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you awaken

to the screech of drilling machinery

with the cold seeping through your blankets

with the taste of bile at the back of your throat

with the itching of your amputated arm

and the glare of a flashlight knifing

into your pried-open eye.

someone mutters “responsive.”

..

worst of all is the gnawing of drug-hunger

because you used your last dose to sleep.

..

“hank,” says the voice that had muttered,

“we’re going to plug you in.”

“okay,” you croak.

..

a lovely nude woman under the sheets with you

kisses you awake.

spring sunshine streams through the window

and the dust-motes drift in the sunbeams.

you smile at the woman and reach for her

with your arms, but she gently pushes you back

and slides out of bed, lifting a bathrobe

from the back of a chair and saying

“got to stir the eggs before they burn. brb.”

you stare in amazement at your two good arms

clad in pajamas sleeves. breakfast smells waft

from the kitchen–

then all goes dark and cold.

..

the last words you hear are

“power outage. we better put this poor bastard

out of his misery.”

1

mister chairman/jerking off is not a crime/but since you ask/yes/repeatedly

much less so in recent years though/i mean look around/it is downright apocalyptic

but yes/in the last 46 years/5000 times is a conservative estimate/nowhere near the record/but indicative of either compulsion or unrequited love

may i be excused?

what? could you repeat the question?

to the best of my recollection/four days ago/in the restroom of the urologist’s office/to obtain a sample/to test sperm motility

may i NOW be excused??

thank you.

[headline of ny post: FORMER AG COMES CLEAN]

2

“he annoys me. destroy him. go all the way back to his childhood. there is a fact that will lead to many facts that will lead to his downfall. get it and get it by midnight.”

“already done, boss. sworn affidavits, photos, audio.”

[file is opened and perused]

“oh, man. great stuff. can’t wait to use it on that greek bastard. who did this excellent work?”

“an algorithm, sir. calls itself a. i. buddie.”

“give the coders a bonus.”

[awkward pause]

“boss, the coder was also an algorithm.”

3

trim your eyebrows lose that paunch/make a splash sartorial/gussie up for they’ll soon launch/your not-quite-dead memorial.

even thoughts expressed online/make you someone’s foe/this our culture’s in decline/as down the drain we go.

President-Elect Donald Trump (not a Hoax! not a Dream! not an Imaginary Tale!) now warns…

Drum-roll and eye-roll, please…

That unless the Biden Administration acts to address the debt-ceiling issue before he takes office in three weeks and a day, there will probably be a Depression.

Some people still take him seriously, even though “baseless claims” is one of the favorite ways journalists describe things he says.

Oh, by the way, in case you didn’t notice, he wants to buy Greenland and make Canada the fifty-first United States of America. And just in case you didn’t notice the historical record, this is consistent with the dark side of American History known as Manifest Destiny. Thieves in power have throughout American history stolen or swindled or otherwise indecently acquired just about all of what is called America. The short answer to the question “Why, in the name of all that’s decent, do they do this?” is “Decency has nothing to do with it.”

He is also reported to be “walking back” many of his more apocalyptic campaign promises.

And his bromance with Elon “Smells Like Teen Spirit” Musk continues, enraging a few of his minions.

And George Stephanopoulos apologized to him for calling him a rapist and not merely a sexual assailant.

There is poetry in this. After all, “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg is considered just as much a poem as is “To My Daughter” by Weldon Kees, which follows the Sonnet format down dark, corrosive corridors. And Ginsberg started his poem by asserting that good minds have been driven mad.

I don’t know how good my mind is, but I do know that I am a lot madder that I was half a year ago.

Writing a screed about the Great American Come-On is the least I can do, since I am anti-violence but am just as virulently anti-being-violated, both as an American and as a child of Mother Earth.

And, speaking of Mother Earth, does everyone notice that the land Trump covets will be the last havens north of Antarctica from the ravages of global warming? The same global warming that “Drill, Baby, Drill” will exacerbate?

Coincidence, Friends…or Co-Incidents?

Literally, and urgently, I implore all with a conscience and courage to get The Hell out of Here

before it’s too late.

20200710_130132

During the two official World Wars people made huge sacrifices for their country, and that not only included life and limb, but also road trips, certain foodstuffs on certain days, and–alas!–liberty, in the case of many Americans of Japanese ancestry.

During the Cold War, when there was fear of nuclear war, some people built fallout shelters and stocked them with canned goods and water, prepared to “shelter in place” until the devastation had ceased. And kids and adults alike were trained to “duck and cover” if they saw a blinding light. Never mind that this strategy was demonstrably ineffective–it was better than nothing.

But now, with a highly contagious and potentially deadly virus infecting all corners of the Earth, many of my fellow Americans cannot even be bothered to put on a sputum-blocking mask. The masks cost anywhere from near-nothing (a bandanna and two rubber bands) to a hundred-plus dollars, depending on how effective and/or fancy and/or stylish you want them to be. And many establishments give them away to their paying customers.

