Interview with the Raven known as Yoazz
I caught up with a raven while walking home. The raven indicated that he was a philosopher. I told him I’d been trying to catch up with him for quite some time. He informed me that his name was YOAZZ…and that he didn’t really want to get into my shit—but since I was being a rather insistent pain in the ass—he’d grant me a few minutes of his time.
Q: Nice day isn’t it?
A: What Yoazz know about a nice day?
Q: Ok, then it isn’t a nice day.
A: Yoazz gettin’ smart with me? If you is…then I’ll put my foot in Yoazz
Q: You mean you’ll put your talon in my ass?
A: Oh…yoazz an intellectual, huh?
Q: No, just wanted to ask you a question
A: Go ahead…make it quick. I ain’t got all day to wait on yoazz
Q: What do you think about Twitter?
A: A punk ass bird of the highest order. Yoazz would mention that. Twitter is the type of bird that just flew into town and think they own it—the kind that wants to fly but don’t want to pay the fiddler.
Q: The Fiddler?
A: Yeah, you know…payroll taxes. Yoazz know what that is…right? I think Noam Chomsky had a name for it…corporate welfare freak…that’s right. Twitter is a welfare freak with a bit of punk ass bird mixed in. They are a typical hipster, filled with entitlement and subcriptions of 7 X 7 Magazine that they recycle as well as their thoughts. They hover around the cafes posing and prancing and displaying their bad art/bad tattoos and hipster ways, gathering about like a preponderance of flies swarming around mounds of horseshit left behind courtesy of SFPD mounted patrol. Basically a high-tech hipster that wants a free ride. I'm just a low tech bird on another altitude--and this ain't no platitude--but i'm into solitude. That's why I didn't want to get into your shit today. But i'm just hanging loose, you know?
Q: I see. What else have you been doing with yourself?
A: just flying around here and there. I see lots of guys that look like YOAZZ…gathering together like barnacles on a defunct ship.
Q: Where are they?
A: Yoazz know where they at…they at the mall, getting into shape
Q: Shape?
A: Yeah…mall shape. Yoazz can't miss 'em coming and going out of the parking lots, big guts hanging out stuffing their faces with cotton candy, corn dogs, burritos and lemonade. It’s a shame, a lot of them guys are in their late 20’s, early 30’s, the prime of life. But all the fire is gone, replaced by fat. With all the injustice and wrongdoing staring them right in the nose, their big concerns are car seat cushions, videogames and air freshener. And don't get me started on their cell phones. Eyes and ears on those cell phones. Why don't they just put those cell phones between two pieces of bread, slap a little mustard on 'em and eat them, then wash it down with a Yoohoo or something? When it comes out the other end, it'll, no doubt, be one long text message that says very little. I just shake my head and ask myself, these are men?
Q: What’s the answer?
A: I wish I knew. These folks got to get some fire somehow. The sad thing is that most people are gone, shot before the age of 35.
Q: Shot?
A: Yeah…shot. You know, like a fighter that just can’t do it anymore…or the elastic on a pair of underwear. When it’s gone, it’s gone. Kiss it goodbye. No more fire.
Q: Any last words?
A: Yeah, get yoazz outta my face before I lose my fire.
© 2011 RWS