Now we roll the dice…

i made one sweatshirt and i could have stopped there… but i didn’t. teespring is not the place to discuss such things so i will elaborate on my intentions here. when i was in my late teens, finishing high school about to attend college with a weak mind full of lofty dreams. i was taught to use descriptive language to invoke images with words to the best of my ability in my prose and poetry. first influenced by what i’m not sure was toni morrison i used to attempt to combine prose with poetry as my own personal paradigm. as a forty plus year old man, and twenty years late to proacting, i find myself attempting to use symbols to invoke images and worded thoughts. this is hopefully not the “i’ve lost my mind” shock rock that “ye” is making with songs like heil hitler, and stating that he can say anything he wants about the jewish community and get away with it… the jewish diaspora hitting him where it truly hurts him, in his pockets, ignoring those empty apologies. so thusly he has been barred entry to great britain for one of his concerts and as any music fan knows, especially in rap, that’s where the lion’s share of an artist’s money is made. however, this dialogue has a deeper purpose. so i basically stole the ancient P wing polo symbol that so many bright-eyed lucid minded beautiful individuals who actually fit into the communities they were attempting to build their american dream in mostly wore to attend class in these old money and liberal arts colleges, feeling that these articles of clothing. with their admittedly masterfully hued design would serve as their “keys to the kingdom…” before calling yourself a king and looking like anything but was common practice. i didn’t live it personally, obviously being a darkly hued unattractive black man with an average intelligence quotient and grade point average. yet i knew those who did. to this day, through the emotional pain of rejection and mental and sexual abuse these “beautiful people” still maintain a sick affinity for mr. lauren. whether they got straight whored or not, polo was the uniform, not prada, not balenciaga, not versace. with their even more toxic unamerican paradigm these houses of fashion cut young people these days deeper than any 88 i could ever place on the back of a garment. if they’re still up, and living their blessed, oppressed, truth. there will always be love there… i promise you. we weren’t Thirstin’ Howl meaninglessly rushing the doors of macy’s and snatching all the high-end polo that him and his accomplices could hold off of the racks in a proletariat call to action with no enumerated action to validate it. if he knew, because now i’m sure he knows, he would have been down with it, brown nosing and rolling them’ dice beats the hell out of a housing project apartment full of stolen clothes with an average subtotal exceeding your rental payments and roaches for roommates. so, i don’t hate my life for a little bit with my scheduled meds and plush holding cage. you lose interest when you don’t travel in those circles and as a city kid realize that out here nobody you want to chill with gives a damn about what you’re wearing, pretty much the same deal in the city unless they were interested in stealing it from you. this is my walden, my narrative, my 15 minutes in the roy ayers sunshine, and Lord, whatever your nature or form or presence is… i am thankful for it. however, in your omniscience, i’m sure you are also aware that i’m weak. so please forgive me in my fall.