I'm a small man in a big world, and I can only hope that from this dust and grime, the squalor and squabbles, I will arise, renewed. I'm a fragile man in a tough world, and all I can do is smile. So just, smile.
This isn’t a letter to one person, it’s to a collection of souls that I’ve had the privilege of having around for a good portion of my life. It’s to the men and women who have dealt with my suicide attempts and pulled me out to face the day, dealt with my depression and my rage, dealt with my obnoxiousness and occasional crossing of the line, dealt with all of the ups and downs this world has thrown at us, and still continue to shrug the dope-coma off in the morning when they wake up on my floor, give me a big hug and say “How’d you sleep, love?” It’s to the most beautiful, wonderful group of people that I have ever met, and cannot possible explain the amount of love and adoration that I have for them all. Maybe that’s why this is so hard to write, I can’t focus on just one, I’m writing to a congregation.
“And there’s three, count them, three children Playing on the beach They were eager to learn To be taught, and to teach
There’s Veronica She’s biting her lip As she watches the waves Turn white at the tip And there’s Vada Radiating with joy And luckily she still can’t stand The sight of a boy And lastly there’s Dade His hair dances in the wind And he’s wondering what love is (love is) And why it has to end
And he can’t understand How everyone goes on breathing When true love ends His mother whispers quietly “Heaven’s not a place that you go when you die It’s that moment in life when you actually feel alive So live for the moment And take this advice, live by every word Love is just a hoax So forget anything that you have heard And live for the moment now”
And there’s three, count them, three children Growing on the beach They were eager to learn To be taught, and to teach
There’s Veronica She’s licking her lips As she waits for her real First passionate kiss And there’s Vada She can’t admit her jealousy Of her sister Veronica And how she’s so pretty (and how she’s so pretty) Lastly, there’s Dade Still sitting on the dock He ponders his life And he skips his rocks And he wonders when his father will return But he’s not coming back
And he can’t understand How everyone goes on breathing When true love ends His mother whispers quietly “Heaven’s not a place that you go when you die It’s that moment in life when you actually feel alive So live for the moment And take this advice, live by every word Love is just a hoax So forget everything that you have heard (Forget everything)”
And there’s three, count them, three children Missing from the beach They were eager to learn To be taught, and to teach
But the sad thing Is that they never lived Past the age of fifteen Due to neglect from their mother Who was bed-ridden by her ex-lover, their father And she didn’t even notice Or pay much attention As the tide came in And swept her three into the ocean Now all her advice, it seems useless
No, heaven’s not a place that you go when you die It’s that moment in life when you touch her and you feel alive So live for the moment And take this advice, live by every word Love’s completely real, so forget anything that you’ve heard And live for the moment now”“
“Ah bang a gong or get it on We don’t need to take off our clothes to get it on Pull your skirt up a little bit Pull down your top and show me a little tit I said hey short girl you’re like a midget You can turn a phone cord into a widget She said you son of a bitch you little bitch I ain’t gonna show you my love without a hitch I said hey hold up sugar just one at a time Show me yours baby I’ll show you mine She said oh you’re so pathetic Yeah well so…you’re so magnetic I said hold up girl I know your game Ah you want a sugar daddy you can tame
I said sing, sing me a song And bang me like the girls in Hong Kong I know I know I ain’t correct But politics are so much better when there’s sex
I said rollover do me a trick Do it with your shoes on it’d be a kick Ah tell me the horse that you pick Let me buy you a lollipop you want to lick She said, Does that shit work with other girls? If it does, why don’t you find one of them to give you twirls? My love cost pearls Ah does it baby - You don’t say She said hold up I know your game You want a paper doll that you can tame I said sing, sing me a song she said well Touch me like the boys That did me wrong You know it’s ok, it’s alright If you want clean fun go fly a kite.”
“Can we last through the winter? The water’s starting to freeze. The only one who remembers Taking the wrong step, falling in front of me. This body’s already aging. These nights are all ready long. And if I last through the winter, I swear to you now, I won’t call.
Congratulations, go home now.
Will we last through the winter? Will we make it to see? I never wanted a partner and I never loved you, Now you are free to leave. This heart is already frozen, I can’t remember the fall. And if I last through the winter, I swear to you now, I won’t call.
Congratulations, go home now.
It’s too late, it’s too late, they won’t let go. Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door. It’s too late, it’s too late, they won’t let go. Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door.
It must be buried under the heart That makes this pace consistent. You’ll find it torn, that gate’s been opened? I’ve been wondering if you’ve been real with us.
It’s too late It’s too late, it’s too late, they won’t let go. Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door. It’s too late, it’s too late, they won’t let go. Follow five footsteps through that open door, open door.
It’s start, stop and go you’ve been dying for, you’ve been dying for.”
So in March of 2005, Banksy entered the museum world—literally. Disguised in beard and hat, he hung his own parodied works in four New York museums as surreptitiously as he would paint a bridge. Often in museum-appropriate gilded frames, his exquisitely altered pieces lasted in public view for various amounts of time ranging from 2 hours to twelve days. One piece, a faux primitive drawing on stone accompanied by a didactic panel noting its origins from the “Post-Catatonic Era” is now in the permanent collection of the British Museum in London.
This is less of a post about my day and more of a post about my future. Summer To-Do list, GO!
1. Get my god-damn license, finally.
2. Get another job, or become an extremely successful entrepreneur very quickly.
3. Get my ass published, like legit.
4. Fix my van. Pimp van, hooooooo!
5. Finish the INSANITY workout, without dying or becoming so weak through exhaustion that I become permanently numb to any sort of physically stimuli.
6. Have a little fun along the way.
7. Knuckle up, and turn these beats I’ve already got on my computer into songs. That would require me to have a microphone, however. Oh, and learning how to sing wouldn’t hurt.
So I suppose I should get started. Godspeed to you all.