poetic ethnography::chants
re.
poetic ethnography
piece for frustrated dreamers.
poetic ethnography::chants
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no one to dance or chat with.
poetic ethnography::chants
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little drummer boy.
poetic ethnography::chants
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corporate democracy confuses.
corporate democracy confuses.
what’s up with governments acting like corporations?
should i be confused, amused or what?
should i keep on staring into the idiot box?
should i choose to participate or not?
should i just get on my knees and pray that it all stops?
anyone want a world of activists or puppet presidents?
let guns decide while the world divides over markets being
globalized?
dream of aliens on distant planets or settle things at home?
what’s up with governments?
what’s up with governments acting like they care?
what’s up with governments acting like corporations?
can anything be fixed without reading marx?
because the
third world debt
isn’t getting paid,
and the g-8 can choke them by it with a chain,
but it isn’t getting paid.
what’s up with governments acting like corporations?
what’s up with governments building space stations?
what’s up with this country pimping its new world democracy?
07.24.01.
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and now she.
and now she.
and now she scatters,
drying her bones,
soaking through flesh.
let’s see it,
my heart leash out,
your heart leash out
to prove we’re alive.
scream at the world,
until what?
until we break.
until we become
or crawl.
eyes colliding to end the night.
she seems to
escape into her
wall in space.
through shredded hearts,
have a dream,
until what?
how long?
until we scatter.
before our ashes
become scattered
she questions herself,
“how much longer can i stay here?”
throughout
the universe
her verse
scatters.
2001.
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an exercise in angst (teenage mood).
an exercise in angst (teenage mood).
I. hurt your skin, peel it back- fade to black doused in sin. no one cares. shed your tears. share your fears. nothing’s fair. count to three or to four. like before, can you see anything? there’s nothing. II. so you like the feel, but don’t like the taste- such a fucking waste, waiting to be real. should i try? well, what for? what for? what for? i’m just so bored like before wanna die. wanna try to get out of here then into someone, i’m just acting dumb- so happy you hear.
11.09.02.
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access america.
access america.
try to enter: wall on the ground, divided land and massacred tribes. skin red from blood or evolution? tormented daydreaming seeming never ending. let’s try. let’s try, try to access america. try to exit: sky upside down, bruises not healed and scars still remain. are we sinking or losing our wings? tortured little babies seeming always dying. let’s try. try. try to, let’s try to access america. run over borders and digitalized cells into a plastic self with no hope of succeeding or escaping, because: access has been denied. access has been denied. access has been denied.
1999.
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Chapter 2: chants.
chants
access america an exercise in angst and now she corporate democracy confuses little drummer boy no one to dance or chat with piece for frustrated dreamers re revolution pose song for you take violent vehicle words for ghosts forgotten youth screaming
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to stars.
poetic ethnography::rants
UP!::urban po'E.Tree(s) 