A lengthy defense of Lil Wayne.

Now, you may have seen that stories floating around about how the smartest kids listen to beethoven and the dumbest listen to Lil Wayne. Well, what the stories don’t take into consideration is that the standard for a kid being “intelligent” was based on high school grades. And in my experience, that only barely correlates with grades. Secondly, kids who aim to appear smart will probably be more inclined to both listen to Beethoven and report it for the social rep. Basically, I’m saying that the study is more or less bullshit. That being said, Lil Wayne does have tons of stupid ass fans. But maybe that just means he’s clever enough to ensnare them all. And before you respond with something not-so-clever about how shitty he is, here’s WHY you should just swallow your words and concede the point.

First, you need to be open-minded when Wayne says he’s a “martian”, “misunderstood”, and tries to distance himself from the rest of mainstream hip hop. It is always valuable to give someone/thing the benefit of the doubt, the chance to argue their case, etc, before you pass judgement.

Second, you need to approach lyrics as you would poetry, literature, or anything else of the sort; with a critical eye, aware of potential, underlying meanings and subtle connections that may not be immediately or readily apparent. Think of songs and albums as chapters and volumes. Lil Wayne loves sound. He loves nonsense wordplay and non sequiter metaphors, religious references, ambiguous allusions, and streams of consciousness; surreal, non-linear, but with a method to the madness. But most of all, he loves combining all of the above and playing tricks on the pseudo-intelligent, disguising brilliance in plain sight underneath a veil of self-promotion and what those rapper folk like to call “swagger”. And all the while, he matches the beat like they’re soulmates. Or not, if that’s what he wants.

Third, keep this quote in mind: “Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it so that the other half may reach you.”

Fourth, it helps if you smoke weed because you can better relate to the state of mind needed to appreciate this

Now I’m going to basically (over) analyze one of Wayne’s songs. However, I won’t even touch on things like flow, sound, or anything stylistic like that. Merely the lyrical content. And that’s where most of the criticism leveled at him aims at.

“Don’t Get It (Misunderstood)”

[Nina Simone]

Baby, you understand me now

If sometimes you see that I’m mad

Don’t you know no one alive can always be an angel

When everything goes wrong, you see some bad

[Chorus- Nina Simone]

But I’m just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

All right, so there’s the thesis; I’m just trying to do right, so “please don’t let me be misunderstood”.

[Verse 1- Lil' Wayne]

Uh, misunderstood ain’t gotta be explained

But you don’t understand me so let me explain (heh heh)

This opening is, obviously, a play on the idea of understanding. Everyone knows what that means, but since the listener doesn’t understand Wayne, he’s going to explain.

Stood in the heat, the flames, the snow

Please slow down hurricane

The wind blow, my dreads swing

He had hair like wool, like Wayne (huh)

“Stood in the heat, the flames, the snow” refers to all the shit he gets, ie being flamed, but also notes with “the snow” that being misunderstood and with such hostility is cold, which has connotations of being alone, alienation, etc.

“Please slow down hurricane” refers most obviously to Katrina and New Orleans, but also the storm of hositility, etc. The next two lines paint a picture of someone standing before the storm, hair in the wind. I say someone because first he says “my” and then changes the perspective to “he” and lastly, with “like Wayne”. We’ll solve this mystery soon, never fear.

Dropping ashes in the bible

I shake em out and they fall on the rifle

Here, he’s smoking weed, dropping ashes on the Bible, reflecting on the connection between violence and religion, or at least Christianity. So this line touches on hypocrisy, weed being enlightening, his religious conflict, and another dualistic image (the first being flame and snow). As a sidenote, he often relates things in dualities, very yin-yang kind of thing. But he also connects them, in a sense removing the space between them, which to mean, seems Taoist.

Scary, hail Mary no tale fairy

All real very, extraordinary

Perry Mason facing, the barrel if he tattle

My god is my judge, no gown no gavel

The things I just went over are scary. Hail Mary, except this is no fairytale. Here he’s plays on prayer, but that this situation is no joke, no tale, fairy (referring Mary as a fairy?), but is “all real, very extraordinary”

Now, Perry Mason is a reference to a character: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perry_Mason

I haven’t read or seen anything relating to the character, so I can’t really vouch for this, but the character is a lawyer, so if you don’t want to check the wiki, I guess that’s good. Anyways, it seems he’s comparing himself to Perry Mason facing doom if he caves. But like I said, without knowing the background, I’m just staying outta this line.

The last line here is great. Notice he says MY god as opposed to just God. This illuminates an aspect of his spirituality that he also alludes to in numerous other songs. Basically, his idea of God is different from most people’s. And just as importantly, his judge, his god, isn’t the court system. So in addition to his spirituality, he’s conveying a dislike, disrespect, for the court system. Probably for corruption, racism, and general bullshit. I hear you, Wayne.

Uh, I’m a rebel, down to battle

Now or never, or whenever, in the ever

Fucking fantastic, fuck if you agree

I’m bright but I don’t give a fuck if you see me

Here he further stresses his divide from the mainstream, and says he’s going to combat that bullshit whenever and wherever, or never if need be. Just that he’s going to do what he has to.

Next, he reiterates that he IS smart, and that while he may be misunderstood, he knows his true colors, and that’s what matters. Veiled moral lesson there, kids.

[Chorus- Nina Simone]

I’m just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

[Verse 2- Lil' Wayne]

Uh, what’s understood ain’t gotta be explained

So for those who understand meet Tha Wayne

Perry Mason These two opening lines for the second verse reflect the same of the first verse, but shift from talking to those that don’t understand to those that do. So since we understand, we can finally meet/see/understand Wayne Carter as a person, not just a commercialized. pre-packaged rapper.

For eight and a half months I gave Ms. Cita pain

Now it’s Young Money baby, keep the change

My momma say fuck ‘em, and we the same

So, hello motherfucker you got some sheets to change

Huh, he was born early, cool. Anyways, these four lines are saying that his mother gave him life through blood and sweat, and he’s repaid that debt by lifting his mother out of poverty and being the best he can be “young money baby, keep the change”. Also, baby can be the generally used slang or as in being born; a young money baby.

His mother says fuck the haters, and he’s his mother’s son.

