memoirs of a pianist.

Embracing the desert, I was, I am. All that we have, the one thing they don't provide enough of, serves as sharp cactus. Chewed up and served to contaminate our youth. The young compromise knowledge for poison disguised in bite-sized packages, and silver cans that come alive in their own filth.

Our signals dance on the waves of the ocean. Pretend to be hip as we hop around to an entrancing melody at an urban gathering. Most of ,we, listen blindly, but I pick up the hints. Parading to the sound of drum, the sound of struggle; trying to forget the sound of defeat.

A maze is what separates me from the real world, so they say. Living in a nightmare without any options. We are constrained with the chains we so proudly and loudly let jingle. The whips we break our backs with. The paper we mass produce without paying homage to its mother, our mother.

Fear and loathing are our best attributes. Somewhere in the past our ancestors worked so that we would not have to. History has a bad habit of repeating itself and it seems we have run out of time.

The trap was built along with the whips used to crack our backs and without nothing more than a tip of the hat, in we go! Never to turn back.