Stamp out Hate? Or STOMP WITH HATE??
Has Love been shot down by it’s Evil Capitalist Impostor, promising us pop-song immortality if we buy the right cologne and keep up that Brazilian wax?
Boy meets Girl. Boy meets Boy. Girl meets Girl. Girl becomes Boy, was Boy all along as Boy was Girl and All were a Unified One.
Hate stamps out the Evil Impostor of Love by refusing to stand for lies, for oppression, for injustice any longer. And then Genuine Love will come forth from exile to build something better in it’s place, to evolve all of humanity.
I Hate, I Love, I’m awake.
I Hate, I Love, I’m sentient.
I Hate, I Love, I’m alive.
I Hate, I Love, I’m human.
I Hate, I Love, I advance.
Wasn’t sure how that would go over, since it allows Hate a place at the table in a time where the more popular school of thought is to pretend you’ve never had a negative emotion in your life, but the audience seemed ok enough with it to applause. The third piece, which will be entered later, went over the best though.
Also, I should mention that that Monday, unbeknownst to us, Laura Kennedy, formerly of Bush Tetras, succumbed to the all-too-unsung plague of Hepatitis-C. “A scourge of a disease”, as she described it on her blog. This news was quite devastating to both of us when we learned about it yesterday, myself as a mere fan, and Eric as a fellow musician who remembers Laura and other members of the band as neighborhood locals, at a time when they all would have run in similar circles of music and bohemia. This sad news arrived to us in the same hour I also learned of the tragic and unexpected death of fellow cartoonists’ Tom Hart and Leela Corman’s daughter Rosalie, and that a high school friend of mine had also experienced the passing of someone in her life. I’m filled with an inability to comfort anyone, really, and despite my gradual garnering of a reputation as a spoken word/performance artist in certain circles, an inability to offer anything that’s not trodden and trite. Like, hold on to those who mean the most to you in your life. Both metaphorically and literally, tangibly, close enough to feel their breath and heartbeat. Hold them.