Whoa, oh, oh
Whoa, oh, oh
Whoa
The setting is a cave. The place is unknown, but familiar. Truth is, it is the very place you know that you must go to get to where you want to be. Where do I want to be? I want to be free. But, how can I be free if I am the same as you? Isn't that some sort of penitentiary? Isn't that some sort of self-inflected penance? And is freedom really free? Or is it just another cloak of denial that I wear trying to be different than you? Sort of like being the nonconformist that is really conforming to a counter culture opinion of society? Or simply, isn't it like the kid that all of us knew in high school that wore black "to be different"; yet, by doing so, he/she were joining the thousands who were also wearing black "to be different."
I'm waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
I'm breathing in the chemicals
I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus
A man is in the corner of the cavern. He has been here far longer than you would realize. His hair once short is now long; his face once bright and ambitious is bearded and jaded; his clothes once shiny and new, including his HOF jacket, now in tatters—all but his black Kaepernick jersey, which remains unblemished almost as if it, much like the man who once adorned it for the 49ers, stands for something that we can understand, but not all reach. A pity. It only takes a willingness to try. A desire to heal. An attempt to bridge the gap, in spite of the polarizing politics of our era. It takes all of us.
Once respected by his peers, the caged man is dirty, grimy, and worn out. His once golden font, which was replaced by a red one, twice, has returned to a shade of blue. Over thirteen years here, he returns, again. Or is this really his way of wiping all of that away and starting again? Can we, as people, really, start again?
Can, I, really, start again? It is easy being Fropwns—an amalgamation of a fabricated host of personalities into one entity, much like his created sidekick, the immortal, but all too id-related and therefore uniquely unreal, Tito the Delivery Guy. A creation that was nothing more than a quasi-wannabe super hero on a message board that dispenses a couple of dick and fart jokes here, a crude innuendo there, guest appearances galore, the occasional Marissa Miller picture, and bam, instant gratification and views; views that I do not get paid for (which is probably a good thing because the pay would be llllllooooowwwwww); unless, you consider the responses, from those who enjoyed it or desperately felt sorry for me, payment. Did I even really want anything else?
This is it, the apocalypse
Whoa
James Baldwin, a man once persecuted by society for being black, bisexual, and outspoken, once observed:
Perhaps the primary distinction of the artist is that he must actively cultivate that state
which most men, necessarily, must avoid; the state of being alone. That all men are, when
the chips are down, alone, is a banality—a banality because it is very frequently stated,
but very rarely, on the evidence, believed. Most of us are not compelled to linger with
the knowledge of our aloneness, for it is a knowledge that can paralyze all action in this
world. There are, forever, swamps to be drained, cities to be created, mines to be
exploited, children to be fed. None of these things can be done alone. But the conquest of
the physical world is not man's only duty. He is also enjoined to conquer the great
wilderness of himself. The precise role of the artist, then, is to illuminate that darkness,
blaze roads through that vast forest, so that we will not, in all our doing, lose sight of its
purpose, which is, after all, to make the world a more human dwelling place.
I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
Enough to make my systems blow
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
It is safe playing this part. It is safe not challenging that which is wrong. It is safe sitting back. But is now the time to play it safe? Should I, can I, play it safe? Those here who know me, know that I am progressive minded. Not in the high and mighty variety that enjoys sniffing their own farts in their Smart cars. If I am to take a long, seductive whiff of my own flatulence, I prefer to do so in leather-wrapped German engineering. Nobody said you had to change the world driving a Prius, after all. Folks just choose to do so.
So, there it is, I suppose. The truth. The truth is that I am a warrior of the social justice-type. What wrong might I be trying to right? Is it about equality? Why, yes. Yes, it is. It is an issue of paramount importance. At least to a friend of mine, it matters. And why not, I ask why not during this holiday season when we have been granted the gift of Jimmy G—though, for reasons that are too obvious, I will not support him too much openly (Editor's note: Because I am the kiss of f**king death to Niner quarterbacks; that's why. Please see Alex Smith and Colin Kaepernick.). In fact, I don't even like him. HA! (Do you think it is working? LONG LIVE JIMMY G! I mean forget that dude. That dude is no Cody Pickett.)
So, here goes. My attempt to set something right that is horribly wrong, and all for a friend. It is the best and most honest, while being tongue and cheek gift I can give, in the process it allows me to return…home. To return to you. But to let you know where I stand about all of it.
Now, if you have read all of that. Good for you. Here's a cookie. Buckle up buttercup, it is time for me to do the voodoo that I do. Mods, you filthy animals, I expect some good graces on this day that we come together not to celebrate a man or a faith or a religion that some would have tower over others. Nay, we are here to celebrate a message of good will to all…including those that cannot help themselves and truly deserve our compassion.
[ Edited by fropwns on Dec 24, 2017 at 10:40 PM ]
well done fro!! merry christmas to you 
