Bummed is the animal transfixed before the headlights frozen strobes o reverie on cut out
concrete stretch between the meadow and woodside creek. Oh what thrown menagerie o
parallel realities claim one moment in a timeout cut... & fade to black optical segue before
the moon-blue fishnet darkness. What opaque and deep fog clarity of mostly insufferable
confusion & anti-peace euphoria that distorts the moment between mammal & high speed
machine as I shuffle the interior walls of my skull. Blink shock. Blink awe. …Breathing
still, unlike the animal, as the mind (not as tangible as the body) copes with potentialities.
On outcrop teetering, nearly slipping into sorrow, next to falling, back swimming into the
gray bubbling jelly of my now slightly more tormented existence near Liberty’s deathbed
Every time it’s a hollow little slogan worn like a pointed hood on a pink sneering head.
It doesn’t take much FOR THE FUNNY PICKLE-HEADED masses to get swept away
in the spearfount of inorganic enmity. All week I’ve run across people (loose term) who
walk around in some knock-knock mindless wooden-eyed soap opera state of ping-pong
net and freeze-frame arrogance: The same sort of win at all costs nonsense that the radio
jerk oinks on and on about each and everyday…like a broken siren. Hey, what was it that
vanquished Howard Dean into glorified middle management status? Was it the same jus
this side o nothing that seems to allow the right to hook a day’s take of fishes every time?
Yes, it seems. It was one carefully handled li’l soundbite what rubbed-out Howard Dean.
After yawping the lone barbaric yawp, …entirely suitable in the company of hundreds of
barbarically yawping college students at a rally, the precision-built house of cards began
to take shape. Completely flimsy, perfectly fragile, entirely blown out of proportion, but
Those... Who Would Be Seen Gladly Perpetrating So Snickeringly Bullshit a Smear
Campaign have both the fire & the brimstone necessary to produce shit with just the right
amount of harrumph and puff and snort and spittle to hoodwink the flockage into a we’re
not worrrrrthy [of thinking for ourselves] arrangement, and the wretched votes are cast.
Should it have been enough, that one barbaric yawp taken totally out of context? Not just
no, but fuck NO. But somehow, it was. What does that say about us? ...Why do we play?
& here it goes again…bigger, better, faster, more, more, more, win, win, win at all human
cost. & piss it all away: …the best notions of human achievement and survival and spirit
art. …In the more honest films, the ugly fuckers always win. Beg, borrow, kill & scheme
& slip pink between the sheets in the wee alone hours of the dreadful and uncertain night
to weigh the consequences in the eyes o some horrifying Maker, heartbreaker, love taker.
& u & the remainder o the well-read, well-meant, capable o song & compassion & whole
life energy, …are left, dire & perplexed, to wonder what’s still free to wander in earnest.
& it never had to be that way! Just go on up to, and pay your respects with an offering of
tobacco or a drum song, & ask some tired old brown or red skinned elder in any 4th world
But we’ve all been manufactured by might & everything above is useless & antediluvian,
& only those who really, really know the score have a clue as to the good shepherd’s hue
The color from season to season I infer has never changed from shades of deceit in secret
Recently I saw a film that felt like a hold around my beaten heart. & now I think, if there
is any truth in it, that all o this means nothing anymore; hasn’t meant a lick for a long time
So we argue over the 3 who probably mean only a little to the whole, ...as the toggles that
have been flipping flip-some-more, way out of our reach as a people.& yet in our pockets
& colons. And…even if one of the 3 is NOT playing ball, is a mensch & a noble states-
person, logic says that nobleperson’s out, and there will only be the 2 and no good choice
So if I ever get the chance to break bread with any of you it will be my pleasure & pain ~
pleasure because there’s joy in the odd sense o kinship here & pain because we’re fucked
& when I suggest we’re fucked, it’s not 2 say I don’t still harbor a glass iz ¼ full outlook.
.........peaceQuake
