Nothing pastel about it
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
people talk a lot of shit about the
urban landscape, the inner-city catastrophe
tossing grenades of self righteous fear and
loathing covered in liberal costumes of intellectual
banter,
they bemoan the filth and violence and wonder
why the poor burn their own neighborhoods and allow
thuggish gangs to roam like cockroaches over piles of
garbage, filthy people, dirty, un kept without class
or culture,
they want the city to clean it up, hose it down and
leave it squeaky clean with fresh asphalt covered in
crisply painted lines, devoid of the human filth and
lined with fashionable designer storefronts and
sidewalk cafes,
they ache for visions of safety and color coordinated
pastel shades of houses filled with property owners
pumping up the value with Home Depot's help,
but I like the city streets filled with human decay
walking around like books most people are afraid
to read, they have stories that are filled with the fight
for life, ugly, bloody, painful, with unending tragedies
hanging off their shoulders like rags from a dumpster,
this is where real life happens, where shit hits the fan
and middle-class mommies are left clueless over strung out
prom queens from the "burbs”--career minded daddies
white with rage,
where happiness is a consequence of the "lower-class
value stretch" for the mothers of junkies bleeding for
their sins in the blood of their own baptism and street
whores beg salvation prostrate before their johns,
where all life is predatory and there's nothing noble
about the carnage and the least common denominator
is survival without white bread innocence setting up
shop to church them to salvation,
this is the real life, babies born, mothers die, bullets fly
on new years like Chinese strings of fire crackers,
drunks, junkies, whores and seventy year old grandmothers
selling dime bags of weed are the foundations of living and
dying,
there's nothing pastel about it.
J. Masuda © 2005
urban landscape, the inner-city catastrophe
tossing grenades of self righteous fear and
loathing covered in liberal costumes of intellectual
banter,
they bemoan the filth and violence and wonder
why the poor burn their own neighborhoods and allow
thuggish gangs to roam like cockroaches over piles of
garbage, filthy people, dirty, un kept without class
or culture,
they want the city to clean it up, hose it down and
leave it squeaky clean with fresh asphalt covered in
crisply painted lines, devoid of the human filth and
lined with fashionable designer storefronts and
sidewalk cafes,
they ache for visions of safety and color coordinated
pastel shades of houses filled with property owners
pumping up the value with Home Depot's help,
but I like the city streets filled with human decay
walking around like books most people are afraid
to read, they have stories that are filled with the fight
for life, ugly, bloody, painful, with unending tragedies
hanging off their shoulders like rags from a dumpster,
this is where real life happens, where shit hits the fan
and middle-class mommies are left clueless over strung out
prom queens from the "burbs”--career minded daddies
white with rage,
where happiness is a consequence of the "lower-class
value stretch" for the mothers of junkies bleeding for
their sins in the blood of their own baptism and street
whores beg salvation prostrate before their johns,
where all life is predatory and there's nothing noble
about the carnage and the least common denominator
is survival without white bread innocence setting up
shop to church them to salvation,
this is the real life, babies born, mothers die, bullets fly
on new years like Chinese strings of fire crackers,
drunks, junkies, whores and seventy year old grandmothers
selling dime bags of weed are the foundations of living and
dying,
there's nothing pastel about it.
J. Masuda © 2005