Tallon Fassi

Swell to be noticed, burn and rive

They know just how to wring out alive

Beggars dot unsightly scene

Theatrics are for those who are green

The beasts are your guardians until it’s time to feed

Run on that trend mill, scratch that cosmetic need.

Scream your crazy, stand your dust

In God we have to trust

Hearts aren’t practical they break, they rust

Tickets for standing where the privilege trot

Pump gas and watch the under class rot.

Words of promise get you through,

Tomorrow the sky will be blue.

But you’ll die alone just wait and see

They will burn your ashes out at sea.

If you have the money smoke the weed

Drink the vodka, ignore the heed.

Got a mirror, gaze inside,

It’s just that guilty western pride.

Don’t understand? Then God damn

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The cultured few cordially invite you

To their fairytale ball.

 

With gossamer wings of lace and strings

They will beguile, disarm you with smiles

 

Sip the cup as you chit and chat

Like a Cheshire Cat until they

Work you through

 

Left so weak you’ll lose your feet

Falling into the center of the room

 

They are what to be

True blue bourgeois

A different breed from you and me

 

They will laugh as you go,

and be blessed to know

you put on an entertaining show.

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Word wielding love warrior

Blue moon baby

Crafted in the morning when

God was funky fresh

Voodoo practicing, witch craft

Manufacturing, cinders at the stake.

Pish talk champion three years running

And under consideration to be a saint

Like Cupid or Marley

I’m love stoned and what a delicious fate.

Diamond farmer, snake charmer

The harp fiddler of Douglas Place

Light me up while I’m training

Soul shakedown, superwomen aiming

Classy lunar lidded, transcendental wanna be.

Dirty lopsided classic

Loyal kite flyer supreme

Sunny side walking, pimp talking

Grapefruit tasting extraordinaire

Green eyed flashing, passion mashing

Over indulgent yet cliché thrashing

Tea leaf reading, love seeding

Seriously intrinsic Leo bleeding.

 

SEEKS:

 

Stage debater, plan hatcher

Hypocrisy hating with swagger stature

 

Rhyme sculpture with gentlemen

Genetics obscene or a mischief fisticuff king.

 

TO:

 

Move to my island, which must have;

Warm turgid sapphire seas

Music brought by the breeze

Mango groves, Cabet coves

Hammocks, decks and marijuana trees.

No clocks (I’m fighting the tick-tock disease)

 

If Interested:

 

Please, contact Tallon

At The Hippie Hideaway

I’ll be kissing Angelina’s lips

Shotgun hits which evolve

Fiery brazen quips.

I’ll turn the lights down low,

Sizzle embers golden

And wait…

To get up and go.

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Life is not as tragic we make it out to be.  Panicking for fun has become my generation’s national sport far over taking competitive dodge ball and cage fighting.  Why is it that we are so tense? Is it because we are all herded together in one narrow vein of living to succeeding or a happiness robbed death?  No!  That would be absurd we are a highly educated and well established country that blah blah blah.  Listen I don’t know a lot but what I do know is that I really don’t know much at all.  A side effect of this is that I want to experience as much as I can.  So hopefully to inspired anyone with the feeling of suffocation in one’s own life and see that the world is not the pen western culture’s MTV has sold us, but possibly more or less.  Vinyl is the wave of the future, culture is not dead.  These are my stories I write them high so take from them what you will or not.  I can’t predict the future but I’m right an awful lot.  I’m just saying find your own ways of doing things or at least challenge some of them.  These might just be a year of tall tales of they might even be the truth either way, they are mine and I am giving them to you.  Banksky’s had a dream and so do I.  Monkeys and dead men tell no lies.

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For me it came down to one question.  In my life did I want to be simply and admirer of style or an architect?  And there was my problem, it takes money to do anything worth doing. I have been told that I am a throw back, to what I’m not entirely sure.  If I was to state my opinion about how to reach the paramount of “success”, I could tell you nothing.  I live in Hippie Hide Away with my mother, a dog, and two cats.  I can however tell you how I would want to become famous.  By through some acknowledgement to old blue eyes, I want to do it my way.  I want to eat up some doubt and spit it out.  I want to throw down in fisticuffs with doubts.  In my own mind I draw a very clear line between doubt and insanity.  How does this jump occur?  Well it bounces off of my belief.  The sound conviction that you have to be crazy to succeed.  Not all encompassing, lithium drip padded room.  No! Delightful madness, of the order of Hunter and Kerouac, a little outside the box thinking like my man, George Orwell.  A bit of insanity is needed to be remembered by western world.  I believe when it is effective they “upgrade” you to eccentric, and then here will be many accolades to follow.  Morals, motive and plot be damned, full speed ahead.

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And I’ll be there whenever light

won’t touch your skin.

Every assumption that my

 silence meant I had no heart for you

Is as permenat as smoke in the breeze.

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I think it must be my perspective. 

 I feel about as common as a drugstore novel. 

Mass produced under government standards.

  I need that deviation form the norm to give me an inside edge. 

 Bob was right.

 The road less traveled would make all the difference.

  So how do I get off the highway, if I’m going way to fast? 

 Abstract abstractions fill my mind. 

 I feel Mary Jane

  She works my brain ,

straightens the curved in thousands of waves.

  I can’t regret a single session, no need for intervention.

  I’m not a mind addled youth, I’m grade A. 

There’s not a cop who would question me. 

 White is really the place to be, if you want to roll so free. 

 I invited my friends over to West Palmdale

 but only half of them could go. 

 I think it has something to do with the dough flow that gets lost in the lingo of race

I’m sorry linguistics, to be specific and (no place for modesty) terrific.

  So my structure doesn’t lend itself to mass appeal,

 but keeping to all I understand to be real. 

 Zealots in the 2-4’s parking lot,

when I drive the block for a blunt to smolder down to the top. 

I’m terrified of pot shots, critical melodrama, and subplots. 

 And No, I don’t think this is all that,

 I have higher intensions brewing in the vat. 

My mind comes and goes with Hurricane speeds,

 spreading disease with the pencil pushing fleas.

   Dissecting bitches into slabs,

 respecting ladies and lades

 when I press my paper to my pen. 

 The blood I pump is laced with adrenaline,

of the uncertain persuasion.

  God damn!

 look at all those Asians.    

 

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