“War is the spectacular and bloody projection of our everyday lives …”
Peace and Glory festooned across my brow …
over a winged skull …
the rhinestone encrusted ball cap turned backwards on my head
“What’s up with you and them skulls all the time” she sneered “what’s that representin’?”
i said ta me its the death of the self, flyin’ off ta heaven …
like when you die, you instantly connected to the source of the universe, that’s why i say its ultimately a dead end, this unending fight to survive goin’ on within ourselves and the focus of the whole movement of civilization … war in every sphere of every level of our consciousness playin’ out in all it’s forms all out in the world …
we all gonna die anyway
ergo – if i gonna die – obviously – there is only one and constant question –
is what i doin’, right here and now, worth dyin’ for?
To have had it come back ’round to me, more than once, “Gary the only white boy I trust.”
Go to work every day.
Its like livin’ in the camp of the enemy – the best disguise is complete openness.
So … if my god is black and my wife is black and my children and grandchildren and neighbors are black … what might that indicate ’bout me? I may not appear so, but actually i am black.
… thirty years ago, fall 1982, age 24, i find myself at the end of the road, can’t go no further …
A black family tribe came along, dug down in the mud and picked me up, a sangha of saints i revere to this day. They picked me up and set me on my feet and i stepped onto the long glory road of urban industrial labor.
Now don’t get me wrong. There are aspects to bein’ an oil slave i LOVE. I work with the best people. Period.
And we all understand … it ain’t ’bout makin’ the company googaws of millions of dollars … which we do … its ’bout the people workin’ beside ya, up and down the line.