And ain’t it funny how people change like Easter Sunday

You know church fit them outfit

Though I lose him in the next two, these two lines are clearly referring to the hypocritical nature of (Christian) people, likely how they preach love, peace, tolerance, etc and then turn around and judge, how they just change back and forth on whims. And then he says that “church fit them outfit” which I take to mean that (the) Church matches their hypocrisy. Although:

Bright pink and green chest look house lit

Bright pinky rings but that ain’t about this

I honestly don’t really know what he’s going for here, but besides being a continuation of the previous thought, obviously he’s gotten off topic and says so.

What you ’bout bitch?

Excuse my French emotion in my passion

But I wear my heart on my sleeve like it’s the new fashion

First, he’s challenging/calling out his critics to say what they’re about, what they stand for.

Next, there is a play on the expression “excuse my French” in which he explains that the reason for his blunt honesty is that  he wears his heart on his sleeve “like it’s the new fashion”. That backs up the idea that he often has depth, hiding in plain sight. Half of what he says is meaningless (read: Lollipop), but he says it so that the other half may reach you.

What are you asking, if I don’t have the answer

It’s probably on the web, like I’m a damn tarantula

These two lines can be interpreted in two ways, I think. First, he could be referring to specific answers that are theorized by fans (such as this one), or he could be saying that if you’re asking about who he really is, what he believes, anything that you want to understand about him, it’s probably on the web. If that’s true, I would say that he would be using web to mean both internet, and reflect the idea that he is a product of many ideas, all of which are connected at least indirectly, like points on a web. I’m having trouble verbalizing this one, but hopefully you see where I’m going.

But I know you don’t understand

‘Cause you thought Lil’ Wayne is Weezy

But Weezy is Wayne

And here is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. And the answer to that mystery earlier. He expects the listener to be slightly confused (unless you understand, of course), but summarizes his entire point with the idea that Weezy is a part of him and not the other way around. Wayne created Weezy, just as Marshall Mathers/Eminem created Slim Shady (you’ll find that Wayne attempts to synthesize the best/unique aspects of most good rappers). You see, the thing is, Wayne is a director and an actor. He realized, unlike a lot of less-popular but socially-conscious rappers, that if he just straight up preached, he wasn’t going to succeed in doing good for him, his family, or the world. So instead of rejecting the system, he embraced it. And now he’s come to point where he can even influence it.

As he so cleverly says in the remix to Lollipop (which I see as a response to the understandable criticism of the original), he is everywhere, he’s it. Hide and go, he can go anywhere, eenie meenie meinie mo, he’s in your neighborhood (his influence on the suburban youth), be it a stereo, cd, iPod, your girlfriend’s fantasies, etc. And then as a proof of his fuck-you to the government/media/society that wants to control your kids, he tells the kids listening to wear a condom. His last lines of the song could be society saying “wrap it up”, as in knock it off. But, he’s so sweet, she wants to lick the rapper (read: he already has the youth in his palm)

“I am everywhere I’m it like, hide-and-go and I can go anywhere

Eenie-meenie-meinie-mo I’m in your, neighborhood

Area, CD thing, tape deck, iPod your girlfriend

And she say I got great sex

Safe sex is great sex, better wear a latex

‘Cause you don’t want that late text

That “I think I’m late,” text

Eh heh, so wrap it up

Bu-bu-but he’s so sweet, sh-she wanna lick the rapper”

Anyways, in the rest of “Don’t Get It”, Wayne goes on to talk and slightly ramble about racism in America, jails/prisons, the unfair sentences for powder cocaine vs. crack cocaine, how sex offenders are tolerated more than crack dealers, pointing out that the crack dealers sold crack to excape poverty and make it to the suburbs and asking why it’s anyone’s business whether that was HOW they got there, the illogical War on Drugs, how much Al Sharpton sucks, ending with a pretty clever bit on humanity, good and bad.

Now, this song is one of his more open, more consistently introspective, and one that focuses more on a particular theme than flow or soundplay. Also, this song was probably conceived in a moment of blazed brilliance and fully realized in a matter of minutes. At least that’s how my writing comes to me.

If this isn’t enough, I’ll come back with breakdowns of other songs (there are plenty to choose from) and even comparisons to songs from hip hop artists loved by those pretentious elitists who so naively hate Wayne.

Basically, this whole thing is a symptom of a larger problem. Well, probably many problems. First are the obvious (and not-so-obvious) ones, like the ones that Wayne addresses in “Don’t Get It” and his lines about his life in/and New Orleans, and the ones that all those underappreciated socially conscious rappers discuss. But to me, both the unthinking love for Wayne shown by his less thoughtful fans and the semi-thinking hatred of Wayne by his more self-righteous critics are both equally dangerous, for both proudly display their colors of ignorance in a world and country already overwhelmed.

In a word; work your way up to my level.

Shit, you can’t get on my level.

Lastly, if you just hate him because you think he’s gay; if that matters to you, then fuck off and kill yourself so that good people can sleep better. And if you hate him because you think he’s gay because that’s what the Bible tells you to think, that “fuck off” comes in a double dose.

Of Moths and Men

This can be rapped to “Dance with the Devil” by Immortal Technique.

—

—

Precious preconceptions illuminate preposterous despotisms

that desperately protect pretentious politicians who

Portray Dorian greyscale renditions in their portraits’ wall positions,

Twixt the sand and the foam, and the book of Hagakure

The 48 laws of power, bring to life one of Algernon’s dead flowers,

Rage, raging against the dying of the light of the fire,

College leaves the lacking of luster to lounge back into arms of a faulty sire while

Shadows dance high on the walls of that long lost cave with the blind that refuse to reach higher,

underground, earthbound sound reverb and rebound from the walls into and around

the uncool, calm and collected curses

that come crying from the echoing sound of silence in our verses,

Men are like moths, fluttering furiously to the flame,

backs borne against the current, we beat on in the same boat and the same game,

we’ll all burn out and fade away, be it a day or a year away, without a name,

less what I want is what I silently fear; to reach the end of the light and find a dark sphere,

but long before the Light comes anywhere near, Death with a grin is all ready and He’s here,

a devilish and dervish angel that came from somewhere, nowhere; st. elsewhere,

whispering; “please, please do not fear me”, and I don’t, but no one here seems to hear me,

For it is on Earth as it is in Heaven, whereas under a black sky we break the bread in our red hands

coughing up green and looking to the sand; Sphinx, riddle me this: where is that promised land?

