Open up your mind. I wanna drink from your stream of consciousness and swallow it whole. I’m Nostro and you’re my Gepetto, we live in suburbs and ghettos but my fellows, we’re beautiful.
I like soft climes and wind chimes and percolating the divine. Stewing it away like a good beef and barley. I’m hardly what you’d call eccentric, I’m just electric, blood surging through veiny powerlines, plowing through stop signs and changing everything to neon green.
I’m falling.
Tumbling and turning and ending up standing upside down with an upside kilter.
Or maybe I’m just doing a handstand?
It’s an addiction, I need 5mgs of love, stat.
Actually, maybe some acetaminophen will do.
I’m telling you to smile through your tears.
Because we’re all sad, but we keep looking up, and as long as you all sit there tipping cups of coffee, juice, and water into your mouths, you must be breathing.
I’m falling up.
But when I spread my wings, I tend to be soaring on fantasies, not air currents.
Cement mixers keep churning liquid rock, but underneath every patch of fresh sidewalk, there’s a lurker below. The fields of Jericho breaking down frowns into brightness.
It’s a chemical equation.
My heart plus your ears involves an entire nation.
We’re taking small steps forwards into the dark, holding tiny little candles.
But we’re bearing the mantle of sovereignty.
We’re the kings and queens of everything around us, from ass to glass.
You CAN change both, no matter how hard you try.
I want to dance with you in the rain, because the pain feigned away with grins is slain by drops of water.
Let’s drink deep.
Let’s break it down into twos and threes, threes and sevens, eights and maybe even an eleven.
Russian roulette is for cowards.
Only a person strong enough to hold an ideal against their heart with fingers on the trigger can argue strength.
This electricity in my veins, it’s fed by current, powered by love.
I’m pushing.
I’m pushing.
I’m pushing it all further away from me, and closer to you. Because you need it more than I do, as you’re shot clean through, with so much to do and not enough truth.
I’m dancing in the sky.
Apologizing, because all this muscle and bone, eyes and joints groaning?
They’re labours of love.
They’re something that I work so hard to ignore.
I’m sore because I work more on my soul than on my physicality.
Genetics keep me going, I guess.
But despite the stress, I want you to know that I love you. I love you because you’re the government, you’re the media net, and you’re the satellites in the sky.
You’re all just Humans.
So this may not be worth it.
But I’m willing to try.
So excuse my wingspan, I’m soaring on your fantasies.
We have been left behind.
Only madness and poverty remains.
