Discorporate...
and we'll begin.
I am the Mysterious Traveller...
The by-product of
a thousand miserable injustices...
A strange enigma.
Demon-spawn child
of sheltered academia
and heroin-addled NYC pimps.
This society eats away
at my armor...
Astonished spectators
view my decomposition.
An outsider in this society...
outcast in my own race.
More at home with Miles, Asante, Dali, weird architecture,
than commercial black radio
or the scratch and sniff hedonism
at the local booty club...
I am the Dark Hat,
the cold expression.
The permanent eccentric.
Resonating on the off-beat
like some Thelonious Monk tune.
I am the contemptuous sneer
aimed at the church...
Witnessing conformity
as the most miserable imitation
and situation to be in....
"It's ok....Ill just stand out here."
Fractured, dazed, lost,
I walk past the car wreck of pop culture.
Having seen too many,
and Trauma being my middle name.
Yes, fate brought me here
beyond the "isms" of the current day.
D.S. AL CODA
Dissect the affected aesthetics artfully,
glean this tone with sobriety,
You will find...
in some way,
you are me, I am you.
and in our own way
we are all iconoclasts...
unsure, mysterious,
Travelling...travelling...travelling.
(c)2006 intercontinental abstractions. all rights reserved.