With an hour-glass in my hand, and with my heart in command,

I’m soul-searching for diamonds in the sea-foam of tropical island strands,

here’s a philosophical lesson with two sides of the same coin in one hand,

a laissez-faire game of go and backgammon, bowtie time like a ribbon, see

chaos evolves in order, like dat old to the new world without the wicked wars and borders,

no pawns, nobles or cockroaches, just sound, emotion, and formerly lost-cause hopefuls.

I’m here like the tour deforce of five rings, listen as that fat flying pig lady sings,

I’m soaring through the first nine floors of Hell like I’m writing on Force wings,

I’m following my soul towards the Light, where my dreams they call me the Mothman,

Tao is like the Force, man, hand me over the Sandman,

I’m still smokin dope, but I’m lost and-

Help me, Erato and Euterpe, you’re my only hope; real talk, man.

Bits and Bins

A line is a breadthless length.

Imaginary, intangible, implacable

still it holds power over our very souls.

A riddle, it deceives us all into tomfoolery-;

I AM VOLDEMORT

And so are you; yin flows into yang.

The reaction is both opposite and equal.

-

Tell the quiet American to look closer and realize

that Pleasantville may be full of color, but we painted it.

In the beginning the world was gray.

Black and white, distinction, color.

This was our gift. Our gift to the world.

-

Every line blurs, slides in and out of focus.

The great divide parts the Red Sea,

but the grass is always greener.

And after all, what’s in a line?

H1N1

Like the black Death, I am alive.

I am everywhere, inside the air

and outside the heart.

Stem cells in hand, I place my self in your shoes.

Through your looking glasses, I can see what you feel,

But I do not feel it, and sometimes I am simply not there.

In a distant land, a mirror-imaged Muslim man on a Christian cross hangs in the balance-

his body oily and blood-drenched from the sweat of a war,

as I wipe the sweat from my brow in my studio.

We are nothing alike.

I think to myself as the crescent moon sinks below the stars to pray;

What did the Goths do “when in Rome”?

Unfettered souls don’t merely clash; they collide.

But as order rises from the blunt ashes of chaos,

so too does hope spring forth eternally from our collective unconscious.

Though history often repeats itself, as when the wheel of time turns,

the broken axle bears endlessly leftward

and so our covered caravan retraces its imprints in a spiral.

My power left my reason dumbfounded,

scrambling charts for the truth.

Day-An-Nighte

I am a manic hurricane hurtling in place towards the horizon.

But don’t I look at you like I see a new day?

My mind is a swirl of colors thrown into a washing machine.

Et cetera, et cetera, shanti, shanti, newsflash:

Judging from our look inside the eye, this perfect storm is now a tropical depression.

Only once my high is gone, I feel like crying, like buying,

but if my money’s run out, then, now and later, I feel like-

runlovediemaybeliveifwecanwastylerrightiamnotadroneandideserveathronebutnolalalai’mhappy
nowandlaterrepeatrinseandwhereamiandisthisthewayimsupposedtobeifeelcagedinmymindallhail
thecartermessiahlovelivelifeproceedprogressfuckthapoliceandthawhitemanfucksciencemedicine
educationamericameyoueverythingbullshitscreeeaaaammmmm&mstreamofwhateverthefuckicant
thinkmymindisalwaysonfireimhotbutimcold

I just change with seasons.

I am greater than or equal to the caliber of the Soul of Sylar and Peter,

but all work and no play makes even this a dull pen.

I just noticed a painting in my house that I have never seen before, but I’ve seen it everyday that I’ve lived here; I have no home. I am my own home and those few close to me are but extensions.

Does that mean they’re extensions of my soul?

I have so many lines, so many ideas, so many thoughts, so much. Connections everywhere, like truth, an element. Everywhere. Everywhere. Nowhere; what’s the difference (when you zoom out enough). Everything is alive and connected and illuminated all at once and it’s blinding. How do you live under such a light? Everyone needs the night. Dark doesn’t exist merely to be defeated by the light. To think otherwise is unwise. Am I really the only one that sees (sees the genius of tha Carter)? I feel like I’m taking craaaaazy pills! Hahah-

Intuitive aptitude. I understand. I SEE YOU. You cannot hide. I cannot hide. But under these sheets, I am a mess. We’re trading blows, but for what?

WHY

Slow down, Gandhi, you’re killing me. I vomit gray, flashback and to and fro. The masses bid for my heart, but is it worthwhile to lose your heart to save your soul? Vice versa! Like John Locke, I’m Lost in a maze, therefore I am a-maze-ing.

And when my face doesn’t quite match my head, remember what Cee-Lo sang so soulfully. But who’s gonna save mine?

Ah, nevermind! I should accept that I am truly alone, make it my strength or whatever bullshit you all spout in your high school mind and your holiest quasi-education. You, with your hipster posse (would lap this up if you thought I were Derrida) and your self-righteous horse. I’m not tall enough to stand up to God. Don’t you see? The answers are all around us, though admittedly they’re nowhere. But they’re RIGHT THERE. One of us is blind, and one has left the cave. The world locks me in a cage. I have no mouth and I must scre-. Who am I kidding? They don’t need to take my mouth. What good does screaming at a wailing wall do? Also, the wall is made of bullshit.

You can’t possibly-; you all wouldn’t understand anyways.

And that’s the worst part.

The Kingdoms of Light, Dark, and Elsewhere

The Kingdom of Dark

There was once a blind man that lived in the dark.

For years on end, he lived in darkness and silence, passive and thoughtful,

Creating sounds for the objects his limbs could touch.

He touched a surface and called it “table”.

He felt the blood of life and called it “water”.

In time, and quickly, he became aware of feeling; a living thing.

An idea. Infinite, it brought form to the formless.

He called it “sight.”

The Kingdom of Light

There was once a mute woman that died in the light.

For a moment, all was white, full, vibrant; alive.

She created ideas for all the objects she could see but not feel.

She saw water and called it “art”.

She heard music and called it “love”.

When she died, she woke up and said, “Speak.”

The Kingdom of Elsewhere

There were once a man and a woman that lived and died in a garden.

There was once a god who was a circle.

The circle existed and ceased, was and was not.

As alpha and omega, beginning and end.

The clouds roll through space and shower the sky with stars.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Our Father

Our Father, who art nowhere if not in Heaven,

What hath you forsaken us to?

Why hath you forsaken us so?

Hath you truly left us to ourselves and own (de)Vices,

To survive, alone and lost, the whims of the Universe?

