Late Night Sketches

ben@latenightsketches.com

For Thought

Back at it
Like a man
Who grabbed the baton and ran
Or walked
With his stomach correllated to his breathing
Erect and strong
The Spine
Get out of your dirty mind

Without Moving

When you can sing without
Any muscle movement
Or even the urge for one

You're the other
You're not your body

Just directing your mind
Separate of physical consequence

It's where peace comes from
Because it's not just in your head

Notice how you think
With a hurt gut
Or inflamed epidermis

But you don't have to touch it
All the time

Singing provokes the vocal chords
So strongly
To follow along
But you can leave that attraction

And hear purely
Only with practice

Satisfying Job

They only place for "full-time" roles
Don't miss it
This has nothing to do with the clock
It has to do with prestige
The vertical signalling
Remember where that came from

Sharing Life

The plants grow
Picking up and out of their environment
Different frequencies and characters

Lady Sativa absorbs the surrounding vibes
Crystallizing for our consumption

Miss Indica picks up on our far out visions
Suggesting a deep presence

The effect from either
Reflects what we feel
While existing beyond us

So much of a society's
Decisions are influenced by its habits

Somehow, I want to believe
I've figured out how to make changing my ways
The easiest thing
But from afar
You've only gone deeper
But really
Don't worry until you go sideways

Restaurant Review

First meal back in the bay
I've to wait for the camping store to open
2 hours
After that jam-packed all nighter bus
Breakfast burrito
What would you think I would get?
Nothing goes down easier
Like the little man's hand into his shorts
Digging up his bare ass at the counter
Nobody sees it but me
He's barely got 4 years
What's the harm?

I'm careful
The bathroom key is attached to a giant steel ladle
After washing my hands
I hold it with a napkin from my pocket
There's already someone waiting
This lady goes in as I hold the door for her
She declines the key
She doesn't need it with my help

The little guy has grabbed a rag
Playing as a table cleaner
Wiping chairs and surfaces
Where nobody's sitting
It's the same left hand he picked his crack with
He's loving the work
Running around
After he tires
Dad's there to tell him "Good Job"

Time to get out of there
Still a half hour to wait

Dry Season

Too easy and smooth to get down there
Everything was cheaper than it should have been
3 weeks gone
It's high season now
The land is dry
Leaves are burning
Dust is floating
Saws are screaming
Nobody has any respect anymore
They're sick of the tourists
Who are these people?
They show up just to laugh
Like it's all for fun
But the stress climbs
Until the rain comes
And washes away
The disconnected joyriders
The crinkling leaves
The stinking piles
Where it goes
Not our problem
Time to be reborn