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The aftertaste of whiskey.
I dreamed the world was better last night. A world without war. For wisdom and forethought is better than all instruments of war and greed.
A world without poverty, without pain and grief. A world without blues.
It rained.
I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey. Although the Scots are competing with Irish, that they predicting whiskey differently. Whisky, instead of ‘Whiskey’. Nonetheless I prefer corn, o land of the tribes, land of the harvests, land of the forefathers, when pale faces had not yet taken possession of the plains. Millions of bison’s wandered over the endless meadows. Until skin became their death, their tongue became a delicacy in the big cities, their bones for glue, finally their feces for heating. Meat? Was rotting.
It rained.
I was alone in bed with the aftertaste of whiskey. Bourbon.
And was it not God who selected Brazil as the land for his holidays. Land of birds, plants, animals of the Kingdom of God. O paradise, He said, but see what kind of people I send there. Deceived by loners. Now it become a football nation, samba and corruption. Land of Indians and slave children. favelas, slums where the bullets fly like signs of madness, mothers, children, under their beds. Police praise for revenge.
In my dream horses ran in wild areas under the outbreak of white birds. Forests were greener than ever, a realization that Indians know to realize. That one person does not reject the other, where the mountain tops are like breasts of magical witches. Poverty is a phenomenon of another time. Then there were only laws of nature, and man had long since evolved from the sea. The fish crawled ashore and turned into something like us, slowly like a snail. Fins, legs, upright, walking, thinking, monkeys and manipulating. Billions of years ago.
Realizing is a indefinite notion. So what is the present-day person who puts himself up as the highest bidder?
Nothing. A material, nothing more. That poverty and wealth exist is the result of greed.
He who does not get enough of what mother earth gives. We shall have to realize that the time is coming that we are fading into fragments. We are just here to survive and not visa versa. Destruction is already present and look at the disasters, the tidal waves, trembling earth. Hunger, war, destruction and Sudan is different from the Canary Islands. My God!
Is this a warning or just a sign? Shall we all no longer have to think about the wider world?
Will tomorrow be an option for yesterday's children. There is salvation! It was raining. I was alone in bed with the after-taste of whiskey.
But then everybody has to stick his neck out. Smoke from the chimneys and gases from the cars, who exchanges? Smog from Sâo Paulo, Mexico City, or Tokyo. Who can make a difference? The leaders? Sleeping heads, egoists manipulated by creditors. We are at the compassion of the gods. We live in a consumer society. Some in any occasion. Eating, drinking and consuming. This can never go well.
Everyone has to make a point that is closest to nature. Life. Love. Understanding.
In heaven there is peace (In caleos quis), but who wants to go to heaven? Or to hell? Who wants to return? Reincarnation of the superhuman. I may want to be like a mustang again, running over the prairies. Life on nature is a favor, but not for everyone. The most dangerous idiot is the brother of arrogance, the man without principles. He who thinks that only he runs. Let the dead rest, the eagle said to the raven, and he gulped a living dove.
He will go down to his own high-mindedness. A study is not difficult, the poverty created by man will constantly become equivalence in the sense of the word. The capitalist will have to admit that he is only a lonely guest in his own home. He who walks with his coffin beneath his arm.
Justice will bless, although I may be too optimistic. But the notes on my singing will be hard. The scientist will have to think better, the philosopher will scratch himself behind the ear and the soul pricks must learn from the man who is sick or sensible?
I am sometimes disillusioned by humanity, carelessness, the silliness of people who call themselves leaders. The dirtiest pigs always want the best straw.
I dreamed that the world was better.
It rained.
I was alone in a bed with the enjoyment of whiskey.
I imagined.
I fell in love with a black woman.
She rode on a white mare, she sang like an angel.
Songs of 'saudade', a word that cannot be described as longing. Rio de Janeiro, Bahia .....
Love songs from the country with timbres as of Africa.
It drizzled.
I was alone in bed with the aftertaste of whiskey.
Ramblin Wayn
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