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ONE TWENTY TWO GONE

 

I knew a guy once

who fashioned himself enlightened

thought he had the inside scoop on Egyptian Mysteries

freemasons / his heroes

played violin and cello

reader of the tarot

we’d jam allnight

at his second story hallucinogenic loft

of the bleeding schizophrenic

sometimes

in mid air yogi style

he’d talk bullshit and lies

loading a giant hash pipe for cloud nine

then one night under vernacular sky

there

right in front of the door

on cold hard unforgiving concrete

staring at the note

– Charlie’s severed head

 

copyright 2016

 

 

 

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About a. edward watkins

With the exception of 2 years study of western music theory and harmony- I am a self taught percussionist, writer and abstract painter. Not your drummer boy drummer - not your writerly writer nor the painterly painter. Creativity is an integral aspect of my existence - as it is for us all - in some form or another. My experiences in life have informed and shaped my world view profoundly. I am the disrupter - the never quite satisfied - the relentless creator of word, sound and image. I question the answers and question the questions.

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