Autobiography of PeaceLoveSpraypaint

It’s another day. Stopping to get gas and cigarettes on the way home, and all I want to do is sleep. It’s been a few days of stress and no sleep.

And on the way home… Home… another wayward idea, another way off ideal… home….

“Please don’t poison Me… Please don’t Poison Me…. Please Don’t Poison Me…”

And going back to bed, seemed wrong…

Here I am, yet afraid… I’m Tired of being afraid… Tired of being afraid,…

Almost tired of being alive, but can’t stop. Each breath is an insult to society. Look at me. Stoned. Seen too many miles, too many nightmares, too much death.

But I’ve maybe got a grip on that
Seems a better trip here
A better voyage,
Another Ship

So all is good, a good group of people, a feint smile on my face, and despite the pull to sadness and despair, I see that balloon, and spear to chuck at it.

Ready aim. You are on Missouri. Fire.

We are group of people. On fire. On deck, on revolution. We are love.

And you will love us. We hope. We are not civil disobedience. We are loveobeidience. To 1613. the lsd and the mushrooms. The trips and tripping to the stream,

the love of being alive.

Even though we have death between our toes, we keep walking.

The now dead fish, Little Spotted Dude, Sex, is Public Places, our pit-bull Tsunami, and these are they days.
We have nothing but love, but party. We know love, and revolution, but its not the idea.
Walking up and down Wilson Avenue, Stopping on High ST<

Keeping the unrest alive and keeping the family types opposite left,

Playing quietly with the cops, Playing quietly with each other,

Another abyss, another life.

Keeping the Clouds of Dissonance of ideas together

Keeping those Ideas of Dissonance Apart,

Like the Counter Melodies of cross tuned Guitars
and Arythmic drums,

Keeping jobs and classes we don't care about,

Keeping Lives and Loves We do Care about?

Through LSD Cocaine Tequila and Marijuana,

Through Hugs and Kisses,

Rain Drenched Jams

“There's a hole in my Bucket,

A Hole in My bucket,

There's a Hole in My Bucket,

And I Can't Get NOOOOO

I SAID I CAN'T GET NOOOOO

There's a hole in my BUCKET.....ttttt

And I CAN'T GET NO BEER!!!”

And we got beer, and went to the creek,

And it was still raining,

And we were still tripping,

And we had no idea the night,

Less of an idea the morning,

No idea the life we had,

Just that we had SMILES,

That we had LIFE

That the world might have been right

That the life was good

We the 6 of us

on the right path

At the house on Wilson and High

And our drawers and our messssssss

The ignored Chore wheel,

The Mosquito Infested Couch

and the at hand bong,

The dying tv and the deadly balcony

and the free beers

and the free drugs

and the huge parties

and the life

the life.....

And then it ended. The lease is up, the jig is gone, there is no repentence now.

There is just a JOB?

There is another place, and there is another party,

Here smoke this what is it

Just smoke this, the mushrooms, drink this beer, welcome home,

This is for you this is love

Welcome to the days
This is the daisy

This is your home

These are your roommates

And this is your mansion

On our porch we will throw parties,

And in this fridge is everything

Eat this Jello,

There are 550,

We will litter the town, lets GO!!!!!

its 1999,

its a new lake of the unknown,

its 1999

the sugarcubes are mine....

its 1999

this rice is scary

its 1999

this is nothing

its 1999

this is the square is all coming down

its all love here,

its all walking

but its one party

miles around

miles around

and we have something new?

We have something old

No we know there is something coming

We are sitting in the clean room,

Still finding

Dixie cups of old,

Past memories,

Those cells burned,

but we still know,

Here on Wilson Street,

Here on High Street,

that there is something

ELSE

SOMETHING

FREE

yet we can't see our feet,

Just empty cases of clean bottles, waiting for our special brew

We have the delivery man on call,

And from here we walk,

We can't see anything, but our future callings,

We make hastily planned escapes, and never talk again,

We know our missions,

We know our causes,

And we go.

Our separate ways, out separate ways out, and our separate ways in.
It's a new path. It's filled with guitars, and noise and revolution. It's all the same old song. Work a job, collect the pay, pay the bills.