Gavin Hignight Updates

Independent vibe
Her grandmother told her stories of old
Of automobiles
Of the people they would go to meet
Of a more simple life
She wore her grandmothers clothes
To her they would always be pretty

His grandfather lay dead in the ground
But he still had stories
From photographs
Pieces, fragments of history
Sometimes had to invent meanings, or names, but the stories were there
Looking back in black and white

The two hold hands now
They take walks
They talk of their histories
Her wearing grandmothers sweater
Him wearing the look of his grandfathers face, from those pictures long ago
They make the new times in front of them
Shape what will come
As they honor the past, they make times to speak of later
Times for the kids of their kids to tell
She will be regal
He will just be

Trash boy
Trash man
This is the city we’ve built
This is where we dwell
Poisonous
Technology
Success
This is the game
We victim the rules
Rule what we created
Again and again
A cry for freedom, this is how to live
Some will trample others,
Rise to the top
Others remain below
I’ll see you down there

she wore bows on her shoes
I thought about the old days
the heathens walk near,
their looks blank and dumb as always
the mainstream, those that betray us,
those that stumble through life
they walk in packs, we hide our secret selves,
hoping they don’t sniff us out
as intellectuals, or those who actually care,
or give a damn about something
so they walk in packs
and we kid ourselves with culture
we kid ourselves that we’re better
we put on neckties like nooses
we wear lipstick and blush and other forms of war paint
we write books, and tell stories, and look at art
I think about the past, I collect objects that inspire
and she wears shoes with pretty little bows
and really, we’re not much different than them