Dear King Street of Alexandria VA,
I looked after you like a cop,
I swept your gutters as if they were my own,
Never mind my body ,I sold my soul on your corners,
Remember that time the filthy light shined down on that guy outside of McDonalds and I thought he was an angel,
Unlike the street sweeper that comes around when the driver isn't
drunk, I pay attention. I feel your needs because I am also alone
I cut myself and drain into you like some kind of sacrament, I think I
have it all figured out because I watch but you continue to surprise,
Just let me rest under your awnings for one more minute
Don't fall asleep first, it makes me lonley

If I could only touch you to convince you that none of this is real.

locked in place, on my soiled sheets, I never thought it would come to this, reliving the moments that I shared with you on the streets. I remember the time I sat with you in front of the old magazine shop, the one that sold the copies of The Anarchist's Cookbook, it was 3:32am, the pedophiles, willing to pay, circling the bock over and over like some kind of ritualistic dance, over and again. Where do these people get their energy? It was the time you drove me home only i had you drop me off a block away to keep you from finding out where i was living. In my mind i trace the corner of the street where you and Matt Monson got assaulted by black guys. To scare them you chanted witchcraft spells in spanish to them, it didn't work. I wish i could be there for you i wish i could sleep and then i could some how help you but i can't.

There is a hurricane forming off of the coast of Texas. They say that it will cause widespread destruction is several coastal cities.

I shattered in the alley in an alley off of Spring street.
I lounge is a half hearted slouch favoring the left.
I live with broken glass and a rejected flyer for a hampered artist support group. Sometimes I refuse to get up to relieve myself. The smell can be earthy, robust like some kind of couture scent wafting off the back of a female exiting a surgeons office after a consultation. Something inside of me tells me that one day I will be found and the refuse that keeps me company says not. So I see the shadows off of the cars illegally parked within my vision cast descending shadows and I sleep to never be waken up from my solitary dance.

This song is not anti American

this song is anti waaaaar!

If I could only breathe on you for just a second
with all the falcons circling above
even when all time dies and we are left with our good intents
even when the earth melts together like a scroll
Ill find you

I feel the water running in the gutter to take the pulse of the city,
If we could only lay in the interscetion, embracing, sensing the
energy of the beneath.
Rest in peace 42nd street,
I will never let you down again.
may the pidgeons carry you far into the morning
the morning that was once reflected in the puddles I
traced as a child

This is from a band called NO MEANS NO that I saw a couple of times in the early 90's. My friend Stan was hanging out at the venue during the day and the band was there. Stan overheard that they needed a place to stay so the band spent the night at Stans and Burces' smoking pot and telling jokes. They had steak and eggs for breakfast. Bruce was so excited to tell us his luck to have them stay with him, he said, "So you see, they are light partiers and not vegetarian like we once thought!"

"Even in this madness we will survive."

So I was laying on the grass last night and I was
staring up at the sky and I saw three distinct flases of light.
I gazed up and a voice came out of the sky saying, "everything you need to
know is written outside of the 711 on 500 N and University Ave." So I rushed
down there and arrived with such anticipation that I had to go in and
get a 44 oz DIet Coke and a pack of Ho Ho's. I went outside and looked down in
front of me and it was written, "Do not trust any one behind a taco cart
for the next three and a half months."

Your eyes are like colliding tractor trailers driven by lone gunman.

I attend the cathedral in the alley of 51st and St. Washington,
People walk by, of the Mass unknowingly occurring,
Incense rides the air from the man hole in the street,
shattered Heineken bottle vomits sunlight upon the wall creating a broken cross
one of the followers has drawn with chalk, next to "Bob Lackey was here."
Pigeons stop and stare sensing the spirit of the congregation of castaway, broken men sleeping off the night before, occasionally wetting themselves and yet remaining holy followers of the faith.
Sometimes I, when I have it, I give a dollar to the plate. but always a bended knee to the cross.



Ever since the latest Linkin Park album came out last year I have always skipped two songs. They were in protest of the current administration. I would find myself tense and angry and afraid. Today was the first day that I have listened to those songs with a wonderful sense of pride and optimism. We finally did it friends!

I want to take you into my arms and tighten so you will know someone is there
I want to show you my scars
I want to shake you
I want to take you to the natural history museum and show you the mastodon
I want to cut myself in front of you to see if you are real
I want to collect a little bit of the blood to put in a vial so you have something to hang from your rear view mirror
I want to scare you just to tell you everything will be alright
I want to stare into your eyes and see if I can get them to dialate just by thinking about it
I want to stay up just to watch you sleep
I want you to live

I stare at the ceiling through the shadows

and yet I can make out the nightmare, just enough to

remind me of all the sins that I have committed in my mind.

where are you my friend, we have been here before and

your reach is the only thing real, but, that was yesterday

and I'm sorry I don't believe in myself anymore

I'm walking down the street, the concrete molds around my feet like shallow quicksand, I can feel everything that has occurred here before, step by step.
I step over the area that has been thrown up on, several times, I feel the asault, the cars screaming by, everyone that has spit on this piece of newspaper that floats almost as a protest to gravity, to the street itself.

am i insane or just unemployable?

the night covers, the city lights burn

sitting, watching the water flow into the gutters

the wind carries a newspaper, floats by like the ghost of a lost friend

its funny, I can feel the concrete surging with life underneath me

if I put my finger in the crack I know its alive and that underneath me is the heart, the generator

its just like me

i feel out
i am considering bleeding myself to get rid of it
just like they did in the 1800"s
i am going to put leeches on my heart


it's not that easy to be free
don't concern yourself with reality
because
we will sleep forever

wake from this dream

it was the Summer of '89 I lost myself
now there is this summer always within me
never to turn
even in the winter I burn with a beautiful nightmare inside
would somebody please put a pin in me to let it out

Matisyahu Summerfest 2008-06-30t01 Escape