The violence storms….
The violence storms
Whiskey didn’t kill me and war befriended me. Wounded heart that blood-out, had nothing left to lose. Pretty Poet told me in Monterey. California sun, last blessing dear soldier. You killed a thousand bottles of whiskey, did you find peace? Let’s go to Big Sur, drink the tequila with some limes, forget who we were, become what we suppose to be. Sometime we must tell the world to f-off, kiss the sky, dance with the sea, find someone or some people, wanting to be free of the shit. We need to open our eyes, see the truth, rich man world, see the poor, just waste and garbage in their eyes.
I put a 30-30 to my face once, I didn’t pray to Jesus, I didn’t pray to the Devil. The phone rang. War was alive, wanted the prior service. I put the 30-30 down. I decided the Ojibwa death was better. War couldn’t kill me, just taught me. Living is harder than being dead. The Army send me to California, I became the dark Poet, I wrote of beautiful faces and the darkness. I went to San Francisco alone, I found my Hotel California, giant hotel for the travelers. I bought 2 cases of beer and tequila/whiskey to the lobby. I befriended many. Pretty Spain girl told me. Crazy man, slow down sweetie, taste the burn of whiskey, feel the heat of the tequila. Life isn’t seeking dead-end. Life is seeking new sweetness. Better to die free and holding no regret. In the end. We learn, we don’t need everything and she lay her head against me. I brought her close and I thanks her. She smile. Here at our Hotel California, payment for room is cheap, always someone to talk to. All of us need a place to rest and sometime we cannot leave.