Monday, March 29, 2010

a quick one...

casualties of causality
slaves to the weight of history
and the sins of the fathers
of the fathers of the fathers

free will is relative.

the history of the many, the
history of the one
conspire to control what's to come
and the slaves of ghosts and gods
and the slaves of ghosts and gods
and the slaves of ghosts and gods
betray us all.

to learn from but not succumb
to face what's dead then bury it
tradition is a prison cell
tradition is a prison cell
amnesia is the key.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

3 short psalms for a sunday afternoon


elton john must pay for his crimes against humanity

how has it not all burned by now?
sitting home sick on a weekday
looking at the tv; one of those crappy
daytime talk shows. the glib phony host is
interviewing an internationally famous pop star
one of those assholes who has amassed an
absurd fortune making bland soulless music for
bland soulless people and as they tour one of the
singer's five mansions, the interviewer's tongue planted
firmly up his subject's backside, fawning over the obscene,
excessive displays of wealth, I can't help but ask myself
how has it not all burned by now?
I think of all the people around the country, sitting at home
watching this nauseating spectacle, all the poor, the broke, the under or unemployed,
the people who have to bust their asses just to have the basic
necessities; how they can look at this fat, arrogant piece of shit
and not just find the injustice of it all so supremely insulting
that they finally, FINALLY question the foundations of a system that allows
for such appalling inequities...

how has it not all burned by now?



peroxide moms in oversized rolling coffins jockey for position, bloody screaming asphalt death is just for the poor folk who can't afford the luxury of safety, fate drafted as reluctant assassin in one-sided class war, if your body burns bad enough you'll be a star, baby, of your very own fifteen minutes - more like five - more like two - maybe on the local news 'less your kids die too then you get to be a recurring character at least 'til the trial and some truck driver goes down for vehicular manslaughter and you're nothing more than a little white cross on the side of the road and the whupwhupwhup is not the sound of angels wings come to take you home its the vultures circling with telephoto eyes and they're staring at you glaring at you they come to watch you die as your blood drains, stains the freeway bloody red and the sirens whine in rise and fall like the wailing call of banshees and jesus that bitch is still on her cell phone!


the inevitability of death makes bitches of us all
and even god can't escape entropy
everyone and everything dies in the end
people, planets, suns, universes, we all
just run out of steam, lose momentum, cohesion
fall the fuck apart. maybe with a whimper
maybe with a bang, but the end result is always the same...
the Void. its unavoidable and on the surface it seems
utterly bleak and depressing but if you stop and think about it
what greater liberation is there than knowing that none of it -
NONE of it - really matters. in the end it's all just THE END so it really
is pretty pointless to get too stressed...the best course of action
is to just grab afuckinghold of what joy comes your way and make the
most of it before its eventual decay and dissolution into the dust from
whence it came.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

The Womperjaw Philosophy: A Photographic Primer
6,000 words, the easy way.

Making the most of randomness, happy accidents, and equipment failure.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

if you're not
you're not