I’m razza-tazz zen
cartoonish and fleshy
but I never died, not once

left my dignity at home,
my heart in Peru
and my mind somewhere
along the interstate

but that’s okay
my soul now pumps my blood
and dignity is like cancer
and my mind
needed a break anyway

now I just razza-tazz
in dimly lit bars
and soak in the reality
pushing carts and buggies
through the eyes of needles

I’m razza-tazz zen
under the sky
above the earth
a small place, indeed
without a heart a mind
or dignity to spare

It’s called improv, son, dig? The sheepskin don’t do any good when it ain’t put to use, dig? I got a blade and I’m ’bout to get fuckin’ stone, see? You ain’t gotta go, but you ain’t gotta stay here, neither. I’m a fuckin’ mayan god, see, and I’m gonna go get the sacrifice.

And the sun just ain’t never gonna set, so long as we keep our eyes open. The dead walk and we’re just pushing ourselves wrong. All wrong. Fuckin’ wasting our time, to the benefit of the gods, maybe. Maybe not, and in the end we all say the same damn thing: let’s get fuckin’ high. It ain’t a solution, ain’t meant to be one, see? It’s not a repercussion or a problem or a side-effect, just a fuckin’ state of mind. That’s all it will ever be.

And if you’re fuckin’ lucky, you’ll sponge up some of that zen and amidst the smoke find all the shit you lost.

Related posts:

1. Dig it.
2. how carelessly you seem to objectify your relationship with the universe
3. it’s all come in the cunt *