But ever hallowed be thy name;

As long as cushioned pews of a church bring comfort to the souls of His Christians,

Blindly, but still, they work to bring thy kingdom come;

For what Noble Lie shall thy will be done?

And in my heart, I fear it is in Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread. though the wine is surely poison,

And whilst half your flock is rabid, you lull the rest into your House,

Affording them an hour of conscience free of guilt,

Allowing them to forget their troubles of others.

And forgive us our trespasses, O cruel Lord,

Whose only begotten Shepard is left to die among the wolves.

For even we forgive them that trespass against us.

But prayers don’t feed children, confessions don’t erase blood,

And Church-pews hold no salvation for the suffering and sick;

And yet you lead us not into temptation; for that is our mortal curse,

and your immortal gift of uncertainty, admit a sliver of lining,

But yet your silver-tongue whispers love; deliver us from evil-,

God has no time for His children who aren’t around to be saved by the toll.

So tell me, my judge, why does Church feel as a court, and Mass like a trial?

[For thine is the kingdom,

the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever.]

Amen.

Unwaking Life

You fall asleep.

Slowly and surely, consciousness loses focus and meaning. Dreams beckon you onward and welcome you with the warmth of a thousand hugs. You smile contently and snuggle your dreams closer, so close that they seem real. They are real, and so are you.

You step off the plane and onto the boat. You’re on a boat. You laugh hysterically for what seems like a lifetime. Or was it just a moment? No matter! What matters is that you’re alive. You’re alive and you’re free.

You stand at the helm and look at your world. What do you want to do? Your mind races with ideas, your mind blanks on the spot. No matter, time is your’s to slow, to stop. So you stop it.

You recline on the deck, bathing under a frozen sun. You sip casually on your drink and wriggle your toes in the sand. You remember those jars of multicolored sand and wriggle your toes in the rainbow. You decide you’d like a handful of Skittles.

You pop them back and chew thoughtfully. What you want to do? An idea comes to mind. You glance up at the light bulb above your head, but decide it’s just the sun.

You look at yourself. You let go. You look back down at the world and walk through the forest that you find yourself in the midst of. You break into a run. You run harder than you thought was humanly possible. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not human here. You’re God. So you decide to fly. You the owl fly through the trees at a breakneck speed, altering your course with the subtlest of movements.

You come across a cabin where a group of friends sit hidden from the outside. You decide to drop in. They offer you something bright. You ask what it is. They hold up a bag of sunshine. You laugh and breathe deeply. You cough clouds nine, ten, eleven, twelve, skip thirteen, and fourteen.

Your friends ask you how you’ve been. You think about it and decide you’ve been all right. They ask if you want to play a video game. You ask what they’re playing. Some zombie game. You laugh hysterically for what seems like a lifetime.

Just as you’re about to sit down and play, something crashes against the cabin. In a flash, your friends are up and ready. Something claws at the walls of your mind, of the cabin.

You start to bar the door, but change your mind. This is your world.

You explode.

The cabin erupts from around the handful of survivors. The shards rip through the zombie hordes. These aren’t dead zombies of course, it’s just another mutated form of rabies. That way they’re fast. A little less boring. And they need to be stronger, harder, smarter, better. And so they are.

You leap at them with a sword in hand, with a gun, with a lightsaber, with nothing but your bare hands and will(to)power. You cut a path through the masses as your friends do the same. But winning is no fun and everyone wants that high that comes with losing. People thrive on chaos. A wise man once wrote; it is only when we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.

And you’re free anyways, so why not lose everything? You’ll just get it back. And if you don’t, well, you’ll wake up soon enough. So you let go. Of perception, of your conscious self, of your prejudices and inclinations. You embrace nothing.

And you implode. You see everything at once. You understand without any concept of understanding. You perceive truth, enlightenment without perceiving. You are cut off from it, but you are one with the Force. You are Tao. Most people die before they reach zero. Even math equations can’t always make it that far. But you do. In this world, you can do anything. This is your world without rules. But all things must end. Something pulls you back to your reality. Ending…dying…die..die.

Die….die….you can’t die. You look down at the blood pouring from your stomach. There’s no pain. You’re numb. You fall backwards onto a bed of flowers. You feel some pain. But that’s fine. You are and that is enough. Your friends make their way over to you, the zombies are forgotten. They crowd around you as if funeral bearers. You look past them and up at the tree of life.

You get up. They shake their heads in exasperation. You wish them farewell and you leave. You’re antsy and you have the urge to go somewhere exotic. You think and close your eyes.

You open your eyes.

You look around. You are surrounded by gray.

You look closer and as your eyes slide into focus, you see that the gray is actually silver.

You look around. You are surrounded by silver. You look closer and make out images etched into everything. You see everything in what appears to be nothing. You blink. It doesn’t go away. You frown. This is your world. Nothing controls you here.

You vocally command the silver to leave you be. It shines brighter.

You close your eyes and think.

You reach for that truth, that zero, that perfection. It’s so close. And so far. You breathe deeply and reach farther. It slips farther away. You think. It slips farther. You race towards zero, but there are an infinite number of points to traverse.

You ask the impossible.

And then it hits you.

You realize you have no control. Except over yourself.

You can see the light at the end of the cave. You reach for it. It dims.

Stop.

You stop. You stop trying to reach, you close your mind’s eye and stop thinking.

You accept. Everything, anything, nothing.

You open your eyes. The world is there again. Your friends, the cabin, the forest. Everything is etched with silver lining. You smile. You break into a run, as fast as you think humanly possible. And then you run harder. The world blurs in your motion.

You come to the ship. Your friends are already there. You leap aboard and make your way to the helm. The horizon burns brightly. You remember a movie from what seems like a lifetime ago. You toss your compass overboard. You’re the only one who can tell you what you want. Or where you can find it. You hum to yourself. You look to the horizon. It burns brighter. You take flight.

Every night you die and every night you are born again.

You wake up.

You slowly open your eyes and blink the sleep away.

Sleep….sleep. Where were you? You think.

You breathe deep and stretch, letting the fatigue roll down your limbs and out through the tips of your fingers, out through the tips of your toes. Then you realize…slowly…..you look around..it’s coming faster now….and it hits you-.

I’m you and that makes all the difference.

DeLorean Gray

You wake up.

 

You slowly open your eyes and blink the sleep away.

Sleep….sleep. Wait. Where were you? You think.

