Castles Made of Sand

I was California Dreamin before I was born

It’s an innate disease, incurable

Constantly overtaking the body, the mind.

I remember the first time I saw the Los Angeles

You weren’t there so you wouldn’t know

How badly I needed to be part of it all

Part of the perpetual motion of the city, the state

The movement of people uncontrolled and uninhibited.

You can pretend like you’re satisfied but I know better

We all yearn for the west, somewhere deep inside our souls

We’re all pioneers after all,

And where did the frontier go?

You’re looking at it. It’s all around you

The people, the rhythm, the sounds

The movement is starting and this time I refuse to not follow it.

Correct my double negative, I beg you

Cause tomorrow I’ll be gone

I miss you now more than ever

Dear Prudence,

Tell me,

What shade is the color of lust?

As it drips from my skin, greedier still

Skimming the better half of my dreams

I long to join you

in the strawberry fields
For some reason

The bible pretends not to understand

While we get lost, deeper still, on the carousel of whores.
 

Sometimes, I admit, I've never felt more alone.

 

 Who cares when there’s really no reason behind feeling copasetic. Just an excuse.

 

“the only people for me are the mad ones,
the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved,
desirous of everything at the same time,
the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing,
but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles
exploding like spiders across the stars.” ― Jack Kerouac, On the Road