donderdag 23 december 2010

Wait a minute my life is still buffering


Wait a minute my life is still buffering…

Previously on sitting on my ass
While scratching my balls…

Watching television series
A waste of time

I love to waste time…

In 22 and 42 minute segments
Commercial free
A buffered life.
Streaming someone else’s consciousness
Downloaded behind locked doors and pulled shades
Wasting time waiting wanting.
I am a torrent alight of gigabytes
Need me watch me delete me.
God bless the Pirate Bay
for making it all
Free Free Free!

I feel like I live in another world
Or is it the after world or am I just
LOST, another television zombie
amongst The Walking Dead
burying myself Six Feet Under
Am I the bastard Son of Anarchy
Or the distant ex of a serial killer
Named Dex.
My own procrastination
recognizable in the
Manchild gratification
Of a sunny day in Californication.
My head overcrowded, my mind overgrown
Full of Weeds rotting out the wood work
Of my very own Boardwalk Empire
The Grey matter of my Anatomy has
Become bubble gummed and romantically glum
The Modern Family like any family
Is easy to tolerate in half hour doses.
I would rather spend an eternity in Hell-’s Kitchen
Suffering Satan with a silly English accent
Then playing Master-butory Chef suffering dutch fools.

Sometimes I think that Breaking my Bad behavior
Is an improbable dream.
I need a revelation
Some determination
a Big Bang Theory of my very own
to prove to myself
that I am not a monkey in a cage
but just a man stuck in one period
of his own evolutionary phase.

But, I do love the narcosis of giving up time
My head resting low on my shoulders
slouched zoned out reality drowned out
behind the soft white glow of the computer screen.

Life like Domino’s pizza cut up into segments
Stories not my own transferred to my hardeschijf .
Some things, I may never understand
are the people who watch
The Voice of Holland, Glee or CSI
to the people who watch these sort of series
I just have one thing to say…
Get a fucking life!

Joshua S. Baumgarten

woensdag 24 november 2010

What words –

What words –

What words –
Of thought and of reason,

Like Sarah Palin claiming
to be the cure for what ills America,
seems almost like saying the cure for cancer
Is death.
Murder can occur without a knife or gun
Or some fundamentalist with a bomb.
It can be so simple
as the words spewed from the tongue
of someone so eager
to get into print
with a blog or a news column
But yet still so seemingly ignorant
and dumb.
Did you know that it is illegal
in America
to shout peanut
In a crowded movie theater
Full of Harry Potter fans.
People have allergic reactions
and swell up just from the association.
Love to see them choke on their over salted popcorn
and die curled up buttered up inbetween previews
of next summers Tom Cruise aching to be blockbuster.

when did we all become so sanitized and sensitive
to words and association.
To the rewriting of history
the censoring of the N word
and replacing it with the S word,
I guess we can all associate with
Being called a slave and
Not a nigger.

These cultural vampires
politically correct fanatics with there
Finger on the trigger of the censorship gun
Looking to put a hole in the head of Mark Twains literary corpse.

Have we become weaker of will?
More willing to accept the ills
And eager tongues of those lusting to swill
and stir the muck that lies
In the in between cries of what
Really needs to be done.

What do I know?
For how many years
Have I been told
Don’t believe what you read
The newspapers are full of word whores
Distorted half truths and the lust
For bold type headlines.

I shudder and think
While taking another drink
At a quarter to seven in the a.m..

Will this mornings newspaper headlines really matter.
Will my streets be filled with chaos
Or just torn and tossed dead leaves of the fall season.
Will there be war between
North and South Korea
More dead in Iraq
More disease in Haiti
Will Sarah Pailin’s daughter win that dumb ass dancing contest.

What do I care?

I try to look inbetween
And hope to find some better meaning
In all of the printed word
That might greet my day

As I dig into my boiled egg
And my refusal to shave.

Butter on toast
Powdered coffee
And a good shit

Before I go
My way.

zaterdag 20 november 2010

De Oude Vent

De oude vent in de trein
Kijkt bos
En wil liever niet dat ik
Zit tegen over van hem.

De trein is vol
Hij kijkt me aan als en kakkerlak
Ik kike hem aan as en oude lul

Ik stap bij ongeluk op hijs schoenen
-je stapt on mij schoenen- pas op- zegt de oude vent
-ja’ pardon meneer – Ik zegt terug- sorry het was niet express.
-Cha’ spugt de meneer in mij gezicht.

