poetic ethnography::chants
no one to dance or chat with.
writing
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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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
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wind blows away.
wind blows away.
fly fast, east-
buddha ranting.
wind
just blows
away
hopes and dreams
one had.
had it.
had it all.
had all
then lost it,
in grip,
then let slip
away.
wind
blows it all,
away.
had to-
past obligation.
love less,
live more,
loveless,
lifeless,
immobile.
in a second, everything will be memories,
fading slowly.
in a year-
unconscious, hidden
away.
wind blows
everything
away. time
had.
had it all
then lost.
on an island,
ghosts scream
to loves
abandoned
in the crowd
now gone
away
forever.
07.28.02.
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seeing.
seeing.
antichrist dream,
land filled with heroes.
crumbling idols,
worshipping symbols
of an empty people.
manic-depressive,
obsessive compulsive.
crucify time
to better explain now.
how to explain?
how to understand
the past and the present
without eating up past the future?
send time into a void
to travel through space.
from this island
it’s hard to see
-to hear the sea,
to smell the flesh,
to taste the soul,
to feel alive.
to be engulfed by infinite energy.
is it a dream
or a living desire?
-to see it all perish
and await resurrection
on top of a mountain
or deep in a jungle
away from the concrete
and synthetic plastics,
but inside a universe breathing.
entertained through thought,
avoiding some action,
hoping for peace
by hiding from war.
remove all the masks
and how does it look?
so, living in darkness
is not what it seems,
when shades begin
to frighten the soul of the child;
one needs to scream
to perceive energy.
to be engulfed by infinite energy.
03.15.02.
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power lies.
power lies.
truth seeker, freedom fighter, make self laugh with idea of words, used to dream of being like che, or some kind of castro, but now, most desire to be free of all ideology, and not have to hide behind political identities, ‘cause what does anything matter as long as it smells like human, but always have to include own personal quirks and preferences, making things such a horrible mess, thus stalin was a dictator, and castro, republicans, and democrats are dictators all as well, and there’s nothing, no one can say to change my mind.
2001.
UP!::urban po'E.Tree(s) 