Chevys begat Lunch
And Lunch began the Ocean Language
Which stemmed from the Family and the family of Family Language
Wherefore all Mexicans are not low riders or high riders
And not all Blacks are Rastafarians (your JaMons) or your Chocolate
And not every white person annihilated the Native American with Dinner.
And the Ocean showed me signs and symbols, where the Chevy stood forth and claimed a foot hold on all cars, but not one Chevy knew the right person to “friend or foe”.
Before Thanksgiving I headed off East in my car to join family. I ended up getting lost, yet again. I am not a Chevy. I feel more like the Mexical Roy’al Telephone family, Taco Bell. With all these voices swimming around, Ma Bell has nothing on the stories I hear when tapping into the switch.
Line after Line, I am riding high octane without the fuel for translations between Bells. Fainting Bells, Bell Flowers, Bell Weather Trails, and Climbing Vines. Who am I and what am I becoming? Where have I been, where am I but lost amidst a sea of start points and end games with no one to clue me in on how to get out of this hell. Is anyone out there? Is there anybody listening? Does anybody care at all?
More coherent thoughts to follow in subsequent posts, but for now, this is a map for Family Language.