Byline: Savage Yawp

Buford Youthward

All onlookers best look out, a savage yawp says it best. I think therefore I'm numb.

Into the primitive we dance like ancestors with red beans and rice. Wrangle rhythm in a jambalaya stew, stewed with drink and drunk with love.

Fear is gripped, hyped and an anxious shake rolls across the land where the psychology of debt and finance are in full supply and sold to a market overflowing with demand.

I rock an interest in humans but little interest in human interest stories.

Personal hardships, setbacks and setups for mass consumption are attempts at mythmaking for the benefit of advertisers.

The material culture of life, naturally transient but not always natural conspire against the senses.

Set your story straight yourself, second and third parties after vicarious reflection rarely can afford the cover charge. Weaving your own tapestry takes time and trials. There are no fake mistakes. Corrections should come from the creators.

No jury of peers need to peer into my soul, under my canopy or in my foxhole. Don't look down on my ditch. Go dig one for yourself before you start judging my decoration skills. I keep afloat and find ways to keep my heart beating.

My hole, my heart vacillates between warm and cool. I can't stay cold or hot for too long. I keep empty cans in my fort and broken bottles by my doorstep. The ideas sketched on fast food napkins provide hope that impulse and insight can stay on point.

Graffiti is an anchor against the weight of institutions. An idea, a name scribbled where it shouldn't be says more than any official document trying to document any cause.

The best lookouts know intelligence is only a temporary advantage. When the authorities grow hip to your plan, better have another plan in your pocket.

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