(1) Not much sense of humor
left about the inevitable
though I know it’s a fad
and fads usually pass me by
I try to look at the idea
of getting left behind
but know that old briar patch dodge
won’t work this time.
Ultimately, the ubiquitous They
no matter what name you call It
fires or retires everyone ’cause
according to “The Rules of the Game”
we all automatically signed up for the day we were born
everyone & everything has to be replaced.
It doesn’t matter who you are,
where you’ve been, what you’ve done,
probably not even how well
or how poorly you’ve done it
even if you’ve made a deal with The Devil.
At this point there is no point on the point
just a dullness of expectation
that needs to replace its carrots
or get a new mule
the holy mountains of future in the distance
look like warts
as if you need another reason
to get a new model
before the old one
breaks down & cries
is not working!
(2) Back in the days when shit didn’t stink
back in the days when we didn’t think
how fucking hard it was to flush
We’ve Got To Get Out Of This Place
for me & Bobbie McGhee
pumping up the volume
wasn’t just a stoned generation’s answer
of what to do about Vietnam
since the glorious ideal of world boogie never really wiped out
the long term daily spread of poison The System automatically
contributes to every level of world wide corruption
without needing an excuse to exploit every opportunity
you can’t get rid of as easily as a comic book character
dropping a bowling ball on his toe
to make a toothache disappear.
Even today there are solutions
if you can only fit the right problems into the equation
to solve or not to solve
it’s not even a question of what to do
about rebuilding the infrastructure
it’s the amount of time you anticipate
is left or right-on to waste
if you’re under the illusion
you choose delusion
as a methodology to the madness
that keeps us sanely breathing
unless we think too much
too fast too long
this is not hypothetical hyperventilation
categorically states “LIFE SUCKS”
but still wants to be grounded
under the ground.
You know what I mean?
I know what you mean.
Mediocrity is cholesterol of the soul.
It’s a mistake to think it’s harmless
if we don’t voice it to each other.
(3) Meanwhile back at the ranch, stuck in a shit job
keeping the lies of a dysfunctional system alive is one thing,
but I can’t spill my guts about anything that pisses me off more
than the cosmic fingernail
screeching down my blacklisted blackboard
so if you out there can’t help doing your own confessional 401K
don’t let the shit clog up, stagnate or block you
when you encounter the contradictions,
just count ’em and let ’em go
instead of living them out.
Go ahead, try it: “There goes Lucky Number 11!”
You didn’t pick it. Too fucking bad. Now it’s gone.
But that was easy. Too easy. Not like Bitch Goddess Catch 22!
I don’t know about you, but I could live
without the Bitch G’s’ magik twisted sister
immortal #23 too
though I’ll never forget good old #37,
it was a true Kafkanian contradiction.
Yeah, sure it was, but no irony here for Gregor-boy
even if Dylan could have sung the shit
out of that cockroach as if he were Sinatra
I still don’t know where this song goes
in the long run this is no sprint
coming out of Tangled Up In Blue My Way.
Maybe everything doesn’t have to have meaning
to have meaning
which would explain
the need for Social Media
on one hand
on the other
as one scratches the other
it tells the other
it’s just been scratched
thus, communication is erased
but the itch is never lost
just found over & over again;
This is gravity in action
so rub, Fig Newton, rub
all the different flavors
apple, prune, pear, pizza brands
(4) Now if we can only figure out HOW TO SELL IT
that will be rich and we will be richer than a Silicone Valley twitter.
It seems like everything always changes and never changes at all.
If you look back at photos from the past
17 out of 20 of us were coolly dangling
dirty little ciggies in every pic
now it’s smart phones in their hands, dancing in front of their lips.
Can you come up with the next addiction for the scrapbook?
Or will the next one be invisible chips implanted at birth
to control the next class of new babes on the block?
It’s not wishy-washy enough to be in his platform
but Mitt thinks if he has the right marketing strategy
to confuse the issues
he can liberate & exploit the punching bag of Democracy
at the same time he transcends Class Warfare
by pretending not to sell to the rich until first selling to the poor
who – let’s face it – would gladly kill to be rich too.
In fact, what the poor bastards want most is to be richer than the rich sonofabitches who make them eat shit every day
so taking a cue from the pros – we should call the shit we sell them
upscale designer Tiffany shit – Tiffany blogs, Tiffany phones
– it could be nothing more than corndogs at Walmarts.
It doesn’t matter, as long as they’re called “The one & only
exclusive designer – Tiffany Corndog”.
They can sell for $100 each,
or maybe we can get away with $200 each
if the customer is only allowed to buy one a week
with a Special Club Card for Members Only
that allows them to bath in the glory of the glory of this dog’s utility
even if eating it is not exactly their thing
they always have the option to use it as a dildo
made exclusively for them personally by white trash fashionistas
from the south of France collection, Dominique,
would you like a tattoo of your face on your ass, dear,
while you’re waiting for the designer to take measurements
we can use to fit your soul into a gift package?
If you still feel alienated after that we can schedule
a changeable sex change – with a max of 3-changes per order
in case you change your mind
and change your mind and change your mind
but still believe in the conceptual purity
of always being able to wipe
your original ass
(5) Absurd states of grace aside
we’ve all used the expressions Heaven-on-Earth, Hell-on-Earth
to describe the polar opposite conditions our conditions are in
at different points in time.
We can break life down: Act 1, Act II, Act III
Youth, Adult, Ancient Fucker
if you’ve got a sense of humor
about how fucked the human condition is
believing or not believing in god we trust.
If you must know we don’t know
if there’s work to be done on the other side
but even if all we do is sleep, all we do is dream
there’s a sense of purpose trying to decipher those dreams
even if we have to admit we don’t know where we’re going,
what we’re doing or if the answer is there is no answer
to all those essential questions we have about the human condition
it’s still ok to pray, chant, hum, sing, masturbate your blues away betting-on-the-come of astrology or transformative magic of poetry
if it gets your spirit to the other side of nature relatively unscathed.
Process is all
if you have the right sound bytes,
yet like all great paradoxes
it never seems enough in the short term NOW
I WANT IT
you can’t have when you want it MOST.
Call it Double Zen, Zen-on-Zen to you out there in the zen zone,
no matter what you believe, change can come from anywhere
in the background, a human interest story
babbling on the nightly news
The Voice shilling from Corinthians: It will happen in a moment,
in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown…
you know what to do
when the time is right
turn off that smart phone
give yourself a beat
then one more – for the hell of it
and let the breath go
just like that!