waterproof shoes

Through the crack in the window, I hear the sounds of the universe; the jazz, the footsteps, the articulation of movement. The man on the street, with a his heart at his feet, overdraft papers and deficit thoughts, weeps, at the sheer horror of it all; both the young, the old: the penniless artist trying to break the mould, who turns his mind from the subject at hand, to the flip side, the snide sardonism of the back of his mind. all these dreams could well be diamonds in the rough, but the best ones are all made of this stuff; and with the best of intentions and the most tenuous of plans, we walk off from the edge and free-fall for miles and miles surrounded by a curtain of ink and no foreseeable end, so i’m scared but if you wanna be fearless, then that’s something you choose: but when i try and walk on water, i’m taking waterproof shoes.

and i don’t care for hip hop, hasselhoff, or the sound of the bomb, the king kong rage of islam and the boogie man on the television, because i am too lost in the genome of a stream of ideas that will be full flesh and bone, give it an hour or two, but all along i look out of the window, and know that i will get nothing done today.

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