Singing Off the Coordinates to the Heroes

The counter terrorism experts have a method to take care of the mental lepers they've reserved a spot under the radar for.
Where there's no oversight or lone lawmen with a mission
to right the wrongs of cultures gone bongos long time ago.
Where there's no freedom tweakers to fuck with the best of all possible
21st century fiefdoms.
That rely on 24/7 access to mineral and other millable rights just wasting away in backyards in backward neighborhoods.

Assured by the technologically nimble knights who hail down emotions made to manifest by tax payer financed lean mean maiming machines.
Hailing down on the resisters who have thunk out side the fenced off area and happen to mention to the gatekeepers that they heard something go clunk.
That's maybe an indication of a system breaking down, and never worked all that well to begin with.
The gatekeepers call in the air strikes.
They love singing off the coordinates to the heroes.

acts of a boot licker

It takes a lot of creativity to sell you a car.
If you put that much and focus and dedication and vision into healing a war torn nation
or chasing the kids out into the sunshine
we could declare it a long weekend and forget about everything.

The ad is put together by artists who have passed the buck of what their vision means , to the commissars and those from the colleges who have read Kafka and liked the atmosphere
and so are useful in an administrative capacity.
The mental approval was a big part of their training.
It's a corporate endeavor, educated to attain the presented panacea
and suck on it's luxury (with hints of necessity) until you're weaned.
But the promised nectar doesn't materialize
and you know it'll require another purchase
and the taste becomes more distant.
You don't believe in freebies but there's always maybes.

If you could pause your lust just long enough to link your sorry ass
to the invisible charge on the wire running from the tip of your iceberg to the bottom where you hide your investments,
and look around for a keeper,
then jeepers creepers,
you may find a moment of peace that comes from knowing there's a place where our states all unit
so why not bring out the love with the burgers and ease off the war making habits at the BBQ and restructure the present mother nature fucker,
not to be vulgar but to shake off the acts of a bootlicker.

Now nothing seems weird

the holdouts are are in the mountains
learning Morse code
singing along with the Jefferson Airplane and jumping into fountains.
Its hot down on the banks where the river once flowed.

older now, bolder now
than when they felt immortal
Now they discuss what it means to wait with the tao
and walk through it's revolving portal,
where dreams seem suspended,
and go on walks with them,
and on the deja vu cruises round each bend,
and make peace with the neighboring tribes who still get messages from the condemned.

All the mirrors have disappeared
Now nothing seems weird.

the jokes in Reader's digest

The barbarians who travel with a packed tooth brush and a Blackberry
try to awaken their team spirit in order to rearrange the infrastructure.
a bit of a mental snake pit,
they say hail to the chief and are full of merit,
Some would say fill of shit.
But the mendacity they practice works up a sweat and
hides it.

I hate to get personal when it comes to someone's belief
But knowing just a little of what they believe ,
I wish I were on the Great Barrier Reef
or even eating clams on a local beach
out of cell phone reach.

I once went to city council meeting
Didn't get much of a greeting
I didn't have the capacity to blend into the agenda
But I met a girl there named Brenda
She wants to be the president of the United States
And be as rich as Bill Gates.
I told her I was trying to figure out Finnegan's Wake
and still eat my cake.
She speaks point by power point
I got the impression her favorite position is to hold you at gun point.

I got out of there with my mental notes
What I wrote down was indecipherable.
They got my goat but not my vote.
They recorded it and I promised myself I'd watch it on cable
I knew I'd need a new label.

One time I was in New York City.
I had no money
and my shoes didn't quite fit me.
I was impressed
It was when I realized the devil never blushed
and I stopped reading the jokes in Reader's digest.

lavender perfume

You get the joke of your existence,
when your funny bone loses resistance,
to the interlocutor plugged into your socket,
and your head free from the docket.

The blasphemy that occurs at the office
makes me afraid to drink the brew in my chalice.
Its' hard to remember,
when you're thrown into a blender,
what's just some hand-eye coordination device,
that puts you on ice,
and what works cross platform,
like lavender's perfume.

God bless them

The capitalists -- the ones that live in the mansions and get their kicks in the sticks digging up the goodies of the natives while their goons stand on guard with invading armies or local militia who know on which side their their bread is buttered .

they breath free and feel free enterprise needs the catalyst of theft to kick start it
and when someone tries to get it back that's when they reinvent the law to cover their killer instincts with petty rationalizations, sometimes pretty, that they practice and call culture--- that must be protected with violence if the oppressed get pissed
and let their adrenaline bypass the circuses and instead go right to the jugular of their oppressors.

The sun shines on everyone
The ones with the close relationship to the gun runners get their choice of real estate in which to hang out and get a few rays.
The soul's network of synapses emits gems from all of them,
said the Newfoundlander who was reading a book by Rumi.
On the radio the Eagles were singing "Take It Easy"
at that part about not letting the " sound of your own wheels drive you crazy".
An Apache helicopter crew sing along with it as they release
their payload at an enemy target in a vegetable market.

For a while the people on the ground are totally stunned , if not dead.
Many will be forever scarred with fear.
Some will read Rumi and think about it and some will come by it naturally------ the ability to love your neighbor and to express it with honesty, and so risk another attack.

