Friday Night Prophecy

Nothing major to report.

Fell in love on 70 percent of my bus rides this week.

Not a bad week at all.

Listened to Betty Davis every morning,

“They Say I’m Different”

(Song/Album)

The funky ex wife of Miles.

I listened to my other (equally)

crazy writer-friends mix.

It has some great shit.

Some new shit.

Some old shit.

The song from Ghost.

Bohemian Rhapsody.

I can dig it all.

I stuck on this track Paper Planes.

It uses gunshots and

cash registers as instruments.

It’s so catchy. Almost

as real as Moby can make

a moment.

The major love was on screen though,

She was in this crazy German-Turkish

film called Head-On!

She called on these three drunk men

that had cat called her in the narrow,

alley like streets of late night Istanbul.

It was her breaking point in the film.

“Go fuck yourselves.”

Then she charges as the one smoking Turk.

In his jumpsuit, he looks tough

And greasy at once, but

She head butts him quick

like a character in Street Fighter.

They rough her up a bit

and start to walk away.

She curses their mothers,

Which is enough to turn a friendly

Woman beating to a full on fuck you up fest,

apparently.

They kick her hard.

Real  old world beat down.

She still curses them a third time,

until they finally stabbed her.

And she Still doesn’t die.

Not the kind of girl you see fixing

her hair pretentiously in her

overly large cell phone screen

at 9am.

Nope.

This was my kind of hero.

Hard like Betty Davis.

Bleeding with history the same way.

Just given back the right to speak,

and singing indecently well, already.

Nothing much more to report, really.

Might have dreamt of Robin

Hooding the Oscars.

Like in the Disney cartoon

movie, with the arrow

used as a crude clothes line for orphan

fox booties filled with

gold coins.

I had a huge child crush

on the maid Marion fox.

Not the kind you meet on the bus, either.

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