A cool band name that P-trick came up with. We were sitting around just babbling, and it sank in my mind for a couple minutes. We are African. From Africa. Most scientific theorists believe that life originated in Africa when pangea was around. We were all African. Then gradually, each sect of people started to explore the land and go in all direction. Now imagine how far some of them walked, regardless how long it took them. The farther they walked, the more everything about them changed. Their skin turned lighter, their hair, lighter, and their intelligence; more in depth. The more distance they travelled the smarter they became. Chinese and Japanese cultures originating from millions of year ago.
Chinese were the first to invent the noodle, fireworks, refine weaponry and armor, torture devices. They remain the leading power in computer sciences. They are more advanced because of the distance they traveled. The effort they put it to get where they are, and the most drastic biological changes. For every 1 genious in the U.S. there is 10 or 15 more just like it in China. The immense brain power they display is a contrast from when they were in Africa, how simple things used to be. Surviving in a harsh climate, how current day Africans are still living a similar lifestyle.
We are evolved Africans. (Except for Russians, they’ve always been the rednecks of any change).
Simmering in the sulken sunlight.
Dreaming of damned damsels.
Wonderying why I always wear the same welts.
Beating it to be pelt.
For feeling has always been better than drugged help.
Purposely pause my life in time
So we can make more of that miserable sunshine.
I don’t want to have sex with you.
When you’re drunk off your face
Looking so pitiful. Despicable.
I want to disembark.
Move out and post our own mark.
It’s past dark.
No one will mind if we fall apart.
But they sure will look up and give us some recognition.
Bigger things are upon us if you open up to the possibility.
Liking the thought of us just riddles me.
Bigger than the boldest test of three.
What will it be?
Like a balloon.
You pick out your favorite color and fly with that for a couple minutes (metaphorically of course). Then someone comes over and fills you with helium. Up above the tree’s you can climb, across the land and to the sea. The pretty, sleak and shiny little ribbon will keep all of the precious gas they gave you for almost an eternity. Waving in the winds. Bopping up and down just bouncing in your bouyancy while being care free. Ahh, the life of simplicity. Who knew that being blown up could make you feel so unique.
The rubber you are made out of, is very strong indeed. But not even the refined products that make up your body will stand up to the hands we all see. Time will take its toll and you will love your pop. Your spring. The bountiful gases will deminish and leave you astray. Not even a mop will leave you at bay. When the enjoyment is gone. When the fill is flat. You won’t be anything more than a big ball of plastic and poof… Nothing lasts forever. No one will set you free. So stand up to occupy your own destiny. So when another boy comes to share his time with you, you won’t be so empty.
Your last hours don’t have to be worrying over who first let you get so bent.