all the tired troops in a trance

At the mouth of the river, that's where the action is
And on the beaches
And at landing strips, along the transportation and communication routes, since time 's been performing rigor mortis
The big mouthed dogs circle the court, disappear and reappear with prey, the king in stitches.

On Google Earth it all looks so manipulable
The world on a screen expanded by dreams.
When the boots hit the beach the philosophies get mutable
And so they should, it seems, by the sound of the screams.

Cities sprung up teeming with, souls, for lack of a better word
All nerves and nuance, their saving grace is when they get up to dance
Spotlights turned off, and you can't verify anything you've heard
There's been a delay, all the tired troops in a trance.

By the miracle of all the tired televisions turned off similtaneously,
Stretching out the seasons , giving more time for surfing the senses, ever so assiduously.

Humans Who Are Not Himmler

They walk in a similar manner
Upright most of the time
definitely of the same species but with different agendas on their day planners.
Concerned with moments of keeping busy being released from reasons to believe the worst, not busy having hissy fits, like Heinrich , and not committed to all kinds of runnaway rational crimes,

From A to B , from Auschwitz to Bagdad.
Walking through rooms in need of new paint , amongst the wretchedness that gives the spirit the heaves, like monks at the end of a fast,
sublime amongst the rubble.
Without the sanction of the holy men trained how to dress, and how to bless the cannon fodder and the death squad after-slaughter
---to insure future fertility-----
and still seem modern while sprinkling holy waters at forest fires,
and feeling lucky while waiting in line at the Lord's launching pad.
Exiting the existence in the mist of the bubble,


Avoiding the push into premature mortality pens , of varying sizes,
whole cities and concrete sitting rooms with no where to sit but in stress positions.
Moments without magic awaiting merciful surprises.
From subatomic holding cells come the transmissions.

It'd be funny if it wasn't infinity,
But right here in the vicinity.

Brazil

The waves hit the beach , its April
The skies are filled with snowbirds
They fly , avoiding the vultures putting the poor to their peril
They look but they have no words.

War rips the files from human beings
But the humanness remains
Those who can touch it, in the end beat the great imperial machine
And de-link their chains.

The mother of all misery is a mental invention
Self taught, with materials supplied by socio economic bomblets
That is, laws and cultural mores, especially the interpretations that are too shameful to mention
Got everyone digging in their own debt

The august wisdom is earnest, and the chambers chill
Let's everybody have a street party down in Brazil.

Humans Without Hummers

 

The brain-washed unwashed look into their mirrors
Monsters look back
and they mistake them for friends and neighbors,
become collectors, piling them in stacks.

They drive the steets , they fill the airports
Disaster movies without heros never sceening in their cineplexes
A forced naivety is never becoming when it resorts to the war with warts retort
Displaying the plum crazy Scorsese reflex

What we have here is a failure to bail out the boat
We're sinking in a sea of franchised sentimenatlity
And Old Testament blood sacrifices that make the ego float with its blessings bloated
Floating til the bubble bursts on a technicality.

it all comes down to Humans Without Hummers
getting out the wrenches instead of calling in the plumbers.

Time To Embrace

Nuclear war is a nightmare waiting:
for the necessary components , the necessary boom begetters , to come together with the exegesis of available chaos theories,
like in a good movie,
and make it happen.
The bully boys with their mob connections
Infiltrate and wait for the fruit to ripen;
Herd the naive with their screams into pre-ordained sections.


The bludgeoning of virtue
With the looks, and disassociation talents necessary for the torture.
Another statute , another statue,
Commemorating the moral values of another first world scorcher.

In the dizzy distance, beyond the fuzzy horizon , the shuttles meddle in space.
Engineered by terminal cases who've caught the conquering complex.
Giddy with gadgets, discharging their graces,
Their projects modeled on the jaw of Tyrannosaurus rex.

The eleventh hour sticks out of time-space like the nose on your face.
Time ticking, brace yourself for the brazen embrace.

