A LARGE SIGH FOR MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS

Do they remember? Will they remember--two days from now--even? I wrote it in Sharpie on my arm: I REMEMBER YOU 9/11.

It was all just I I had expected on my way to the cafe. Kids walking up in groups to have lunch, like the way women always need a few more to help them with the strenuous task of going to the bathroom. Like children, back in the years of gradeschool, all grouping together so they won't have to eat alone in the dreaded lunchroom. Me, I could give a shit--I most always eat alone. I'd probably enjoy my food better anyhow, not having to listen to someone yack loudly as food spills from there mouth. As they all fall victim to the governments plan of easing our people back into the line, wrapping chocalates for $1 an hour. Did any of them remember? I doubt it. I wanted to ask the server "Do you remember?" But who am I to play big bad wolf on her pleasent Sunday at work. Surely if she did remember she wouldn't have had such a booming smile--that that everyone had. I ask you, a moment of silence, please, for our people, please!? I was tempted to scream "REMEMBER, DAMN IT!" Instead I hustled out the door with my head down. This is my display to let you know that I remember, even if you plain American swines don't. I remember, and who am I, anyways? Knowing who I am matters even less next to the fact that I am one of the few, here out in the distance, who remembers. That's the way it feels, at least...

So the best I can do, it appears, is to write this statement that I so want to cry out onto my skin, where it will remain for days to come, and during my classes, maybe it will spark some recognition, and maybe not. But I remember you, I swear it I do, and I will-not-forget.


(Here is a poem I wrote some time ago that I thought accurate for the occasion. I will leave it open to interpretation. [Neat, I rhymed...])

My Psychic Side-Kick

imagine, imagineer
dream my life away
piece all the little pixels in the puzzle
as tessilations in a geometric game
it's a guise to hide what will arise
on that second independence day
when women and children
fall victim to the Villian
and everything is emursed in ashen gray

dream, little dreamer
tell me the story mommy said was a lie
whatever happened to that guy?
feel the sparks in your brain connect
you've yet too much truth in you to reject
much more truth than any can fathom:
it's a guise to hide what will arise
when you take a stand on that day
when you show your people the way
when they finally see you are more than a child,
more than just wild--you are TRUTH
and to think, they thought you the uncouth...

wake up, sleepy thinker
for your day draws near
when all of the allusions will finally be clear
the rain will pass; green will be the grass
'Twas a guise to hide that which has still yet to arise...