You breathe deep and stretch, letting the fatigue roll down your limbs and out through the tips of your fingers, out through the tips of your toes. Then you realize…slowly…..you look around..it’s coming faster now….and it hits you-.

You have no idea where you are. You are wide awake. You scramble to your feet to take in your surroundings and regain your bearings. It only takes a few seconds to realize that when standing in an endless gray void, the two are infinitely different.

Even without knowing, you know two things. The gray is infinite. And you aren’t dead.

Frowning to yourself, you furrow your brow and look around. Your fingers trace your jawline while your cluck your tongue, as if stumped during a game of hide and seek.

You open your mouth to curse and realize you don’t remember how to speak. You panic.

You begin to hyperventilate, you run. You run as hard as you can. You move as fast as humanly possible and you get nowhere. Humanly possible isn’t good enough.

You stumble to a halt and fall into a crouch, supporting yourself with an outstretched arm. You reach for peace, you breathe deep and exhale slowly, letting the panic roll down your limbs…wait. Déjà vu. Again? No. Wait. Where are you?

Who are you?

Panic. System overload. You run again. You run as hard as you can. You move as fast….wait. Déjà vu. Again? No….wait. Yes.

Who are you?!

You panic. You run your fingers through your hair, combing your mind for the answer. It doesn’t come. You glance down at a stray hair on your finger. It’s white. You panic. You rip out a few strands of hair. White.

You scream.

You scream nothing.

You scream at nothing.

You scream anyways.

You know that, somewhere, sometime, you knew who you were. But you can’t quite place it. You DID know who you were. Yeah, that’s it. You just forgot. You must have known. Right?

Your mind races and you rack your brain, looking for something. Anything to latch on to. You probe your mind until you gag. Change is the variable, but memory is a constant.

Until you forget. But that means you must have remembered sometime, if you’ve forgotten now. You tell yourself. One can’t exist without the other. Something clicks in the back of your mind.

A jigsaw falls into place. One can’t exist without the other. Something about the duality of man. But what does it mean? You file it under some papers in the back of your mind.

Suddenly, you remember the gray. Your eyes slide into focus and you have to brace for impact. The despair shatters through your shields, through your armor, and blossoms in your soul.

Whatever that means, you laugh nervously out loud, but there are no echoes in space.

You’re overcome with hopelessness, you scream again into the nothingness that is everything.

 

You blink away the tear, but manage to catch it on your finger. You look at it.

Something flashes before your eyes. You blink. You look closer.

Look closer.

[Something] flashes before your eyes. A memory. Memories? Was it just one or an entire life?

Can a life be captured in one moment? Surely. Or maybe not. You look closer. The tear rolls down your finger. You manage to lick it off with your tongue. The tear is salty.

Bittersweet. You think, for a moment, and laugh to yourself. But it’s salty! You reflect on that for a moment. Or maybe it was a lifetime? No matter. Back to the task at hand.

Your mind races and you rack your brain, looking for something. You didn’t get that education for nothing. Wait, that’s something! You nearly cry with relief. You remember, therefore you were. Once upon a time.

Remembering anything at all is enough.

Then, all of a sudden, like fog, it’s gone. You can’t remember what it was. What what was?

You panic. You scream again and start to run. You stop, steady on. You open the door to your cave, but there’s been an accident. The paramedics wheel the foreman out on a marble-top stretcher.

Ah well, the black lung would have killed him anyways. The police ask you to exit the area and point you towards a gray sign on the wall. Wait. Gray. Where have you heard that before?

You snap back to the present. You see gray. You panic again. You begin to hyperventilate, you run. You run until your veins bulge like ropes and each breath gives a little less respite and your legs turntojellyandyourvisionturnstoblur.yourunharderthanyoucan.youmoveasfastashumanlypossibleandyouget nowhere. Humanly possible isn’t good enough. You see gray all around as you collapse with exhaustion. White stars burn around you like a million candles.

You black out.

You wake up.
You slowly open your eyes and blink the sleep away.

Sleep….sleep. Where were you? You think.

You breathe deep and stretch, letting the fatigue roll down your limbs and out through the tips of your fingers, out through the tips of your toes. Then you realize…slowly…..you look around..it’s coming faster now….and it hits you-.

The gray. The gray is still there. Everywhere. It suffocates you and you choke.

You can’t run. You can’t reason. You vomit gray.

You stare at the gray and remember something. Something you had made a note of. Once upon a time. Years and years ago. Or was it only a few minutes ago? You shrug to yourself and rack your brain. One can’t exist without the other. Your mind shuts down and reboots. System overload.

You lie down, unable to cope with your epiphany. Black can’t exist without white. You try to remember if you learned that or made it up. Gray’s kind of an average of black and white.

You remember…something…but you can’t quite place it. Déjà vu. Again? Yes.

You accept it. You accept everything. You accept nothing. And you note; what’s the difference?

You black out.

 

You wake up.

 

You slowly open your eyes and blink the sleep away.

Sleep….sleep. Where were you? You think.

You breathe deep and stretch, letting the fatigue roll down your limbs and out through the tips of your fingers, out through the tips of your toes. Then you realize…slowly…..you look around..it’s coming faster now….and it hits you-.

You’re me.

 

You’re me and it doesn’t change a thing.

The Cloths of Heaven, Part II

Part II: Watership Down

 

Movement IV: St. Elsewhere

 

The gray, metallic floors stretch endlessly through the ship. Gray gives way to gray in an endless succession of rooms. I bet Dorothy wouldn’t have liked that yellow brick road so much if that’s all she ever knew. I was robbed of Earth, and now I sit, imprisoned in my gray cell, on my gray cell block, in my gray ship that is my gray world.

Sometimes I forget.

Sometimes, when I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember, I can’t. I try to taste the saltwater breeze of home. And I can’t. I remember her name, but when I try to recall what she looked like, I can’t. It has been so long.

I wonder, sometimes, if people ever once looked out at the stars from Earth and realized just how alone we are. I have lived on board this ship my entire life. We are searching for a new home, they told me. We are searching for Eden.

They tried to be cheerful, but they were never quite the same again.

I am going to die on this ship. I realize now that I’ve known that ever since we were told there was an evacuation. They have no idea where we’re going. For awhile, some of us held on. Maybe there was a planet they had in mind…maybe there was hope. But that faded a long time ago. There is no plan, and there is no planet, just as there is no hope.

BANG! The lander lurches off course, as the team inside snaps into action.

