hard truths.

it's just easier to be hard when you're a true storyteller.
y'know?
saying things that are actually things,
no matter how much they reflect the hot fire and lightning
of a conscience-less secret universal plan?
that's a hard style.
but,
of course,
the wrench will always turn itself if you're take too long to choose it.
i'm not saying warrior poetry is the paean of the path to happiness.
far from it, really.
after all,
when you're a truth teller telling stories,
you only tell true stories.
and that's the damned dirty hard-edged rough-ridden bitter brutal thing of it...
you gotta tell the truth.
otherwise,
really real life will find a way to bite you in the A*-hole.
it always does.
sure,
a good delivery goes a long way towards administering the bad medicine sometimes,
but,
even the glibbest tongue won't support a flawed fable.
rules is rules,
facts are facts,
and nobody stays here by faking reality in any manner whatever.
the worst part about looking at What Is?
seeing What Is.
i mean no matter how beautiful the language,
no matter how balanced the storyline,
and with plot twists notwithstanding,
the truth is pretty ugly.
i guess that's probably what i love about it.
you gotta stay ugly, and you gotta stay dope.
i like what i like,
and everything else can pretty much be destroyed.
ummmmmm,
good morning, neighbors!
i just remembered,
it's november.
truly,
it's always the worst;
never quiet, never soft.....