Bobby Parker, “spinner’s end”
(fragments of disappointment, alienation, babbling and resolve)
There were no cakes in the tin, but it was a very pretty tin decorated with rainbows melting into the electric image of people laughing in their adult world… And it was all a con. We wanted something sweet, and the tin was so pretty; however we couldn’t know for certain that it was empty… just had to reach inside for ourselves, feel around with itchy fingers, hope for a crumb, a chocolate chip… A heartfelt letter from the cake tin maker explaining everything …
(I want to feel the way I did when I was young, when cakes were dreams!)
I’ll sell my soul to the way you all move around, press your lips and bodies together, make sounds with your mouths and expect others to do the same, earn enough money to be able to sleep without that sensation of falling through the mattress, waste love on those who that do not deserve it, stay friends with people out of habit and not because they are particularly interesting or you care how they feel… I’ll sell my soul to the way you pray and laugh and scratch your heads at the stars, the way you look in mirrors at your bodies and wonder what a little muscle could do, the way you talk to people you don’t really like because it would be rude not to, and the way you bury your dead and bring them flowers instead of apologies, and OH MAN I’ll sell my soul to the way you think and breathe mass media manipulation
if it means the girl who wants to marry me
won’t mind blowing bubbles in the wind
and the occasional giggling fit
at the way you all look so funny
with your serious faces
won’t mind blowing bubbles in the wind
and the occasional giggling fit
at the way you all look so funny
with your serious faces