Status? Two leaks. Forward-left landing gear is off.

The pilot grips the controls tightly as the craft shudders against the wind. Increase flow to right thrusters. No visibility. Dirt swirls around in a brown and gray impressionist painting outside the windshield as the lander hurtles towards the surface.

BANG! Another impact. Lights flicker.

Status? Not sure. Stay the course.

BANG! The lights flicker. The roar grows louder.

Status? Hull breach. The roar grows louder.

The pilot grips the controls tightly and blinks away both fear and sweat.

Hold together, baby. Hold together.

BANG! The back half of the lander is ripped off.

The pilot grips the controls tightly as the roar consumes him.

The lander spirals through the perfect storm and into the surface.

 

The transmission stops. Static confirms the sound of silence. No one says a word. What is there to say? Planets recoil at our touch. Space is our prison.

I quietly take off my headset and push away from the desk. No one says a word as I stand up and walk away.

I reach the door and hesitate.

I don’t look back.

There is no Eden.

 

I heard one of the crew leave their post. I was supposed to stop them, supposed to maintain discipline. Needless to say, I did not. I couldn’t.

Silence hung about us like an omen as I dropped back into my chair. I knew they were looking at me, to me, for leadership. But what could I do? What man can tame a planet?

We had already lost so many. So many lives. And, perhaps more importantly, so many landers. The transport had been left abandoned on Earth for so long during the war, it was only barely outfitted. Barely fit at all. We didn’t have any landers to spare, even if there were still people on the planet.

I closed my eyes, reached for peace, and took a deep breath.

“Put me through to the ground team.”

Forgive me.

 

We saw the lander break apart. Or at least, I think that’s what we saw. Between the wind, debris, and our temporary shelter, it was hard to tell what was happening. Our readings were completely fucked, and so were we.

I think I knew that they would leave us before the transmission. We all knew the couldn’t spare landers. Or lives. Perhaps those most of all.

I remember, even now, at the end of all things, when we received that last transmission. I never thought I’d be on death row, but we all had been sentenced to death and we knew it.

After the fleet stopped responding, we held together as a team for about thirty seconds. No one said anything. No one took any action. No one said a word.

Three days later, we’d lost two. One to his gun, one to the weather while he slept. Something had ripped up his entire sleeping pod. We couldn’t even try and find him.

Within a week, we ran out of food. We were all lost, but none of us would accept it.

But that was three weeks ago. I think. I don’t really know. Does it even matter? They’re all dead anyways.

Even at the very end, we fought.

 

Even now, we fight. Even when the only way we can survive is to stick together, even now, all we manage to do is splinter.

It began when they decided to leave the ground team behind. Within an hour, there were riots throughout the ship. Years of anguish, despair, cramped living, gray walls, confinement, homesickness, and hopelessness broke through the walls that we had built to repress them. Soldiers became police and held the line. But unlike the streets of Earth, on a ship such as this, we cannot afford collateral damage. Damage to its internal systems could impact anything from sewage regulation to engine performance. And so the soldiers were given orders to subdue the riots quickly and harshly, before the mob got to the tipping point.

Oftentimes, it only takes one shot, one casualty, to ignite a war.

No one knows which side fired first.

 

They shot first. Those damn fucks. I’d rather have died on Earth then be a slave. It was their fault all this happened. They went to war and God got sick of their bullshit. Kicked them right off the damn planet.

I tell you this, I want answers! I wasn’t the one who fired the nukes. They did. The governments did it. I…I ain’t done anything wrong. But, then..why did I have to leave? Did I do something wrong?

No. No. No, I didn’t! But they did. This is their fault.

Fuck the Powers. We have to stop them. I have to stop them.

 

The high pitch scream interrupts our dinner without warning, causing everyone in the room to jump, knocking over drinks and dropping food. For a moment, we all take a breath and regain control. Then we jump into action. We leave everything where it fell and grab our equipment – never far away – and run to our stations.

Of course, it’s a false alarm. Always is. Ever since the so-called Resistance sprang up. Both sides blame the other – of course. Still, I think it’s the Resistance. The Eight Powers only do what they deem best. Is that not just cause?

 

Whoever said obedience is just was a fool. The Powers demand obedience. For the greater good. Don’t ask questions. For the greater good. We have a plan. There is hope.

Yeah, well, you can’t tell authority anything.

Except with force.

 

“Sir, you’re not wearing your dress uniform?” Disapproval etched the young soldier’s face.

I glanced over at the soldier and back at the seven leaders standing behind me; proud, insulted, and utterly terrified.

“There are times for pride and formality, and there are times for humility and frankness.”

When the rebels took hold of Horizon, they caught everyone off-guard. No one had expected such a quiet coup d’etat. One moment she was under our control and the next, she wasn’t.

The news had come over the speaker system. “This is the Resistance. We have gained control of the Horizon. The rest will soon follow. We have won. The Powers must submit.”

Immediately, we had moved to cut her off, bringing all our weapons to standby. We then ordered the rebels to stand down. They didn’t. So we ordered Sol to prepare for disable while Frontier moved to board.

What we didn’t know was that the Resistance had placed sleepers in key places inside the command structure. Instead of moving to board, Frontier dropped around Horizon and waited. Moments later, Sol’s captain followed, along with three other small cruisers. Within minutes, half the fleet was divided and we had lost control.

So, we stood about, all lost in our own thoughts, as we awaited the shuttle pilot that would ferry us over to negotiate with the Resistance.

We stood, humbled, and awaited the negotiations as we might a trial, for we knew that whatever happened in the coming hours would determine the fate of our entire species.

 

They were scared.

I could see it as soon as I saw them. They were actually afraid of us. But there were other emotions. Anger, pride, indignation. That was to be expected, of course. The last of the opposing party’s guards entered, taking up neutral, but clear vantage points about the room. I allowed myself a cocky smile and waved at the Powers to sit. The old men took slowly and reluctantly their seats.

I leaned forward.

“Here are our terms.”

 

The Resistance and the Powers sat on opposite sides of the table, their political differences enumerated by their physical differences. These rebels truly were from every walk of life. They had managed to infiltrate everything from the brig to the bridge. The rebel leader was a young man, likely only in his mid-40s, with perhaps a tinge of Asian ancestry. He carried himself with a swagger befitting even the most self-righteous.

