquered, we who believe in fate.

Do you believe in fate? Believe in fate. It's burning up the quarter mile.

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