The crew of the Apache are exhilarated by their success
One of them yells out : When we get back home let's start a business.
The other guy can taste vomit.
He'll take that Stateside with him.

There's some that will look for a cure.
God bless them.

Still Thirsty

until the days of famine are undone

and the salmon are jumping for everyone

and the follow the leader instinct in the DNA is no longer inflamed,

the heavy betting is still on the boots on the ground,

put there by the selectively pious who will not deny themselves.

And you can bet that things will get out of hand

and someone will end up feeling rotten

and many Janeys and Johnnys will never walk home in the moonlight again,

and many homes will be blown to rubble by artillery and rockets, and rezoned, so they can build a factory and plug it into a socket.

And you can bet it'll all end like Alexander hanging his hand out of his coffin.

His funeral prayer scans through history every morning.

And you can depend upon the grifters, with well rounded educations,

to sift the science that has communicated through the senses since the beginning of nature.

Their minds are plastic , with sparks fantastic.

They take many forms to fix the economy to fantasies that scream.

They're in a war to win over believers, and make waves they  can invest in.

They have thought things through, and if you buy into it, provide access to easy pleasures with consistent returns.

They claim it counter balances the stresses of the body politic backfiring.

They emphasis the benefits and are by your side to resupply you.

They are sly and

to get things straight use a lot of pliers.

Although things look normal something doesn't seem real.

I sense a simulacrum where once there was fear of a God dishing out the law for some , and awe for others.

The scheme is to dream wash what comes standard with a brain.

The overseers crack their MBAs to help you dot your i's and bear your crosses.

The coin tossers track the odds of someone deferring their obligations.

They give instructions on how to balance the pain of the ball and chain with the call of the saviors.

They have a compulsive desire to lock things up.

They knock over anything that wobbles

and put it in a database that gobbles it up.

You can see the results at the Friday luncheon and hear the words between the munches.

This information is utilized to keep societies from experiencing the disruptions that could trigger a long overdue process.

They let it be known to anyone who's dared to take the pledge--- to ease off that look of fright ,

that they are capable of even more severe measures,

in which they take great pleasure.

The other night after watching a documentary,

I said a prayer to String Theory

I'd been looking to check out a parallel world

to get some relief from this dimension's logic.

But after seeing the documentary it seems the other probabilities probably have problems with the same odds as this one,

Set up by the gods of Las Vegas who have connections and like the action.

And are dependent on department heads who have training as prophets

and know how to utilize deep pockets

and do linguistic tricks as they lick their chops.

At least one of whom claims that slaves, no matter what you call them,

will always choose escape over pizza no matter what the class honchos tell you.

A prophet who hooked up his evil streak to an alarm clock.

It wakes him up every morning to the sounds of heaven having an earthquake,

but, so goes the joke, Saint Peter won't let him in.

Still I imagine a change will come with a crash bang.

My eyes try to follow the movements of the chameleon over the house plants while I wait for Erminia.

On my tongue I taste a tang

Must be still alive cuz I'm still thirsty.

Not Just Joking

The ebb and flow and the roll through the shipwreck rocks.
Coming home for the view of where the heart is layered with insights and second sights
Serendipity setting off fireworks in the sky, and then come the after shocks
Humans perceiving and then taking flight.

Mirrors mounted up in the hills from the crossroads
Reflections fill the gap between future and the past.
People coming in by the bus load
It'll be a blast

Summertime and the kids jumping into the fountain
Time slowing down and doing a somersault
No clouds no rain
Free fall from fault.

The seeds are sprouting
Not just joking.

Maybe Iran

On the ground observing , with some trepidation, the microbes
as usual with the munchies for anything organic.
I fit the bill but my inorganic part, what swept Keats off his feet,
called for another round.

That probing into what even when visible is rarely understandable when you try to put the divisible parts back together again.
I've plenty of sunsets recorded on my camcorder but no sunrises
But still time flies with or without the memories that could always use some editing.


The killer ants are digging up the lawn
The tip of their colonization is observable
and for a moment I let my imagination join them
It's an invasion
They think my back yard is Iraq, or maybe Iran.

apropos before it splits

apropos the sun shined , it was paradise
the buds of my senses were about to burst.
I had a thirst for it.

There's talk of a wedding
But beware, in the glare on the hill evildoers are deciding

The ultimate outcome has been defined.
It was all arranged when the third eye of foresight went blind.

In many ways they are like kids in a candy store
Filled with resources they don't intend to pay for

They knew vaguely of Machiavelli's name
and subconsciously carry his flame

They make claim to all and everything in the ground
As well as the best views where undesirables are chased away by hounds.

They hire professors to ghost write op-eds,
to proclaim the superiority of how they were bred

It gives the impression they're almost angels
But there's always a hint of not so fresh mackerel

They claim characteristics celestial
But a peek at the spreadsheet tells the bottom line is bestial.

All their wonders too numerous to fit,
but they were freshmen when they last sharpened their wit.

In these erudite rants
They advise the masters to give the slaves two minutes to chant.

For strategic reasons
And to alleviate their conscience.

In secure areas of course
And an out of sight drone wouldn't hurt, in case there's a resort to force

A technology that would have been loved by Adolph the Chancellor,
Mobile thunder for the underfunded in love with their own valor.

Meanwhile on the other side of paradise I had a thirst for it,
getting into it before it splits.