Concerto for blunt instrument

An irregular heartbeat from d.o. to you. Not like a daily kos, more like a sometime sloth. Fast relief from the symptoms of blogarrhea and predicated on the understanding that the world is not a stage for our actions, rather it is a living organism upon which we depend for our existence.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Sedate the Union Address

My fellow Americans we are
in sooooo much trouble, asleep
at the switch on the track, this
train headed straight for the gate
for the brick wall, over the top
of the curb near the homeless guy
by a window full of ugly forty-three
inch plasma screens all
playing the same news
direct from some white house
press release, interrupting our
regularly scheduled nap (sorry);
good time to get up and go
pee, to the fridge, to bed...
zzzzzzzz.....just dozed off, was
thinking of when we used to march
for whatever, those cheesy clothes!
(so embarrassing), meet someone,
do something besides sitting here with
a bag of chips on our shoulders and
criminals in charge everywhere. What
was i thinking
just then.....must've dozed off, must
have dreamed you were asking me to
go to some demonstration, some
presentation of how to stop the train
before it careens off the track or
rolls over, or slams into innocent
crowds with their hands out pleading
holding hungry babies up to be what?
kissed? put out of their misery? taken?
The last time i dreamed this way you
went back home and left me alone in
the street where there are no barricades
only expensive cars with angry drivers
on cellphones talking to brokers or
bad relations or porn lines or themselves
glaring at me for being
alive or for not, for being asleep on
my feet looking all around for some
real opposition to evil engineers who
hi-jacked this locomotive, like some
toy on a three-railed track, yelling
"my toy!", grabbing and shoving like
some fucking brat in private school
whose dad owns...what? everything? god?
like some snarky over-weight little wimp
in a suit scheming his eventual victory
over everything he couldn't get being
who he was or where he came from..zzzz
..(excuse me)...i must of fallen asleep
again with all this nothing going on, all
this lack of enthusiasm, this lack of
will to throw the switch, to throw the bums out
literally, to take the initiative, to
take the time to march to his house and
drag him out kicking and screaming and
spank his bare bottom or put him in
the stocks, hoping they'll come crashing down
and guys with way too much money will
start jumping out of windows again like
they're supposed to and in the streets
below people will get out of the way
thinking it's a hard rain, thinking it's
about time, about time and of what comes around.
But hey, it's late and there's something
good on tonight, i'm tired and soooo busy,
so sleepy, and you're so '60s, so 70's,'80s,90's,
so yesterday. Can we talk about this tomorrow?
after my show? after whats-his-name's speech?
after they drag our ass down to the station
house and empty out our pockets and subject
us to everything short of organ failure?
Is that ok? Huh?


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