Record Cabinet

(For Tamara)

Immersed in the passivity of blood
Not you, oh no never you
Do you recall when we were children and rode on dinosaurs?
I believe in evolution
I believe Bubbles finally forgave Michael Jackson.

We were at a party listening to heaven-sent records
One of those records Highway 61 Revisited and I believe it was the vinyl’s scratchiness that brought us closer together
I’ve never been very good at small talk and yet when talking with you I discovered it easier to be interesting and to actually carry on a conversation without feeling like the village idiot.

Immersed in a passion play of epic proportions
And when the blood is spilled it is spilled for no good reason
And when the blood is consumed a fairy tale of conditioning and condemnation takes hold forevermore
I look into your Indiana eyes and spy the warrior Joan of Arc
I look into your Midwestern soul and am introduced to a jigsaw puzzle of great lakes and greater proposals.

I believe in revolution
I believe we must unearth the politics of man and design new tools to rebuild a fractured humanity
I believe that even a cleansing of fire will not awaken us from our comatose states
I believe the record cabinet an ark of civil disobedience riding atop the hypnotic waves of an opaque oblivion.

Charles
9/12/11