Its worrying that I find myself relating to some of these lines of Mcenroe from many moons ago which I am aware millions more can feel more depressingly.
And yet, there is more than mere solidarity in the horror, for this obscure poet master of the beats and words left that scene, pawned the bracelet, hugged his woman and headed for Vegas…
And I have done the same, many times over…
It has got me far, in miles and countries and cultures and my lips writing my own poetry of hunger upon inner thighs and deep in the eyes of wicked and inspiring women and fights and power struggles.
Now I am not struggling, but aware of how trapped we all have allowed ourselves to become. My wanderlust likely not possible ever again, jumping country to country on a whim with a one way ticket to adventure and hope for Pan Mischief.
Artists like Mcenroe, sometimes lead me onto other obscure offerings of humanity I would never have known of, for nobody has ever said to me, nor have I found written anywhere, advice to peek for this song, which I understand so little of the words, but the feelings it inspires, makes me feel more hope for humanity and the world>>>
It makes me feel less alone within my own species. I dont need to understand the language he speaks for he is all FEELING as the best of us are…
Yet back to Peanuts and Corn…the small time crowd from Winniepeg, who often seemed a bit too…down in the mouth for me, lacking the streak of wildness I have in my nature, but always intelligent and wise.
Whilst I am happy to be reminded of Mcenroe’s sublime work on the beats and heartfelt poetry which merges with his music as rain does to clouds, its the deeper delving of his collected tribe given the mike as he creates the soundscape, which resonates more, for absent of a Woman to happily lose myself within, as the tides raise their everything towards the moon, I am left with a sense of duty towards seeking like minds, like spirits, wolves and hyenas of men and women and whatever in between people want to be known as, it doesn’t matter, only the zeal…
I see too much.
My senses are either berserk or lame.
The touch of a bear and ears of a wolf.
All voices register,
of both human squawking and the wilderness,
I can’t help but hear and FEEL/
its why I head to the ocean every chance when not obliged to play some weasel guise of the good corporate citizen,
for when my lupine ears can hear the wind howl,
my eyes find only magical shapes in the clouds,
my alertness focuses upon the seagulls barely moving their magic wings yet rising and falling as the breeze from the horizon arrives after traveling thousands and millions of miles,
and my humanity is lost, as I have left the land,
moved beyond the land into Mowgli man of the tides and Ocean….
During those fleeting moments,
my mind stops thinking of the work, of the people, of the land, of the constant grisly acceptance that most of my tribe in species spend their lives taking photos of themselves,
to share on social media with others…
taking pictures of themselves.
All that vapid bullshit is lost, and my mind stops thinking,
a smile becomes me as the waves slosh around the rock I am perched upon,
the birds move in flocks like one mega bird,
no questions abound,
all is marvel and beautiful SANCTUARY.
ANd yet…I am human,
I have to return to myself and my flock>>>ENough of that leaning back towards the cynicism.
This man makes my heart wild with hope,
more of his kind exist,
and I will admire the poets who are blinkered with the cynicism,
but whilst I still have a heart with any innocence left intact,
I will aim for the love…when not in communion,
my heart a beaming smile of marvel.