Hard core bikers and stone cold killers
Reiki Masters and shaman and energy workers
Mediums and psychics and healers and mystics
Not a TV Show no man just a small show goat farm
In the long morning shadow of Mount Hood, Oregon
In this dream I am only an itinerant farm hand
Dream within a dream I call The Coma Dream Dilemma
How am I to know certainly that “this” is not a coma dream?
I channel Hunter S. Thompson for the month of August
Told him straight up, just some pot and you can write – only
No guns, dig it, no drugs, booze and certainly no hookers, man
You laugh my grandmother Mayes is my Guardian Angel
Spiritually, she is the enforcer: good luck fucking with Grandma!
And Hunter knew man I mean she's right there with him
And he knew that he could only take control to write
Pretty wide open like that but also have faith in Grandma
So then our environment is the water in which we swim
And it was the Reiki Masters and the Energy Workers
And Mediums and the goddamn beautiful bikers
Subtle and deep with wisdom and brutal when needs be
That blew my mind away
I found out that I'm nothing like Hunter he's different, man
Hunter occupies space and time all Hunter all the time
He truly doesn't care about what society or anyone thinks
He doesn't have to try to not care, he just doesn't
Like the wolf gives no apologies to eating the caribou alive
Hunter to the end said: “it never got weird enough for me, man”
After a month I said, “it's gotten plenty weird enough for me, man”
Like snow I can say that I have had enough weird for a lifetime
Hunter left without a fuss he was bored and thought I am a pussy
Didn't take it so hard since I know he thinks everyone's a pussy
No comments:
Post a Comment