The local entertainment

I'm in the entertainment industry. The black market variety. I distort and fabricate my personality and project it in a million tiny pieces in small rooms. In a small market I hawk my wares and lose my focus. I'm still compelled to this ritual, but fear dissolution. I need to find my center again soon.

tryin to choose a better nature
and let go of that tempting battle line
peace can be a buttoned down short hair thing
militarism is corny and square
unsustainable, obsolete
a dinosaur paradigm animated by fabricated fear
peace to me aint no flowers and incense
it's hammers and shovels, rebar and concrete
tough guy shit.
A pasty double chinned bald suit who justifies war
is a coward and a weakling
with a soft dick and soft girlish hands
fetished and sweaty
desperate for agency

had to get this spasm down quick.

capture the draft
of monaural mystery
begging the raft hunt baggery
bolshevic midnight grunt
history buff magic
system wide michegan
generate
pistol

OTR

there are certain things that resist entropy
la cucaracha and sagebrush
Bruce Willis cannot own this
There are the things that disappear
like the Usual Gang Of Idiots that I remember:
Berg, Drucker, Aragones, Prohias, Torres, DeBartolo etc
picked up a copy of Mad at the stand- $5.99 Cheap!
They never used to have ads.
The Letters and Tomatoes Dept. is still intact
the dirt roads and the barbed wire, the cowshit and the clouds
you cant choose the place you lose
some stick around.
I could take you to the quakies
but your name might disappear-
the stream may take the trees away next year
it hurts to be alive
it's scary to freefall wonder
if you lose your certainty
you may need some ole time religion
or some medicated apathy.

breezy

A little blues harp goes a long way. Zero blues harp goes even further. I had to say this to my boss when he suggested my music needed more harmonica. We were listening to Prairie Home Companion. Sometimes this show makes me smile, but more often I get so annoyed I want to smash something.
I fantasized about being a breezy person at the grocery store this morning. I imagined I could be the kind of guy that catches a ladies eye. I had a vision of myself cheerfully shopping and engaging other people with a lightness.
I took my groceries to the parking garage in the basement. Two sporty cars came racing into the garage doing a lap close in on each other. What the fuck is this, I wondered. I realized that I am at a certain age, and that I do hate young people more and more. I think their styles are moronic, their vision uninspired. I'm one to talk. The sandcastles of my imagination are forever sabotaged by my blue collar inner voice.
I fantasize about a certain discipline to create each day.

 

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