Shut The Fuck Up

08.06.21.7:00pm

Find a queen without a king
They say she plays guitar
and cries
and sings
Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
tryin' to find a woman that's never, never, never been born
standin' on a hill
in the mountain of dreams
tellin' myself it's not as
hard, hard, hard as it seems

- Led Zeppelin - Going to California

Scottism:

Unutterably Alone------------------

Trying to find my way
And not getting it
waiting and working for something to "click"

Some of my gears are loose and spinning freely
While others are grinding and jamming

I lay my soul bare to the universe
with absolute hope and confidence
I am free and true and naked
and alone
I am the tiny sparrow
insanely brave
trying to catch a morsel of life for myself
surrounded by millions of pigeons
who live only to compete and consume.

And strangely I am the lucky one
The one who finds exquisite flavor and texture
In each bite I take
be it a circle k hotdog
a henry miller feast of
ten drops of wine
an inch of cigar
and a half sandwich to wipe your ass with

maybe a chunk of a porterhouse steak
that a customer was too affluent to finish
I - the minimum wage dishwasher will gladly eat

or,

like the chinese parable about the man who eats
a bowl of plain white rice
outside the window of a restaurant
flavoring my rice with the delicate and
tasty smells wafting out that window

I do not choose to "buy" the fancy things
because life is already fancy itself

The smile I exchange with an old woman walking down the street
THAT is my salt
The fearful and challenging glances men give each other as they pass
THAT is my pepper
The new flavors and experiences that I discover each day
THAT is my lemon and lime
The bones that I unexpectedly bite into
THAT is my dirt
The strawberries that you give me in the morning
THAT is my sugar
The train, as it makes it's lonely call across the country
THAT is my music

I stand here
naked and cut and bruised and alone
And I would choose no other place
no other way
to be

I'm sitting 30 feet away from Railroad Street
that alley of carrion smells
and private shadows from the burning sun
I'm seeing people no longer walking but rushing
as the wind and the temperature change
and the monsoon moves like a glacier across the sky

First one, then three
then in an instant thousands of heavy raindrops fall
As the wind tries to tear away
the things that we have built
You can hear the loose pieces of the world
wrenched free
roots torn
then slammed horrifically against each other
Birds race for shelter
Noble insects scramble for something dry
and the Scott sits with a pen unafraid
yet worried
so many worries
spiritual, physical, and mental
And what, where, how, why?

I know I will make it through the storm of each day
Yet each day I grow more weary
Each day the storm finds more and more
personal ways to dig into me
finds all my treasures
that i've been saving for myself
demands a tax
and successfully collects

Each day the storm insists that I stop
being such a damn pussy
Each day the storm declares
that I must be my own boss

The storms have decreed
that I must rise up and be strong
or I will drown in their floods
and washed away
diluted
made thin and weak
my essence blended into the silt
that settles in the gutter.

She says
You didn't do that
Those aren't your words
You're trying to deceive me

She says
That I'm a thief and a liar

She says
That she wishes it were true
that I am who I really am

And I look to the stars
my only constant companions
the heavy rain of the storm
becomes my tears

I see pinpoints of hope in the heavens
Angels in bright yellow and peach
flying....
Like This!!!!!!

The sunless, airless descent
I must land on my feet

I walk with just a handful of the images
you carry and create
Little crumbs I pull off to share with
the small birds that hunger
I keep the nugget for myself
eat it and digest it
then art shit
that all may see

Jesus never said "worship me"
He said, "I have found the kingdom of heaven within"
He said, "Follow me - follow my example."

It's not as hard, hard, hard
as it seems

A naked man is a true man
No choice, no fucking choice
but to be true

How can you taste the perfect essence and ever lie about it?

How can you hold something
that you know to be absolutely real
and ever want to be unreal?

Mountains and the canyons start to tremble and shake
Children of the sun begin to wake

And from here you're supposed to hold absolutely true to your true
There is no choice.
The choice is this:
be real and suck it up and suffer
be real and pretend and die inside
be fake and succeed and never know the difference
be absolutely, totally real - and win!

To look at yourself in the mirror and
to be proud
of who you see
To count on your little fingers
the compromises that you're willing to make

To know that truth surpasses all bullshit
And then -
to grit your teeth and suffer

Blah, blah, blah
whiney, whiney
Shit

Apparently truth is not a commodity
You're not going to make a profit of being real
What you get
is what you believe
nothing more
nothing less
and everything you deserve
as true as you are is as true as you will get

Of course that will lead to some amazing things

Tomorrow will always be better than today.