Atlanta, Georgia...

Sometimes the rooftop of a building reveals more than a city or its skyline. Soemtimes it reveals the faded black Big Apple shirt, sometimes it reveals a photographic enthusiasm, and sometimes you get lucky enough for it to reveal the future.
Atlanta is a diverse and strikingly urban city steeped in a rich tradition of civil rights. From the street art hidden under the Krog St. Bridge to the local artists descending upon Little 5 Points, there is an artistic ferver welling up ready to leave its mark on a city that is oddly transparent. The people of Atlanta seem to live in a city that is little more than a chalk-board in boarding school. I felt little life from the city itself and rather found it in the slow paced banter of Acapella Books' owner and in the appreciative smile of a local troubador in Vortex. As much as the city streets may have been swarmed, I often felt alone. the city is waiting for proper exposure, one not found as an obligatory name-dropping in a rap song.
Outside the Carol St. Cafe sits the house in which I will one day live. There is a park bench bench that sits underneath a palm tree, forever facing the sun. I'll bring jasmine tea and a Kurt Vonnegut book outside with me every morning.
What have I noticed about the future? There was a girl who dressed in black and drowned the colors everywhere she walked. There was nothing in a city i knew little about that drew my attention more than this woman I see every day of my life.

You will forever be standing on that rooftop with a city skyline at your back, and only the passing light of day will change around us.

In Days Following...

“Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law;
Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick to each other as long as we live?”

The following days will be filled with grandeur,
When we are as tall as the skyscrapers around us.

Endeavor...

I saw the best minds of my generation
In rooms of white walls
Behind wheels of lettered trucks
In windows of shattered glass
Standing behind one another.
Falling soft with arms crossed,
Each of them lay still
destroyed by madness.

Knocking Off Rust...

Candy came from out on the island
In the backroom she was everybody's darling

The man in the white Oxford pressed shirt
held a crippled skull inside his hands
And his feet rested atop
the shoulders of giants.
The candle burned beside his notes
with wick casting gold.
Remember?

There were mounds of dried dirt
that waited for his return home.
And wheels of bicycles
waiting to be rode through wooden paths.
The skyline was a reserve
of little resentment.
Remember now?

Fortified are the final actions
when the man drove past the sign.
There were yellows, blues, and reds
that cascaded down a clouded end.
The mist fell softly on his eyes
and took seconds to brush off.
How can you forget?


Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo