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What it means to be a man, to be breathless, to run and follow hate and
love like snakes of the same skin, piling it on life like hell on wheels,
to drive the purest essence from myself, to once drive cars fast and then
choose to low-ride, to pick up litter at random, to flip off nuns and
coaches, to hold doors open for fools, to learn one vital lesson from
every single person you meet, to take your dreams more seriously than
your waking hours, to follow every gut instinct, no matter how disastrous,
to accept the responsibility of deciding your own fate, to be a man is
to realize that you can't define yourself by sex, although you can, because
it will envelope you, and to be male is to be enveloped, from the first
self-contained amoeba to the supercolliders that scream through the night's
of everyone's brains, to be a precise tornado, to be full of holy shit
and to walk like your shoes are lined with shards of heaven, to hold hell
in your palm and give it away for a song, to drive and work and wonder
and cry and holler and fuck and sweat and grin and smoke pot and walk
and fight and duck and think and joke and rock and roll and believe in
the most sincere and princely thoughts of nothingness that you can squeeze
through your eyes. |
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