Wings

 

The musicians are listening, the iron workers are lifting , the nurses are rushing and mending.
Those who make the world go, up against walls built by lackeys of elites who know at least 40 ways to use their lips to leak an illusion.
The bards of yesteryear let loose with cell phones, working on fantasies to keep justice crusted and equality pending.
See the results, not only on car commercials, but on the essays that get A's ; the hammers of occulsion

For viewpoints that are intrusions, like a bull at a road block.
Babies and bathwater floating by on the Euphrates.
Luckily the pure minds in the institutes of technology have a big supply of double talk in stock,
Dug in at the harvest end of the Ecclesiastes.

Remembrances flood the present like extreme weather.
Emulation of the earth's bounty boundless until unto carbon copies of the Carribean we depart.
Hideaway haciendas in the middle of the poverty of people crushed together.
True, giving tributes on holidays, to their sacrifices and dilemmas, and the rest of the week: let them bargain shop at Walmart.

Idiot tales to keep the electonic economics ringing, and whatever else that that sense of superior ethiticity brings.
Radio tall talk and satellite vector viciousness ; things will get uglier before the ducklings get any prettier , when they figure out gravity and spread their wings.

pop goes the planet

The warriors in Washington,  and those  outposted in other capitals,
including the master mendaciter in London,  and the harpoon sharpies and  the horror cowboys in the colonies,
and the posterity posters in the milk and honey lands, filled with big reprisals,
digging it with fellow grovellers , and hallucinating on data fogged up by history.

At night  the fog frightens the dogs in their hearts.
Mystic and misty and mean spirited, much of it can be explained by biology.
Good teeth, biting like coyotes, just doing one's duty, playing one's part,
Keeping it clean with moral brushes, and emotionally detached touches of technology.


Almost saintly, unleashing the the sins of selflessness to save civilization.
Going to the outer limits of scientific madness
Inherited and hacked from 18th century reading room revelations.
Animating dismay and setting up self derivitives, getting a buzz but remaining bloodless.


The drums of this drama in the ears of the planet,
Just working up a sweat. 

Toss The Coat

Love love everywhere but love not in sync
Some how similar to how cell phones interfere with the guiding radiation of the bees.
Hate and other emotions made manifest and no help from the shrinks.
Like a circuit board that's been chewed away at by a raccoon----- wires exposed and dreams dangling, panic attacks on the trapeze.

Elixir cocktails visualized by bubbly personalities, but unattainable by the grubby little hands.
The propulsion of populations a problem for members of the board and their warlords,
compulsive showerers , some of whom in their youth played in rock and roll bands.
Working in teams like insect colonies, synchronicity in the city its own reward.

Love love coming from away and asking for directions
Zapping skulls but seldom penetrating
Love escaping from quantum traps, beating the rap and the lethal injection
Love howling into holograms that need insulating.

With a good coat and a good imagination you can make it through any winter
You can even toss the coat when the delusions begin to splinter.

hard to tell who's bluffing

The blood spills matched by the oil slicks
Missions out of control, you can detect that sulphur smell.
Everyone you see walking around in shock.
Every exit branching off into new hells.

The nerds of the nebulous say everything is fabulous,
Stabilizing; saying its nothing compared to ww one
A butcher shop , you get the idea from those silent movies, sheep to the slaughter house
deadly and symetrical, not like today's free form chaos that's mostly restricted to those born under the wrong sign of the sun.

Saying its, (the lie detector in their ticker does an unsubtle jump),
saying:We're more civilized now and the uncivilized have to be shown how.
The day to day drudges dream of clean rivers and suspension of their hurts somewhere over the hump.
And reassignments for sacred cows.

The body's armour has hardened on
There's a lot of crazies out there and hard to tell who's bluffing and who's bringing it on.

Thinking Thru the Sacrosanct

Lost soulers banging their heads against the dead endings of botany.
Time to cross the street.
Walk the sunny side of the irony.
Walk off the big deceit.

The straw men manufacturers design their mental crimes out behind the barn.
Hell doen't exist yet but its opening up soon.
There's a grand opening for the guys who read the news , and their sources of course, who feed them the yarns.
There, you can see the balloons.