He ruffles his Telegraph newspaper in my face
This man is like a dead leaf
Lost in the wrong season

Hij kikjt me aan van over the top of de krant
Hij vetrouwd mij niet
De oogen zegt genoeg

Ik kijk hem terug van achter mijn zoonenbril
Ik vetrouw hem ook niet.

Verbaasd mij niet dat deze oude vent stemmed op
Geert Wilders.

Oude lul.

Nog 15 minuut
Dan Amsterdam Centraal Station
Dan ben ik
Op mij gemaak
met alle de ander niuewe nederlanders.

zaterdag 30 oktober 2010

Is there love in Amsterdam, Pakistan or Detroit.

Good luck today to all the people heading to Amsterdam in protest against the visiting English Defence League and all the other fascists.

Is there Love in Amsterdam, Pakistan or Detroit.

if god is love
and love is good
and this is the
time of the year
for god,
to love and be good

and the red light is crawling with the vermin
of men suffocating under their lust
and the whores are still selling their weary cunts
and around the Bijenkorf is over running with cunts acting like whores
and the leidsseplien is buckling under the weight
of beer bellies and blown out hop heads
and the kalverstraat is a vaccum of pin passes
scimmed and trimmed of their hard earned euros
and the streets of Detroit are crawling with 30% unemployment
and a large fraction of America is struggling and the world is wondering “Hey Obama, where’s it at?”

then what is love again.

If god is love
love is good
we keep kicking up dust in the desert
in the name of one god to destroy another god
and as bombs blow the limbs and shopping carts
off of the arms of women in Pakistan markets
then what is God again.

if love is god and
god is good
what is the excuse for all the recklessness, greed and abuse.

be it junkies
weilding smoldering crack pipes
or drug tourists blazing in the October sun
or consumers caught in a koop avond tornado
or bombs blasting and blazing in the
sandstorms of some bible based war
or the pickled promises of politicians
that preached change, change, change.
Or just people who have given up
and lost all hope and patience,
With the procedure.

If god is love
and love is good
and life needs to be filled with both
but can be easier when one is overwhelmed
with all that is prescribed to be good
and all the Hallmark card love, bullshit
then can someone remind me once more
what is god
what is good
what is love
what do the three things have to do with one another.

maandag 25 oktober 2010

Maybe God

It rains
it shines
it seems as if mother nature is roaring
through menopause

Maybe God is bored with me.
Maybe god is an eight year old boy playing war with plastic toys
Maybe god is an eight year old girl playing modern dollhouse with two houses
One where mommy lives the other one for daddy and his girlfriend, one is much smaller than the other of course.
Maybe god left town after seeing his reputation rise and fall
No one told him to get into bed with so many permiscious mistress’s
Maybe god had one too many the last time he hit the bar
And maybe someone should have taken the keys before god
Got in the car.
Maybe god got bored with playing simple pranks like plagues and ordering pizzas to be delivered to the devils house.
So he devised emotions to keep us conflicted and at bay.
Maybe god is more than confusion and continious questions
Maybe god is sauntering the halls of the Galleria mall in the Westchester, NY
Maybe god has given out his last business card and hasn’t got the credit to print up more.
Maybe god is the last ferry across the harbor from the mainland to the other land.
Maybe god should be given a break, a day off, a moment to sit back and reflect, to be left alone.
Maybe god is a bad sun burn reminding us to cover up and stay in the shade.
Maybe god is a stand up comedian at an open mic night trying out new material and completely falling on his face.
Maybe god is the continious attempts to recognize humility lost in the stage lighting
Maybe God Is arriving late to work, again.
Maybe God is conscious of your thoughts and just doesn’t care.
Maybe God is walking through the Amsterdam red light district wondering where it’s at.
Maybe God is waiting in line to collect a welfare check at the unemployment insurance office, after being a victim of corporate downsizing.
Maybe God doesn’t agree with Al Gore at all.
Maybe God is lingering like a tequila aftertaste, the morning after, in someone else’s bed.
Maybe God is eating a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread and the creation of the world was a drop of mustard falling from his cheek.
Maybe God like most good people sometimes is divided between his own moral code.
Maybe God for better or for worse, got distracted somewhere along the line and could not find her shopping list in the chaos of her cosmic purse.
Maybe God got tired of being picked last for the team, and is bent on revenge towards all of the more sportive angels.
Maybe God is on a low carbohydrate diet and just doesn’t seem to have the energy to be in all places at all times.
Maybe god is a collection of impulse buys by the kassa before you hand over the cash.
Maybe god is the last question that lingers in regretful action.
Maybe god is just a poem with no clear end
just three dots that represent a continuation of thought.

zaterdag 23 oktober 2010

Love in the time of the Mexican Flu

...getting my head around the day. Brains a bit fried from last nights Irrational Library show with Kiki, Local Spastics and Wasted Years of Pumping Iron. Wow. and the new lp from MUHR. Yes....

so another poem...

