With Count's Act Your Waist Size finally delivered, we have again moved into Something To Cope mode full-speed. More recording tonight. At least a couple of hours, but not much more as not to push myself into what should be sleeping hours. "Ghetto Soliloquy" up on deck. Watch me to rip a (w)hole in it...
Our 10-year-old God-daughter won a local writing contest that eye also placed in for many of my school years. As a matter of fact, it was through this contest that eye was first published in a now defunct local newspaper (Nashville Banner) during high school. We are just tickled to death for her and proud parents (What's up DJ Reggie Reg? How are you, Tiff?). Thanks so much for including us in your moment. Please allow me to share it with the world:
by Brianna Mason
Black cat,
Brother to the concrete.
Where do you live? Where will we meet?
Wandering along the city streets.
Running in front of passing jeeps.
Drinking rain water from gutters up high
Ducking down, cautious of the red sirens in the night.
Balancing just like bottles on the cold wall.
Sleeping beside apartments, churches and malls.
Hunting pesky subway mice.
His eyes following trains, a blur of color and lights.
During the day, he paints shadows on graffiti-colored walls
And pushes past people outside crowded malls.
Leaping upon ledges, eyes like old, green bottles,
When heÂ?s worn out he waddles.
Crossing basketball courts with no-netted hoops
His eyes watching the dirty orange ball;
Through the hoop, it swoops.
Searching for sun-soaked spots and snoozing in flower pots.
Black cat,
Where is your home?
He replies, "Anywhere I roam."
*Note: Not this DJ Reggie Reg, but the one from the "Pre-Life Crisis" cover .
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