I watch him, silently, from behind the Powers. I had never met him myself, but everyone knew his name. I received my orders through a fellow guardsman, a lieutenant who now stood silently a few feet away.

I spare a glance. His gaze remains fixed, waiting for the signal. We both wait for the signal.

Wait. What did he just say? I tune in to the rebel’s delivery of the terms.

“..furthermore, any ships not willing to submit to the new government will be left behind.”

The eight Powers at the table reacted externally as I was internally; with outrage and indignation. When the human race is reduced to what is already nearly certain extinction, this boy has the audacity to suggest that we should further decrease our chances?

The doubt washes over me and solidifies as betrayal.

The rebel leans back. The signal.

I can barely manage a glance before the lieutenant’s gun is at the third guard’s head. The rebel guards’ guns snap up towards us.

I freeze. My eyes stay fixed on the rebel leader. The lieutenant shouts at me as the fourth guard, the one I’m supposed to be holding up, brings his rifle up to bear on the lieutenant. I remain frozen. My eyes remained fixed on the rebel leader.

I drop my rifle……and in one fluid motion, bring my pistol from its holster to my hand. My eyes remain fixed on the rebel leader, who stares right back.

I pull the trigger.

Time slows. The lieutenant arcs gracefully to the floor.

Both sides open fire. I feel myself slide down the wall.

Time stops. I guess there really is beauty in the breakdown.

 

When the negotiations broke down, the rebel leader had been injured and five of the eight government leaders were killed or severely wounded.

In the aftermath, the fleet fell into disarray. For days on end, any semblance of order was overwhelmed by the waves of chaos that rippled through the entire convoy. A few days in, someone detonated a crude explosive device in the barracks, killing nearly a hundred soldiers, including one colonel. The barracks were near the outer hull, and the entire section had to be shut off.

Soon enough, both factions were destroyed, decimated, dead and gone. But even when something is dead and gone, the effect remains. The civil war between the Powers and the Resistance left a power vacuum. Of course, the power vacuum didn’t last long, soon giving way to a multitude of competing factions, both political and militant.

The remainder of the fleet drifted nearly aimlessly for over a year during the reconstruction project and simultaneous the power struggle between various go-gooders, politicians, and profiteers.

 

The election was a landslide.

“Today, today is the dawn of a new era for our human race. The last remnant of the tyranny that were the Powers of the old order is finally ended once and for all. But this is not my victory, this is your victory. A triumph by the people over the Powers that were. This, this is for you!…”

The young couple sprawled on their futon passed the rolla from one to the other, inhaling deeply.

“Fuck him.”

The man glanced over at his brown-haired, green-eyed companion.

“Yep.” He exhaled deeply.

 

The years come and go. The duty of every human being is to fulfill the role best suited to them. Why? In order to preserve the human race. We learn only what we have been able to recover. The story is that when the Exodus occurred, there had been no time to upload all the scientific progress that had been made. Those scientists who had survived the Purge had enough pressing matters to attend to for the rest of their lives that only a fraction of the scientific knkowledge had survived. The most liberal estimates are that current scientists knew perhaps 14% of what was once known.

We put ourselves to the fullest possible use, which is all they say any person can ever hope to do. Whoever said obedience was just would love us.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid. My mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going.
The years came and went. And we are vagabonds.

We live this close to death.

And we float on.

Movement V: Within a Mile of Home

 

The star shone brightly and brilliantly against a backdrop of black, in turn dotted with the twinkling of farther off stars. Several planets of varying composition sat in orbit around the star, revolving and rotating in endless repetition. At length, another light lent itself to the solar system. A flash and another twinkle was born.

The transport, half-dead and dark, fluttered through space and into an asteroid field. The lights flickered from the secluded sections of the wounded hull. Slowly, but still surely, the lone ship limped towards the inner group of planets.

The first few planets from the star were all varying shades of cold, hell frozen over at last. The light from the star reflected and refracted from and around the transport, flickering like a flame.

 

The commander stood on the bridge, weary and worn, his gray-white beard trimmed and cropped around his chin. He sighed, again wearily.

“Scan it.” He glanced down. “Watch the moon.”

Something stirred in his mind. The commander inhaled slowly, methodically, and looked down again. “Scan the moon, too. Run the results.”

The second-in-command nodded somewhat briskly and executed the commander’s commands to the best of her ability. She snapped orders and salutes in perfect harmony, albeit with a degree of fatigue, as if she had been doing the same thing for her entire life. And she had.

The screen bleeped. 64% match. That was higher than most. The commander’s heart skipped in spite of his efforts to the contrary. He looked to his second.

“Send Dr. Fernandez groundside.”

 

The lander hurtled through what remained of the planet’s atmosphere, the windshield icing around the edges and the winds buffeting the pod without mercy. The scientist gritted his teeth and uttered a cross between a curse and a prayer, his hands gripped tightly to the controls.

His pod was caught in a gust and flipped end over end. His vision seemed to spiral away from him and he could do nothing but hold on. The planet’s surface, miles and miles away, rushed up to meet him faster than he could ever have mentioned.

 

The leaders stood around the projection, hands clasped behind their backs, watching the groundside scientist onscreen and awaiting the report.

The results were as projected; unsuitable to life.

The commander and his heart sank slowly. His heartbreak was echoed throughout the room in a collective sigh of concession.

“What now, sir?”

The commander raised his eyes and looked at the lifeless planet.

“We bring him back home.” He breathed deeply, resigned and yet resolved. “And we keep going.”

 

A few hours later, the transport dropped out of orbit and drifted on towards the edge of the solar system. The commander sat in his chair on the bridge of the ship that carried what was left of his entire species. He sat, numb, and oversaw the crew as they prepared to throttle up.

 

The mother sat in her chair as the loudspeaker relayed the news throughout the ship. The solar system, as were all the others since the civil war, were barren, nonresponsive, and devoid of even the potential for life.

 

The soldier gripped his rifle harder as the loudspeaker spoke. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, reaching for some form of comfort. He found a void and begged the question; is that enough to live for?

 

The ship sailed across and to the edge of the solar system. The human race looked back, but only until the sun no longer marked the horizon, left forever to memory.

 

Epilogue: The World Without Us

 

The scientist opened his eyes. He was alive.

 

He slowly moved his hand to his seatbelt and unbuckled himself, promptly falled to the roof of his lander. Disoriented, he blinked and tried to roll over. His right side ached dully. Both his wrists had been sprained in the crash. He tried to roll over again. No luck. His hands found the radio.

