R.I.P. Pooh Bear

I went to a punk show tonight, mainly to see friends, partly to see if my records arrived at the record store. There was a punk show inside railing against the usual punk trajectory of cops, government, system, whatever and outside a cop was busting a crackhead for bodily functions, he arrested those functions for appearing in an undesignated place (he peed on a wall). But it wasn't a white cop, or a black cop showing off for a white one, it was a black cop with no one watching but white and latino punk kids. It's just weird, two different levels of authority, all black, and the bottom feeders, black too, just containing themselves. "four crack dealers here, two there, you can get marijuana, crack, heron, it's all go" it's like there's no struggle, it's over. This is the dregs and the tea has lost it's flavor, it's being poured out and there are just some strained herbs waiting to biodegradably ethered.
"Security" as was written on his shirt, basically a dreaded and black Swayze from Roadhouse, telling me when he was younger he woulda layed that crackhead flat. Now it burns him up, he wouldn't be able to sleep at night, the acid in his stomach too hard to bear. So he just talks about how he could lay that sucker flat.
It was Little Haiti. Haiti's got people being shot left and right, no government. Aroudn me people were shooting up left and right behind closed doors, only to be given a shit about if they leave their confines. So yeah, I bought Lupe's new album about the streets in a place volunteer security calls crack alley. So i'm in tune, obviously. Lupe's got 21 dollars, the crack game's got donations to fiends mistaken for bums.