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The Book of Slaw: Songs from My Great Aunt Coleslaw (Chapter X)

by Elk Minister

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chapter 10 The phone rang but you were unable to pick up. maybe its because you are afraid to take a stand and look at the world standing on your tippy toes. We have fallen before. we have fallen so many times before that it feels as if we are more than just a piece to this puzzle. the box is empty now and its time for us to reclaim our own independence through solitary movements of our own true desires. The love in the air is not like it is the best love in the world. there is higher love one which I have only heard about through dozens of self help talks, like the ones put on by priests, pastors and people who pretend that they have a moral obligation to control our souls. We’ve jumped out windows at such high speeds its as if no-one that we have ever met is truly at ease. and what could we do about it? Could we turn over our own eggshells? It may be too late for that. We’ve taken bullets for less then this. I remember when we had just boarded a plane headed for the south pacific when you reached out to me with a gallon of milk in your lap. I truly didn’t know what to do but then you crashed in a fashion that I didn’t think was possible. we broke some bones, and possibly our hearts. we managed to recollect ourselves and stand next to the daily trash where we began to understand why we had done the things we had done. my eyes were glazed over from the frost of the midnight air. I had been walking now for several days , surviving and something that can not be described as food or drink. I can feel the face again and the pure breeze which seemed to cover over me. I never saw it coming. Our colors turned shades again and again until a lighter shade of a small teenage rat turned me over as well. our eyes were now bleached from the molecular makeup in the sun. the track which was apparently taken over by someone who was probably a lot stronger then us, but certainly not older. because I know how to retain my title that was given to me. my uncle was a mad chief of a certain type that can only be described as a cross between a wide devil and the friend of the politician on the high chair. a distaste for government above all reason yet the one who still manages to embrace the religiosity in the ever changing technological world. Do you know who you are and why the wind has been chasing you your whole life? its like you are dreaming when you are wide awake. its as if the thought of sleep is nothing more then a crash course in how to become a mystical figure of the last unknowns,. this is not how I wish to retain my stars of excellence for the bravery of our collective soul. There is something else out there that seems like ti is caught on a blue fence. Two dogs running on the opposite side forever chasing each other to cross onto the property of the forgotten poetic dream of our subconscious. The delivery case of the western civility. the milk that has been left out on the shelf. where will you take it to? will you really throw away someones last chance to victory? the staccato of the band playing in the distant wrath. how we never embraced in the warm before. taste me in a cigarette addressing the nations of the world. my thoughts of pleasure, however revealing they may be to the infinite child of greatness will no longer look to reveal anything. We’ve been chased away from fiction too long. The dark dream of imagination superficially crossed and genetically modified on the back of a 1981 chevy. shadows continually look to circle me and turn our hives into something much more delicious than the inseparable honey that makes its way to the back of our throats.its like we move to maintain a significant feeling and outcome, one that was chewed up nd spit out by a child that I never even gave birth to. I had nothing to say that was leftover and not a shadow of a powerful smile. The one that goes ear to ear and may be erased by the dark side of my melodies. and who are these gracious people? who stand up at these conventions and stand inline without any umbrellas or protective gear, who try to intimidate on a scale not seen since the time in the jurassic. my eyes are turning inside out. I feel like I am bleeding from a hole in my heart and the only cure will be a toast from all of humanity.


released October 6, 2018


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Elk Minister Denver, Colorado

Elk Minister was born in a log cabin deep in the forest of the upstate region. While being raised by his mother and his Uncle Radcliffe, Elk Minister developed an affinity and love towards music, philosophy, and science. At age seven, Elk Minister was writing and recording his own songs on a homemade tape recorder built by his uncle. In 1999, he wrote an opera with his imaginary friend Gerald. ... more

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