Fun Things

The more senior members of the corn-fed trophy mounting union (local 1776) always manage to find opportunities to regale their greener counterparts with talk of a simpler time–when common salmonella held a place in all of our hearts and opinion-dominated politics held sway in the public arena.

The information age was still in its infancy and the shady web traffickers used all their powers of persuasion to convince the good ol’ god-fearing people that doom was just around the corner for all non-believers (when a quick search would reveal that the sedentary nature of these chosen-by-default disciples was actually the exact behavior leading us all to armageddon).

The billionaire false prophets for social normativity laughed all the way to the bank, just the way they always had (and always would, assuming the government they’d purchased would continue to carry out their various people-crushing biddings). Nobody with enough influence could get the gears of social justice turning, due to their lack of tenure as stock market manipulators and robber barons; the folks who figured they could inspire a positive change in discourse were all too late to the party.

Or that would be the narrative that Joe and Stu want to perpetuate at social gatherings (sock hops, ball games, charity galas, what have you), usually after a beer or two. I wish they would talk about fun things instead.

*AUDIO* ARK HIVES 1: 02/19/2014

Notice the lo-fi-ness? Yeah, it was an accident at first, but now I really like the idea of fuzzy recordings for the archives. Makes it feel older, yanno? It’s also reminiscent of Tom Waits’ lo-fi recordings of him telling stories.

So ya, here are the pieces I read for this recording:

Subconscious to the Rescue

Pile the sandbags and twirl the belts,
we’re not gonna lose our dishes to the wind
if I have anything to say about it!

Pile it all up, all that crap you never expected
you’d need to keep the mental tempest at bay.

No use questioning it at this point,
your brain sent out the SOS two days ago,
and I sincerely apologize for arriving so late.
You’d never believe the cross-country traffic.

***

Hit the Road

With fists would be too bloody,
so we picked the feet instead.

Stomping full speed ahead
with soles at our disposal,
we fully intended to swing
by the 24-hour bakery for
some half-price doughnuts
and a snifter of cider
on the house (if Freddy
decided to be kind to us).

Our plans changed, and
we began flipping pancakes
until we could find
a tangible solution.

It struck me like butter
and I scraped my elbow
on the doorway as I
hurried outside to yell

“America knows the truth
about agribusiness
and systemic starvation
of impoverished nations,
just ask the government!”

A sniper’s round whizzed
past my ear and I took
no time getting out of there,

though I lost my clothes
while going so fast,
an issue that pops up
more often than you think it should.

***

Bigfoot Carbon

It’s like I’m trying to crack
some Russian terrorist organization’s database

before the rubber ducky
explodes all over the train tracks
during the afternoon commute
away from the lovely metropolis
that affords so many people
the luxury of living 30 miles away
and commuting every day

to earn their big fat paychecks
while leaving bigfoot carbon prints

if they choose not to commute by rail.
But they can do whatever they want,
because having substantial sums of money
makes a person immune from criticism
and the need to change lifestyle.