And feel the party atmosphere,
corporate scientistics have just patented the color blue, and they're celebrating and motioning for you.
Messages come across the floor of the ecosphere,
calling Johnnys and Jills to come home, to jump the queue.

Paying attention to instincts,
Thinking thru the sacrosanct.

Practicing Not Blinking

Families on the road heading for the horizon where they hear there's fun , where they hear its fair.
Interrupted by armed and dangerous and clinically deranged representatives of deep thinkers.
Who use the methodology of madness that hits the same part of the brain as crystal meth, but with extra fear effect added.
They're deep in the pockets of the knuckleheaded number hos being feted down the street
Exhibiting themselves through windows of woe.
Assisted by market share beheaders.
A trinity of treachery, and when its mystical signifigance is explained, nod your head or you could end up semi-solitaire, gasping for air,
And lead gently through the labyrinth of incontinent mishmashes that pass for brains , at the end of which you swallow the bitter and bow to your betters.

The imagined invincibility in the belly , turning to jelly.
Unseen choirs sing on the outer edges of the pain.
Its business as usual in empires coming, and empires going , killing softly , collapsing collaterally.
People pulling the fool off their faces, rush in and go toe to toe with the hard headed ring of state terror being run out of rear view mirrors ; trying to hit a vein.

Not mourning , not heeding warnings
Of the officials with the whistles,
blowing gospels, reconfigured in real-time to keep you cringing.
But instead giving it the finger of dimissal.

Taking a chance on critical thinking,
Practicing not blinking.

Breath Sensitive

the converts are confused about the protocol
Their ingestion picking up speed , but over it , they don't seem to have any control

Still thinking about the weekend even tho' they've been pensioned off
Still doing the paper work to get to a better trough

applying for the paradise they can almost touch
its either down town or out at that beach house that gives such a rush

Debauchery from the top
brings failure of an African crop.

The emission of humanity, or inhumanity, depends on which buttons get pushed
On what sentiments get past the sensors, and get voiced

On what berries get picked
On what dreams get kicked

The jewel, beyond the heart beat , is breath sensitive,
Releasing, reluctantly, its captives.

Apocalypse and Hugs

 

The assaults on the green zones expose handfuls of sand.
Farmers jarred, as never before, by any strong armed god.
The coming of the culture of bulldozers by them that's got control of the demand.
The supply side divvied up and  rounded off at tough guy tables
tucked away in eco-conscious protectorates ,where standing on guard are the death squads.


Well disciplined and in tune with technology
Well oiled rifles and communications networks
The saviours of civilization, taking what's best -- from biology to mythology
Hard headed sons and daughters susceptible to the suggestions of, it happened all of a sudden, jerks

The apocalyptic sets are in place
The earth will make it thru Ok, but there's a question mark at the end of the human race.
The anxiety level , can't keep it clear with snow shovels.
The loud speakers say: Stay in your hovels

Got a feeling that that may be just the opposite of what this planet needs;
Gotta hug someone today and really squeeze.

Full Zoom

The trajectory of history keeps its course ,threatening to de-mystify the mystery
Decisions made according to doctrine that's been bumped along since the times got immoral.
The doctrine of a hungry creature looking over the gates of the chancellery
developing an appreciation for all things aural.

Developing an understanding of the intricacies of the trap
Institutionitis at epidemic proportions
Answers sit in the lap--
The mind married to distortions.

Limited liability the only comfort
purgatory and then the pardon
A psychology with blessings like holy water.
On the whole , though, people would rather be in the garden,

In the dirt and in the bloom
In a close-up in full zoom.

Shake Up

reincarnation and paradise in the songs in the background of the battlefields
Some wondering if there'll be fish in the ocean in 50 years
Our scaled friends feeding our brains since before harvests in the cornfields
Signals from the earth's innards, going in one, and coming out the other ear.


The resting places have been degraded to varying degrees
Fear of hightech weaponry preceded by the economic lever pullers,
leaving a lust deadly like a plague, disfiguring the emotional connection with nature, as easy as ABC;
A lust to set up shops to get people stuffed; and couldn't get any fuller.


