On my way into the library I notice a curious stare from a young gentleman and his cohorts. He offers, "Wow, man, you are really bright." Bright? "Yeah, the yellow you are wearing, your blond hair, your complexion." Quickly one realizes this is no ordinary young man. Rather, someone with a keen awareness for the colors, textures, smells, and sounds around him. Black and white can wait a few minutes as THR3 sought out the reason for this individual's keen awareness towards everyday vibrations.
DATE: Oct. 21, 2007
LOCATION OF INTERVIEW:
THR3: Ok. Why are you wearing red today?
W: Because I think it looks very cool on me and people seem to agree.
THR3: Is there another color you fancy? Purple maybe? [He is wearing a purple backpack.]
W: No, sky blue. Sky blue ‘cuz, ya know, Sky is my uncle. My favorite bird is a blue jay and it is blue…ya know. And I like earthly colors. Red is the fiery passion that burns in my heart – I am poet, I’m really deep. Yes, the red is the passion that is within me. Blue would be the coolness of the world that surrounds me.
THR3: How long have you been a poet?
W: Oh, you know, my whole life, ever since I could remember. I remember kindergarten there was a D.A.R.E. parade. I came up with the slogan that my whole class chanted.
THR3: Really?
W: Yeah. Here it is: “Drugs, drugs they’re not cool/If you do them you are a dead fool. Dead, because you’ll die.”
THR3: That is pretty profound for someone in kindergarten.
W: Yeah, well that how I am….Should I recite a poem?
THR3: Please.
W: I look outside the window
I see the spare crazy thought of an idea of a free world
Where people don’t die of death
What IS death?
A release from this pain and agony
A release from this horror called life
The Jaws of life cut through the chains of repression
Which restrict us from a better place
Scared.
What is scared more of life is scared more of death because it is different
But if death releases us from this horror called life
Death is life.
We strive to live and fight to survive
But death will take us.
She makes me feel like death
Live, scared of being free
But she doesn’t feel the same for me
So I must suffer through life without her here
The harvester of sorrow, the pain inside
The tears I’ve cried, the silent time drifting by
Without her I slowly die, I am scared for life
This deepest soul is as deep as a never-ending pit of despair
A rat, a plague, the soul is dead, the blood of my pain,
The end of darkness, the end of my fear.
THR3: What is that called?
W: “Crazy Hearts.”
THR3: When did you write “Crazy Hearts?”
W: 2002.
THR3: So why are you here sitting in front of the library? You should be at a coffee shop or something, performing your art for the ears of the people.
W: Well, I came here because I can’t pay all my rent, and I got this pamphlet from this lady in the library and I guess they have resources here. So I hope I can find someone who can help me. I got really sick last month, I missed a lot of work, so I am $250 short on my rent this month. And I figure if I can get that paid then I’ll be all right. Otherwise it’s going to be a cold winter.
THR3: Agreed. I suspect it is hard to make a living with poetry. In
W: Yeah, they’re all brainwashed, but its OK.
No comments:
Post a Comment