“Hello?” A voice made its way through the radio, miraculously.

“Command to Dr. Fernandez. Do you copy? Over.” He nearly wept with relief.

As he relayed his position to the ship, he suddenly became aware of the cacophony outside. The wind was raging. The scientist gripped the sides of the broken window and managed to pull himself halfway out of the lander. He was faintly aware of a cold rush near one of his feet. He continued to struggle as the lander rocked in the wind like a lullaby.

With great effort, he was able to free himself from the lander, along with his mobile survey gear, or at least what didn’t seem to be broken. Fastening it to his suit as best he could, the scientist stumbled over the rocks and made his way towards higher ground.

At length he managed to reach the nearest peak and survey the surrounding area. There was a strange object only a couple miles off. He glanced back towards his wrecked lander and up to the sky. He pressed on.

 

The scientist gazed at what could only have been a tree. The once-jagged, sanded branches erupting from the plateau, made a surreal spectacle for someone who had only ever seen trees in contained biomes.

He methodically, yet eagerly, went about taking samples from the soil and from the half-petrified specimen. It must have been thousands of years old. Could it possibly still live?

The scientist crouched and checked his clock. Time was quickly becoming an issue. He look to his instruments. The first result.

Negative. His heart dropped. The cold from his right foot reclaimed its hold. He look down.

His heart hit bottom. The bottom of his pants leg and his top of his boot were ripped. He could see the ice white of his skin. He cursed and prayed in unison and waited for evac.

The other results shortly followed. Negative. Negative. Nothing. The tree was lifeless. Still crouching, the scientist picked up a handful of soil and ran it through his gloved fingers. Sighing, he resigned himself to defeat and picked up his instruments.

With a heavy heart and a weary soul, the scientist trudged back to the lander, where he met the rescue team.

 

As the scientist stood aboard the dropship as the surface rapidly fell away, he watched the ever persistent winds wipe away his footprint. Before he left the atmosphere, the planet had erased all memory of his visit.

 

The star sets over the horizon and the shadow passes over the tree as it begins its daily journey across the far side of the world. The planet turns as it has for ages, while humanity searches as it has for ages. The variables change, yet the equation remains the same.

The tree stands resolutely in the wind, raging against the dying of the light, even in death. In the soil next to it, a cell divides.

 

The third planet from the star sits against a backdrop of infinity, defying the universe with life.

It radiates our legacy.

Hail Mary

Yeah, you’re pretty cute, but damn, do you talk too much.

You’ve got to spend some time, love; inhale, exhale, listen to the world, and such,

I think you’ll find you can be so much more;

well, actually, it turns out I’m not all that sure.

but there is no time like the present to regain lost footing

and at least we live in a beautiful world

now and at the hour of our death.

Visions for the Communiity

The stars bleed out, having tried their best to woo us with the passion of the Cosmos,

but now a ringed nebula crowns and lays to rest what the mind of Man calls Logos.

Ice cold debris tumble-weeds, lifeless, through the heart of darkness,

the minutes became seconds and too soon it was midnight,

And when time ceased to tick and tock,

and upon us, Death came to knock.

The truth was, we lost our minds to faith false and immaterial.

 

But the present question is, is it then our fate to simply start and end with the corporeal?

But even tyrants would surely screw to save their own race…

so how about we just reallocate the funds for this year’s nuclear arms race?

And together we could reach, reach and become so much more!

So let’s rage, rage against the dying of the light before-

The quiet American with the radioactive rifle crouches,

                and with a single shot, kills the beast where it so casually slouches.

The Seed 1.4

 

Let’s kickstart the apocalypse and sky rocket the death toll

lock yourself in a mis-named vault and name your children Rock and Roll,

I guess we really had to fall to lose it all, that’s all she wrote,

don’t, no don’t sink the boat, too late, she sank,

clubbed to death by the ice cold truth, though sometimes I see Death’s robe as more chartruse

perhaps its just a ruse and God is a prankster,

though I admit the weed just keeps getting danker,

I smoke too much, but I’m used to vacations

from my previously constant sobriety, go to a place where I can forget the ills of society,

it’s almost a better perception of reality, I wonder if one day we’ll get high in a virtual reality,

unless this is the Matrix, in which case I’m Neo, no wait,

I’ll fight Neo, he’s not the One, nothing is reduced to fate,

we all have hands in his together, but there can be only some,

so in this analogy, wars are fought with a thumb, and in this war, you might as well be dumb,

since you negiotiate with your army-I mean, thumb, shit that was dumb, moving on,

hopefully the other player doesn’t get carried away, and proliferate those handy nukes over your way,

forget diplomacy now, past is the time for parlée, it’s high time we who would be pirates had our day

and we won’t compromise for anyone, so let lay Henry Clay,

if war is coming, this prince would see it done now rather than later,

so be careful when you misuse and mis-accuse of misogyny, woman; I don’t hate her,

Back off, relax, and take a second look, pull your ass out of the book,

it can’t help you here, reason this one out, might take a couple routes

through your mind until you can free your mind,

There is no way to be free if you adhere first and foremost to hypocrisy,

it’s kind of a pet peeve for me, and yes, I’m well aware of the irony.

We may all be hypocritical to some extent, but at least I’m honest,

So now that’d I’ve uncovered the process to put you on the way to being whole,

lock yourself in your mis-named cell and listen to some rock and roll.

Watch the Chicago snow whirlwind and swirl round and round

spiraling chaotically as they near the ground,

they mirror your flawed ideology, as from the above you can clearly see,

so bite the irony that grips your tongue and listen to me, listen to me.

And kindly don’t self righteously spew anger towards me,

don’t hate the player, hate the game, there’s no shame

in defeat, I’m just a messenger, and here’s your subpoena.

You can forgive, but I can never forget, and revenge and regret weigh heavily on your soul

so you lock yourself in a mis-named tomb and die to a track of lively rock and roll.

My Elastic (Mind’s) Eye and Rubber Soul?

I don’t think I ever seen so many headlights,

they claim to light my way, but something’s not right,

nowhere to run, so I guess that counts out flight,

ah well, I could handle a fight, but what will I think in hindsight?

I can’t decide whether to join them or fight them.

Maybe the best way to destroy something is from within,

like the soul, elastic, it’s funny how much we relate to plastic,

although we use it every day.

 

My eyes are elastic and my soul is made of rubber.