ghettoblasters

Migration is a funny thing, it’s the story of the world and we’re no different. For reasons known and unknown, and always sung about, some people had to walk a long way or else hitch a ride, Durango, Guerrero, Michoacan, Colorado, Poland, Colombia, Indiana, Riverside, most were forced in one way or another or else trampled, shackled, fucked and deep fried for an obese god. They keep telling me what's up, getting their stories wrong, fucking up the corroboration. Mix your blood in the sand and the train’s waiting the very next day, a new slab of something to defend to the death. Factory job or whatever the fuck. A big score up in Richmond then another exile east because west you'd drown in that cold Pacific. And then if the concrete dries it loses its urgency, it’s off to the store and she never came back, or hitchhiking, hand baskets, greyhound never wins the race, bright lights, dim bulbs, big city of abandonment and death, it’s all about migration and will always be from here on out.

A seasonal shift now, end of time again, big deals coming down to strangle and scram. I'm not talking about baseball, no not at all. I'm not thinking of pretending to be lost in a park, in the neighborhood, where the fuck did Desiree go? I remember 2 houses from the corner, where the cops beat Johnny Morales half to death. I have to move along, momentarily, where she took an ice pick to the sky and let it all come down.

I'm running scared, as the song goes, but not from anyone I know. I have to go out to the desert and knee cap my cousin because he's letting a bad element eat away my grandmother's house, food, beer, cleaning supplies, these cocksuckers are worse than the roaches. You know, sometimes it's decent to have a snake in the grass or tarantulas in the garden because they eat the rats and roaches, and if your predators get outta hand, there are always more. Owls and bobcats and sawed off shot guns, no serial, bury it out by where grandma used to take you on walks, explaining what shit was and why.

So a mission is set, a loose plan to fuck people up. If it's reckless or good, I won't know for awhile. But it won't be the same without strong drink. Goddamn this ordinary ride. I think if the truth is what they say then I'll have to tell the same tale. Whispers or screams, someone's gonna have to hear it. Even if the window opens for a clean, guttural shut the fuck up over there. Then, my work will be done for a little while.