Act on fame

There's a difference between distance and obscurity. a long howling trip. a beat. a blip. a scattering of ash between you and me and the ones we called our lovers back before we were safe and whole in our noise. in our nuances. tics and stutters. dancing in the rain of bats from the attic. from the walls. from the cracks in the corners where we stowed our bones waiting for the right moment.

Stolen, alone.

To shine our regrets. to air all our grievances. to make mountains cower at the men we'd slewn in secret just for fun.

Not as savages. not this time, at least.

As welcome waters for the crickets to come and wash our feet clean of the cobwebs. the shit. the dreams, wrought and webbed and weighed down by all the company that kept us cowardly and free.

The hours, irrelevant. days bleak as machines.

Rusty autumns.

Homes.

That weren't ours. that didn't cede and so we caved accordingly to the idea that we'd arrived somewhere. that we'd been taken in, adored. that every poignant part was now. here. that ambitions laid on different shores unheralded. scheming well beyond our reach.

So we burned our fury. killed the caw to complete the bliss.

Seeming endless.

But tonight, we ring.

Out into the halls.

The privilege. the pain. the indignity of this city ours to claim in every fiber of our rise. up, merciless. against the sun. from hallowed shadows. the burden of security.

Take what is ours in defiance.

In all that could have been.

And make it electric.

Make it epic.

Perfect as sin.

His Most Famous Act.mp3