i dont wanna be a sell out loser phony baloney two face nonsense maker

i dont wanna do things that anyone else can do

in a fancy cheese store in the south of france i dont wanna be sliced american

i wanna be brie but not any old cheapass dumbshit hey target has brie? brie.

i wanna have a little kick to it.

i want to make that ritz cracker say dude this would be so much better on a baguette

in a bakery tucked away in nowheresville i wanna be a skinny baguette your true love tucks under their arm

or puts in a basket on a bike and ring ring as they pedal down the cobblestone

i wanna be something thats not like the other things but not in a showoff way but in a

fuck yeah way.

i’ll probably frighten those prone to being frightened.

not because im reckless or dangerous or wild or scary.

but because im free.

i wanna be me.

do when all the paths are there for you

take the shiny take the true take the crazy take the new

which is the one where is the fun

and how will you know which one

she lives in a rainbow on a daydream through the edges of a myth

sings like a blue jay on a sunday who just had her first kiss

nobody knows the troubles she’s seen

nobody knows her real name

few have witnessed the light in her eyes

like a sunbeam through the soft rain

so what do you do when the brown turns to blue

and the ivy switches to green

roll the dice say yr prayers fingers crossed

and hope your spirit is clean

he’ll go right in your ear and say you aint shit, you cant do that, you faked it before, sure as hell cant even fake it now

and if anyone else in the world whispered that nonsense to you you’d say fool get out my way

but as sonic youth and lydia lunch whisper

youre right

youre right

you are right

which is what you should say to the devil when he’s got your ear

and the bat’s got yr tongue.

(so when you say it say it like you mean it

say it like) it’s the first time youve heard it

not the millionth – that day

deep in the gully

down on the yonder

i wanna i wanna i wanna i wanna

i have had a good life. i blame my mom.

she taught me early on not to be afraid of strangers.

when i was little she used to say, “say thank you to that man.” or “i better hear you say ‘Excuse me’ to that lady you just bumped in to.”

these last few weeks i have been talking to strangers which might be my favorite thing of all. i am completely fascinated with people’s stories, how they became who they are.

but i also love to hear them talk. like what words they use. what details they find interesting in a story. and best of all, what they try to hide from me.

i am always surprised. i try to be honest with them. my car license plate says XBI, which most people know means that we can read your mind or know when you’re lying. even if youre wearing sunglasses. even if youre french. naturally everyone lies, but sometimes you’re sitting there and you wonder, why are they bullshitting me on this? no one cares about this. why this?

i once had a supervisor, when i was young and asked this. he said the best thing. “when you listen to hard rock, particularily a guitar solo, theres all this distortion all around the notes. thats what these little lies are. atmosphere. flourish. a frame. don’t let it throw you.”

i know people are scared. i know trust is a bitch for a lot of people. im sure i would be freaked out by the world a lot more if i didnt have super powers. but isnt that what religion is supposed to do for people? isn’t that what experience is supposed to bring you: trust that a + b = c?

and yet the people who exhibit trust the most when i talk to them are kids. the ones who have zero experience, zero power, zero reason to believe. yet they do. with me at least.

this week i have talked with a lot of interesting people. yesterday for four hours on venice beach as pretty girls and freaks paraded past us. i will be forever grateful of the experiences that i have had and i will continue to use that to fight evil and reflect goodness.

and the best way i can do that is to never bullshit you. ever. even when the going gets tough.

biggest problem i have in sensual relationships is when a sobbing young lady spills her guts to me describing her problems

i give advice.

i’ll give you advice even if you arent crying.

hell, i give advice on here to people who arent even seeking advice.

bottom line: im garbage and should probably be avoided.

but some have been unable to avoid my charms and end up in a romantic relationship with me and are bombarded with

if i was you i woulda said this or

you shoulda done that

or have you tried this technique

or in my day we woulda just done it thisaway.

amber gets so upset when she is trying to confide in me she has thrown phones, books, and even a tire at me out of frustration.

a long time ago Etienne would say “stop bossing me, busblog” and i didnt fully grasp what her problem was with me but now it is clearer. im terrible.

if you tell me it hurts when i do this

im gonna say stop doing that.

when all they wanted was someone to listen. but i am not a listener. im a fixer. im michael cohen minus the secret recording devices. i am a problem solving machine. i enjoy fixing. i do not enjoy listening and keeping my mouth shut.

my innards do not work that way. my brain says “this girl you love is in pain, give her the pain relief no matter what it is. be the hero. use your love gun. put a bandaid on the problem. BEGIN THE BEGUINE.”

but i am told in more ways than one that a beguine is not being ordered. two ears two eyes and no mouth is whats being ordered. back rubs are being ordered. walks on the beach are being requested. scalp scratches. butterfly kisses. viewings of Blackish. uh huhs and oh nos.

but i am not that robot. i have two turn tables and a microphone. if anything its a maxiphone.

im gonna die alone.

especially if you’re not a basic bitch.

you will be unloved and ridiculed and talked about behind your back.

especially by the ssssssswwww ssssswwwww swwwws in the shadows.

fly with those wings girl, don’t curse them.

soar with that courage, don’t shrink.

yes the multitudes came out to hear Jesus

but his disciples bailed on him when the shit went down.

you will be alone when the pressure comes.

sometimes you will shine

sometimes you will stumble.

but we are not judged by how we perform during the lightning storm

we are known by how much light we reflect every day.

ive seen em

they look like us

dress like us

they even drive around

poorly, but still.

they say things

and i listen.

they write

little notes

scratchy like.

other day i

saw one of them

scribble something

ball it up

toss it.

and write more

on a new paper.

for some reason i looked

at the balled up piece.

a car drove by.

a bird cawed.

i unballed it

it said

we’re not alone.

they havent floated up to the good place and they get tangled in tree branches

heart strings, rooftops, bangs, fishing caps

and dreams.

because they’re dead but haven’t risen they think the whole trip is over and ends poorly

but they haven’t seen the other side.

they still think Bin Laden is on the run.

they still believe OJ is guilty.

for all they know rock is doing perfectly well.

we have two jobs. one is to usher the spirits to the next Mario Bros level.

the other is to live by example.

on the playground where i grew up in the mean streets of the suburbs

if one kid nailed a 3 pointer then all of us started making shots way down town.

and if another kid dunked, then we all believed we could too.

after all, we all chewed the same gum, wore the same Cons, and kissed the same girls.

so of course we could all dunk.

which is why to this day you dont wanna see me driving the lane cuz yr gonna be in my poster.

living by example is the greatest lesson Pete Rose ever gave us. if a slow, stocky, hick, with no college degree can knock more hits than any other person in baseball history

then OF COURSE those of us with video technology, Jamesian statistics and some talent can make it to the 3,000 hit club, but alas so few do.

why?

because so few do.

we are monkeys. we have to see the 100th monkey wash his hands before we do. we have to see the reality tv star ascend to the white house before we believe it can be done.

and now we have to watch the right people do the right thing to truly drain the swamp.

the ghosts must be removed from the machine.

and then the machine needs to be turned into a computer chip.

and placed in a lock box

of love.