In the time of Mexican flu

…And from out of the shadows
Come screams
Don’t take that shot
It will only make your immune system weaker…

…And as the euro dives like an eagle
With its combustible wings on fire
And the promises of a new world order
Are served super sized added calories
With no long lasting sustenance…

Change is still what you
Give to a bum
And love is the last line
Of a greetings card or the word uttered after
An orgasm before sleep.

Promise is poison
Truth is a slogan
And 50 percent off
Is still a suckers bet to buy into.

Oh, sarcasm and cynicism
The pure pornography of our decay
In buffered time.
Where is the true line of poetry.

In the stumbling mad rantings of
The seekers lost in doomsday delusion
Or in the weekly doses of reality by backlight
Talent contests Series t.v.

Who worries if tomorrow will be at all
Blessed are the few who sleep quietly
By night extinguished lamp light
Dream fluorescent dreams.

The answers to all that we question
may be found
In today’s sudoko.

donderdag 21 oktober 2010

keep the trains running on time

the drunk neger on the train
has got a big problem
we know this because
he is shouting into his mobile phone
as if his connection with the phone is worse
than the personal connection he has with
the person on the other end of the line.

passengers shuffle their papers
and pretend not to listen
but the guy is talking loud enough
for the passnegers on the train passing in the other direction
to look up and take notice.

friday night midnight
and the lights in the train grow heavy
under miscommunication
and unanswered text messages.

at sloterdijk he steps out
and silence surrounds us all
once again.
for the moment a strange calm
takes over the train,
that is
at least till the next passenger
picks up their phone and
connects themself to the next misconnect.

woensdag 20 oktober 2010

Build that Mosque

So...why not...been on my my back pocket...anybody read these things...hmmm...we'll see....

Build that Mosque

I say go ahead and build that Mosque close by Ground Zero, with a BBQ Pork pit
Across the street, and a transsexual bingo parlor next store,

Let’s push toleration to its threshold.

I say go ahead and build that mosque

Build one next to the entrance of Auschwitz

In the city center of Sjarevo, in the rebuilt middle of Dresden, on the sandy shores of Normandy
In the middle of Hirsoshima,

Build that mosque in the middle of the ocean where the Titanic sank, in the grassy field where the Hindenburg crashed
In the Gulf of Mexico where the oil slick suffocates the sealife
On the banks of the Mississippi where Katrina roared her opera of rain

Build that mosque in the middle of Tiananmen Square where the tanks once went belly to belly with the students of simple rebellion

Build that mosque on the Dark Side of the Moon where maybe Waters and Rogers might get along

In every shopping mall from Hartford, Conn. To Orange County, California

In the middle of Waco, Texas where the Branch Davidians once roamed armed to the teeth with bibles, incest and automatic machine guns

Build one in the middle of the White House, so Obama can secretly prey and preach from the inside out, cause we all know that he ain’t Christian and surely he ain’t really a red blooded American.

Build that mosque in the heart of Alaska inside Sarah Palin’s mouth so her and her Tea Bag cronies can continue their lunatic ravings in their own backyard and stay out of mine.

Build that mosque on top of Mount Rushmore in between the heads of Lincoln and Jefferson where freedom is the cobblestone of the ideal America.

Let’s build that mosque inside lady GaGa’s ego, inbetween Oprah Winfrey’s sagging tits, build a mini- mosque ontop of Mel Gibson’s oversized forehead, and one up Geert Wilders white bread jonge kaas ass.

Let’s tear down every Mc’Donalds and build in their place Mc’Mosques to serve fast food Korans and goat milk milkshakes.

Let’s just build that Mosque in the middle of the Amsterdam Arena, in the Efteling, the Burger Zoo, in the middle of Disneyland Paris, Michael Jacksons Neverland Ranch, under the Arch de Triumph, on top of the Eiffel Tower , in Carla Bruni’s over crowded bed, up Sarkozy’s big fat French nose…

Build that mosque on the Island where the gang from LOST used to be found.

Just go ahead and build that damn mosque close by to Ground Zero.

It’s not like
All the churches and synagogues have done us much good either.