……They say your present is determined by your prequel, onto your present determining your sequel, if that’s the case, then incarnations are see through, and I’ve been a monk when the world sunk and gained buoyancy again; I remember a November from a time that’s archaic and everyone spoke Aramaic; or a hairy barbarian, I was scary but merry then, slept in dens, had few friends, in battle had many wins. A slave owner, didn’t stop until I was born while my mother was still in chains, they snatched my teeth out my gums, so another man could have some, he was there at my hanging, doing the background singing, last thing I remember was the trap door swinging, choking and feet dangling. I lived to be a hundred and ten once, took my last breath with my children and grandchildren forming a cycle holding each other’s hands, I was struggling not to leave nothing in my bed pan. Another time must have been in the sixties, cause we all had afros and leather clothes, bell bottoms and butterfly collars, shots ring out, people started running, but I just fell, wondering why I couldn’t look left or right, I just lie there paralyzed until my view faded to black, all light could fit on the head of a tack, but I could still hear someone say he was shot by Jack, what I have to do, to not come back, even if I change, people don’t and won’t, you not safe even if your castle has a moat, that won’t change even if it had a remote, it can make you want to start doing dope, or hang yourself with some rope, but every time I do, I come back just to be aborted, slaughtered, and not even recorded, a hundred times over, then ten times born with a hump on my back and hungover, and that’s just life shaking it’s finger telling me to get back on my grind, I’m gonna make it, if it takes me a million life times.