Today, I'm Ginsberg. Today, I'm Palahniuk.

I am not a poet
I am not a muse
I am not a lover
 
I am not a great story told in segments by the wandering shamans.
I am not written in car tires. In the grain of film strips.
I am not sprayed on melancholy walls.
I am not I am not I am not ana ana anaphora.
I am epistrophe. I am the end.
 
I am chicken scratch.
I do not think about the children of tomorrow. The more they are born, the less I will die. 
I am the itch from the wool of your favorite shirt. Is it worth it?
I am red hair. 
I am you after a boiling.
I am the .50 caliber bullets sent throw the brain of every nobody somebody who dared stand up for the freedom they cradle in their mouths like hot candy.
I’m sorry bone. I’m sorry blood. I’m sorry mom.
I’m sorry God.
 
I am the bricks on the ankles of the snitches and the scapegoats.
I am the weeping in their lungs. 
I do not want to save you.
You do not need to be saved. 
I am the hour between when you go to sleep and when the person you love wakes up.
I am  bleeding the rust from the fire escapes you climbed in your youth.
I am not freedom. But I am willing to die for it. 
I am the strange everything that you don’t understand as you are falling asleep.
I am the strange man crescented over a typewriter. 
Hitting the keys too hard because they is boom ba da boom ba da boom in his surging thoughts.
 
I am the yous. The thems. The us.
We are the hoodlums in the headlines.
We are brilliant. Wasted. Ruined. Blasted. Plaster-casted. Bronze.
We were whispered about by the world leaders of yesteryear.
We were in the fields of Bethel, New York.
We were on the beaches of Normandy.
We were stranded in the Andes.
We ate our dead friends. 
But we survived.

Reviews

[dieuxsansculte]

Awesome, unnerving, powerful, disturbing, real.

"I am not freedom. But I am willing to die for it."

And you are free because you and others ARE willing to die for it.

Count me as one of them.