1955 -1958?
Hell! I don't know!
A Pastel Blue Atomic Bomb is facing East,
A Pastel Pink Atomic Bomb is facing West.
My Dads Pastel Lavender home is right smack in the middle.
A bit of sarcasm for you nostalgia buffs. Wishing you were back in the good old days, crying and cringing under your desk at school, a pooling of urine for our Beloved Loving Fathers.
My hair is greased down in a Ducks Ass. Pink Pegged Pants and Black Bombers.
I know I am going to die, so what gives with all the rules. What am I doing in school?
Why is God kissing the Popes Golden feet?
Why are we behaving for a Bleeding Jesus? What is worse, nailing a man to a cross and letting him die in a long bitter agony or hanging an Atomic Pastel Bomb over a innocent child’s head and letting them whimper, shiver and piss. And then to top this off, you mentally or literally smack their hands with your Golden Ruler.
And you wonder why the sixteen year old children are putting flowers in guns?
And you wonder why we rebelled?
I am almost sixty years old and I still think you are Golden Asses.
Who is begging who to bite the Red Bomb is our Rosary Garden?
I know! I know the answers now. But do all our children know?
I didn't mind all the pastel back then, but I was scared of the stinking bombs.
Children want to live in the Garden of Eden. Let them live in the Garden of Eden.
Don't let them die in some smut wasteland.
Build them the Garden, not the bomb.

A Green Mist
To sway opinions with voices of light.
A bit of sarcasm for you nostalgia buffs.
It may have been Pleasantville for you, but it was not for Pleasantville for me.
Lessons to be learned by dropping out and living in poverty.

Words & Graphics by Tomas