Dtergent
Bluelight Crew
-the grassman.-
he counted reeds.
thats what he did.
the crazy grassman was always just there
sticking out like a sore, neon thumb
among the neat, clean businessmen
in their shiny cars
the only homeless dude to ever grace
our upper class suburban subdivion.
in his tattered
rags,
he walked up and down the streets,
counting long, wet reeds in his hands
(i tried to do it once
but i got cut)
with such speed,
that you knew he was used to it,
that you knew
it was all he ever did.
he looked like jimi hendrix,
except for his hair-
which, because it was never washed,
became one solid matted dreadlock-
and his nose,
which was huge, maybe he was born with it, maybe it was a tumor,
which made mothers tell their kids
"behave, or i'll give you to the big nosed monster"
some say his name was esteban,
and that he used to be rich,
but he squandered his fortune.
and now he counts reeds because he was still used to counting his money.
some say he was a gardener
who murdered the family he worked for.
some say he was abused as a child
and was chained to a tree
beside the creek,
among the reeds.
but everyone said he was crazy.
the crazy grassman, the crazy grassman.
one day, i was on my way to
the video repair shop
to get my vcr.
when i saw the crazy
crazy
crazy grassman
stuffing a pothole with reeds and soil.
i used to be afraid to talk to him
(just like everyone was)
but at that moment,
he was a good man, fixing our roads,
not a murderer
(nor did he have pruning scissors or gardening tools at hand)
so i asked him what he was doing.
he looked at me and smiled.
a smile which told me he was glad someone noticed him
and cared to say a word to him.
"i'm taking the holes out", he said, with a cloud of horrible breath floating my way.
taking the holes out of the people's way, the people who called him crazy and stared at his nose.
the reeds were all he had,
and he was stuffing them to smoothen a road
for which he didn't even have a car to drive over.
"i don't got money.", he said sadly but smiling.
"and i don't even got a house. but what makes my life okay is the smile on other people's faces, because it gives me good dreams, and it tells me that it is enough to be happy."
just then a silver bmw went by slowly, with the man inside smiling at the grassman, giving him a little salute for killing the pothole.
and i looked at the grassman
and heard his voice in my head
and i knew he wasn't crazy
he wasn't crazy at all.
[This message has been edited by Dtergent (edited 11 May 2000).]
he counted reeds.
thats what he did.
the crazy grassman was always just there
sticking out like a sore, neon thumb
among the neat, clean businessmen
in their shiny cars
the only homeless dude to ever grace
our upper class suburban subdivion.
in his tattered
rags,
he walked up and down the streets,
counting long, wet reeds in his hands
(i tried to do it once
but i got cut)
with such speed,
that you knew he was used to it,
that you knew
it was all he ever did.
he looked like jimi hendrix,
except for his hair-
which, because it was never washed,
became one solid matted dreadlock-
and his nose,
which was huge, maybe he was born with it, maybe it was a tumor,
which made mothers tell their kids
"behave, or i'll give you to the big nosed monster"
some say his name was esteban,
and that he used to be rich,
but he squandered his fortune.
and now he counts reeds because he was still used to counting his money.
some say he was a gardener
who murdered the family he worked for.
some say he was abused as a child
and was chained to a tree
beside the creek,
among the reeds.
but everyone said he was crazy.
the crazy grassman, the crazy grassman.
one day, i was on my way to
the video repair shop
to get my vcr.
when i saw the crazy
crazy
crazy grassman
stuffing a pothole with reeds and soil.
i used to be afraid to talk to him
(just like everyone was)
but at that moment,
he was a good man, fixing our roads,
not a murderer
(nor did he have pruning scissors or gardening tools at hand)
so i asked him what he was doing.
he looked at me and smiled.
a smile which told me he was glad someone noticed him
and cared to say a word to him.
"i'm taking the holes out", he said, with a cloud of horrible breath floating my way.
taking the holes out of the people's way, the people who called him crazy and stared at his nose.
the reeds were all he had,
and he was stuffing them to smoothen a road
for which he didn't even have a car to drive over.
"i don't got money.", he said sadly but smiling.
"and i don't even got a house. but what makes my life okay is the smile on other people's faces, because it gives me good dreams, and it tells me that it is enough to be happy."
just then a silver bmw went by slowly, with the man inside smiling at the grassman, giving him a little salute for killing the pothole.
and i looked at the grassman
and heard his voice in my head
and i knew he wasn't crazy
he wasn't crazy at all.
[This message has been edited by Dtergent (edited 11 May 2000).]
