NEVADA KERR

You'll Never Know The Real Story


Like an inventor, he is a symbol of a new age. He glides above the realms of you and me. He flows through your life and makes you feel quite small.

What do we have in common? It was a real thing.

Just a couple of dreams, you get up and sleep.

Questioning saint-like and fantastic heroes, feeling like lost little children in fabled lands, so I listen for each and every friendship in this Real Cool World.

I guess I should, I feel I should GET REAL.

The shadow man conceals his indulgences, wearing the masks of the man of taste. We are astounded by the greed of his creed, the voracity of his veracity. He has claws and fangs to clutch and devour palpable truth. He's prepared to usurp realms and arrogate kingdoms.


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The sober Philistine follows the fashion, goes by the book, toes the mark. Straight and undeviating there is something impenetrable in his leer. And he will not let his right hand know what his left is doing.


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The worldling craves the respectable and refined, grasps the shadow for the substance. A shallow man, he pins his faith on reality, takes the bait and swallows it whole.


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The simple man has an appetite for mediocrity, homogeneity. He does as others do. Submerged in the everyday, he can not even glimpse reality's deeper lore. He sees the world through frosted glass. Trusting, unsuspecting, he is consumed by heathen rays. He never knew what hit him.


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Predator, pillager, and extortioner, reality bites, gulping down the poor dunce, the credulous dupe. The philistine is stunted and starved. His blind faith in "the real" is his undoing.


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Feeding and fed upon
A veracity voracious
Reality is treacherous
Flirtatious with your patience
And solid ground will grind you down
Demanding your complacence



Nevada Kerr
June 23, 2003 .

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