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.