4 minute read
Tomorrow's Another Day
No Age of Innocence
By Zoltan Tajti
Brat. Brat is the word. It’s not the bird, bird ain’t the word. Not anymore, not at this point.
“Words [have] lost their meaning,” “what we have here is failure to communicate” with strings of sounds — instead, “colours of the rainbow” are called in aid, against all odds . Who’d have thought millennia passed since ancient Egypt, we’d be talking not even so much as in “images (and words)” but in living colour s.
Yet, here we are. “Born to be kings [— we’re] the princes of the universe — and even so, we gave (we give) into the confines of our deepest, most visceral engines of operation and creation, frequencies of visible light, “light to dark, dark to light, light to dark. Heaven must be more than this” but who gives a shit. If it ain’t wrong, don’t repair it, “wise men say” , so color me badd , “cover me” – let everyone’s true colors shine through their “sobriety” of “all […] pain and strife” .
I say, say say that you let go and appreciate the circumstances and the environment. Celebrate the now, do as you please ‘cause it’s a mad world out there — a “jungle, baby” — and ain’t nobody and “nothing’s gonna stop” it turning. Heaven [as it were] is a place on Earth but only if you get out of your own way, shut up, and drive .
Again (Lenny): there “ain’t no right” or wrong , there is just doing it (i.e., “doin’ it well” ). There are no mistakes, ‘cause every mistake is improvisation (so not true the other way around, by the way , and every little thing [everyone has ever done] is magic – yes, “kind of magic” .
So no judgy, Kentucky — winner winner, chicken dinner. Today it’s brat, as was the pack back at the Breakfast Club (“don’t you [ever effing] forget about” that) and tomorrow it’ll be something else, something someone somewhere will not understand, will misunderstand, misinterpret, mis“represent” ; pardon me , but I ain’t fooled by change anymore, and so should you focus, really focus hard on staying Gold. Always, always gold, Ponyboy.