And this dragon from the west
Danger on its breath and agility on its fingertips
A Thrilla from Godzilla beating its chest
taking it to the limit , letting it all rip.

its a beast being a beast
Some say superficial solutions won't change things in the least
Shaking up solutions that can seep through the surface and sooth it, that's something to feast your eyes on, that's something at least.

Filtering Thru the Pseudorandom

 

Terrorists and tourists blighting the landscapes with their escapades
The land bound locals look on in horror
The emotion of greed, infecting the networks and their intersections, with a fog that won't fade
Except for the climaxes of the conquerors.


Gotta get giggy ,and get in touch with clarity,
To soldier on beyond the boundaries of the mind
Where you can blow out the emotions, stilled by verity,
Entwined in electricity, realigned

On a sandbar of love, coming in with the tide.
Realizations coming in waves
Sensations out of the box, hands untied
Moments that chime the times and charm the shadows in the corners of caves

Flickering towards freedom
Filtering thru the pseudorandom.

Speaking Of

The quotes of the mouthpieces of the mighty
fill you up like chocolate bunnies
and that same chemistry
in the stomach, not funny.

Eyes picking up traces of the abyss
On television.
All these guys in love with lies.
Misinterpret, and you could end up in prision.

Freedom has a lot in common with being wide-eyed and hearing your own engine
Hearing the gears shift
Hearing the tires hum, driving into an azurine
sky , embracing, not brushing off, the gift of speaking what's going thru your head, swift-

er than speeding bullets
penned by wordprocessing poets.

Forget-It Day

This is International Forget-It Day,
When the dragons of the mind hold their breath,
An extended delay
to separate the miracles from the myths.


A day to forget about it, and scrounge around in the moment.
Smell its aroma and whistle while you walk and spray flame retardant on the hellfires of Yehovah.
BBQ, and bite off the top 10 tips on how to practice death.
Sit, while creeped-out , cooped-up too long cognitions get conscious by accident.


Pour delirium down the drain.
Do Muhammad Ali knock-out pokes at self-taught jack-in-the-box  self-torture techniques.
Stretch out the stress positions
And stretch the days into weeks...


Forgeting the battles and the dates
And all the hoopla doing loops around the hate.

Las Vegas, 2037

 


Pulling the senses out of the quicksand.
When the senses go you're left with a blank.
with a tin-earred band
with an empty tank.

And changes that take away from the overall effect.
Psychological devices holding back the panic.
Fear running the nervous system, seeing if it will resurrect
or if it'll turn to powder like the Pyramids.

Las Vegas, 2037.
You wouldn't recognize the place.
Staying at The Manna From Heaven
remembering the people who disappeared without a trace.

About that, you can only speculate.
About the contractual obligations and about the expiry dates.

Refugees

the refugees stuck behind trucks stuck in the mud
the rainy season has arrived
the refugees spread out , pore thru borders with cold blood.
Conflicts always in season, too bad for those who haven't survived.


refugees bring their heartbroken memes.
in pots, boiling hot
nightmares and dreams
Its easy to figure out who gets to squat and who gets the yacht


The loneliness of the long distant refugee
With the longing to get over it.
And dam the brands of the obligee
And live amongst the flashbacks before the throats were slit.

In relative ease in relative Edens
Detectable by GPSs in the gardens.

PR

New York Ciy based shills for corporate thuggery handle their words with tongs.
The Keep It Slippery Strategy, the key to their survival, intellectual King Kongs

in love with the whore
with warehouses of leveraged promises to explore.

Surfers on the medium muddling the message at the behest of the handlers of the treasure chests,
their little corners of the world amongst the best places to invest.

House slaves from Mars and Venus
From Canada and Kkickastan and other busted up and brushed aside places

twisting the words away down at the Peppermint Exchange
One for me , one for you , one for the ones who can be deranged.

Wailing eunuchs overloaded with dictionaries
Minus the test results identifying their cult, but comped with discretionaries.

Take a picture , frame it like you frame any dream.
Point to it when you need to whip up the team.