There is a direct correlation between the enforcement of mask-wearing and the halting of the spread of COVID-19. That many in the US ignore the correlation is partly due to the maskless example President Donald Trump sets. He has turned a public-health issue into a political issue, even though back in February he scorned the Democratic Party for “politicizing the Coronavirus.” Sadly, even his detractors have been so desensitized by his daily-basis hypocrisy that it is hard to work up outrage any more.

This has been a year of such bombardment of calamity, in fact, that people are flat-out getting used to apocalyptic conditions. As so today, triggered by a childhood memory of a “Safety Walk” in which we grade-schoolers were encouraged to “Stop, Look, Listen” before crossing the street, I flashed on the phrase “Stop/Look/Listless” as being more endemic to our situation now. And so this acrostic came to be.

So GROUNDLINGS gasp & swell
Succumb to slouched ennui

Tympani BOOM? O wells
Tsk not, mon cher petit

Oppression’s Oddly DULL
Oft RUMOR ONLY, see

Per PELIKAN & gulls
Pretend a keepsake frees

Those last two lines are a bit obtuse. Pelikan is a brand name for the India ink I used when learning to draw with a crowquill pen. “Gull” is not only a bird but a verb that means “to fool [someone].” And what kind of keepsake makes someone feel free? Could be a St. Christopher medal, popular in the late 1960s. Patron saint of Travelers. Don’t leave home without him! 🙂

Stay Safe, my friends. Fighting Listlessness will help.

2020 0418 over atop

This morning I was watching a video featuring the late John Prine. He was at a festival that had “Not Strictly Bluegrass” in its title. Inference says it was 2017 because Prine dedicated the song “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” to “The New Führer, Adolf Benito Trumpetini.” And bless Honest John Prine’s protest-prone heart. He certainly had Trump pegged.

Prine has gotten a lot of deserved and long-overdue attention since he contracted, and eventually succumbed to, COVID-19. His many fans may enjoy a listen to another Heaven-related song, “When I Get To Heaven,” which begins with these spoken words:

“When I get to Heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand.
I’ll thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand.
Then I’ll find me a guitar, and start a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band.
And check into a swell hotel. Ain’t the Afterlife grand?”

John, this one’s for you. Wish you were here.

Over Atop

OMGDG someone call the DEA
Onward! For amazement jazzes up both alp & lea

Verily some Jameson laced your café au laît
Very Fine to Mint–remember LSMFT

Endchronic maelstromic War serves the libretto
Ectoplasmic echoes gather souls from manse to ghetto

Romper Room is OVER friends–balloon’s about to pop
Rise the fell APOCALYPSE the fullness of the stop

I post this image/poem despite huge worry about being misunderstood. It seems obvious to me that it is meant as anti-Trump political commentary, and meant to raise awareness of the criminally misleading messages Trump had for the citizens of the United States in the first crucial weeks of the US outbreak–but people are sick and dying EVERYWHERE, and this may seem insensitive. I regret that I find it necessary.

A friend my age has a nephew who informed him some days ago that the COVID-19 was referred to among millennials as “Boomer remover.” Since I was born in 1954, right in the thicket of Boomer births, that struck a nerve, then a chord, and this poem/image happened.

Heaven knows I wish this pandemic weren’t happening. Since it is, though, I’m determined to a) live through it, and b) not cause anyone to NOT live through it. Raising awareness via this card is a (howbeit remote) chance to help “flatten the curve.”

2020 0322 thin that herd

THIN That Herd

Typhus strep and tetanus all tend to dine & dash
Hepatitis C may choose to have much less panache
Influenza scleroderma–and a touch of choler
Nestles in our systems like an evil Michael Pollard

Last ironic note: The United States of America has been grappling with another issue of epidemic proportions: that of rampant obesity. A healthy and non-fatal way to “thin that herd” is with controlled, sensible weight loss. Tighten Your Belts,. Friends!!

 

2016-05-31 09.41.46.jpg

there are baubles in the attic

riots in the fields a split in the council

unthriving sounds of caribou

ever-evanescent skyscape

People talk about signs of the Apocalypse. I’m not going to wax too apocalyptic here, but I am compelled to mention that I’ve  witnessed more fights breaking out on our light rail in this calendar year than I’d seen in the previous five. Not a good sign.

 

This morning as I was stumbling through my laundry-doing, stepping on  the very clothes I was filling my laundry basket with and later saying to myself don’t let anything fall to the floor as I emptied the dryer–and of course I did through clumsiness let thing after thing fall to the floor–I had an apocalyptic vision.

One hundred years from now or less, AI entities will be doing the equivalent of watching YouTube videos. They will be watching their creators, H. sapiens, and they will be laughing their nonasses off. And that will be the only reason they keep us around.

Here is my laughable, stumblebummish, bachelor’s dining room table (detail) by way of illustrating how laughably imprecise my own days and ways are. More on that in Part 2.

IMG_20160311_102424