Ain't it just a kick in the nuts.
Sort of the feeling
like your intestines
may pour out your nose
while
at the same time
the muddy banks
of the Mississippi
may overrun
in your pants
and you
gotta piss harder
than Katrina's
opera of prophetic rain
and
you can feel the laughter behind
your
eyes burning like vodka socket shots
and you know that you are going half crazy
while the other half is already gone
somewhere off in the universe
watching gay unicorns daisy chain
their horns
through honey nut cheerios
in fields
full of poppy plants
and God is a laxative
and my toilet won't flush
and Love is a retarded teenager
unafraid to dance before a complacent
crowd
of a million tie dyed sheep
while revolutions are being swallowed
up
into stomachs riddled by ulcers
and open sores ooze politicians
and Big Bird has a price on her head
and Southern preachers scream
that
Obama is Osama
and Mitt Romney is a Muppet after all
with a great big corporate fist up his ass
and well shit,
Ain't it all just a kick in the nuts.
zaterdag 6 oktober 2012
dinsdag 31 januari 2012
Come you stupid sparrows
Rose bushes like over eager teenagers
budding in January before their season
and we the people keep smiling
cause the sun is shining and
it ain't too cold
and the sparrows are singing in
the barren trees and
we have yet to suffer a real winter freeze
and I am wondering if due to global warming's
affect on the price of oil in the middle east
if the airline prices this year were
just too expensive for those damn sparrows
to by a ticket for somewhere warmer in the south.
While walking the dog this morning
Nature caught me by the arm
and stopped to ask me
if I knew when the first frost would be coming.
Complaining that she was over tired and that
the bears and the raccoons and the deer and all
the forest creatures were just a bit out of sorts
wandering aimless insomniacs during this
deceptively mild treasonous season.
Nature went further to say that her cousin
spring seemed to have lost all patience
and could not wait for the prom
while her step brother the Fall
was acting like a stubborn ex-lover
who won't take the hint
and just let go.
I invited Ms. Nature in for a cup of coffee or tea
and a homemade cookie,
but she declined and said
that she would have to take a rain check
for a more in-climate day.
Seeing as it was so pleasantly warm for this time of year
what zonder it would be to stay inside, she said.
I am going for a walk
along the beaches of Zandvoort and Boemendal,
Nature proclaimed.
What a pleasure to do so on a Tuesday morning
with the sun shining such lovely rays of ignorance upon us.
Plus with the rest of world working and worrying and all the
German tourists back in Hamburg, Nuremberg and Marienberg
the beaches are finally free of debris.
And I have a hankering for some kibbeling
with whiskey sauce and a sea breeze,
said Ms. Nature before she summoned all her forest friends
and stated "Sorry rose bush try not to freeze,
come you stupid sparrows
through the dunes and on to the sea!"
budding in January before their season
and we the people keep smiling
cause the sun is shining and
it ain't too cold
and the sparrows are singing in
the barren trees and
we have yet to suffer a real winter freeze
and I am wondering if due to global warming's
affect on the price of oil in the middle east
if the airline prices this year were
just too expensive for those damn sparrows
to by a ticket for somewhere warmer in the south.
While walking the dog this morning
Nature caught me by the arm
and stopped to ask me
if I knew when the first frost would be coming.
Complaining that she was over tired and that
the bears and the raccoons and the deer and all
the forest creatures were just a bit out of sorts
wandering aimless insomniacs during this
deceptively mild treasonous season.
Nature went further to say that her cousin
spring seemed to have lost all patience
and could not wait for the prom
while her step brother the Fall
was acting like a stubborn ex-lover
who won't take the hint
and just let go.
I invited Ms. Nature in for a cup of coffee or tea
and a homemade cookie,
but she declined and said
that she would have to take a rain check
for a more in-climate day.
Seeing as it was so pleasantly warm for this time of year
what zonder it would be to stay inside, she said.
I am going for a walk
along the beaches of Zandvoort and Boemendal,
Nature proclaimed.
What a pleasure to do so on a Tuesday morning
with the sun shining such lovely rays of ignorance upon us.
Plus with the rest of world working and worrying and all the
German tourists back in Hamburg, Nuremberg and Marienberg
the beaches are finally free of debris.
And I have a hankering for some kibbeling
with whiskey sauce and a sea breeze,
said Ms. Nature before she summoned all her forest friends
and stated "Sorry rose bush try not to freeze,
come you stupid sparrows
through the dunes and on to the sea!"
donderdag 26 januari 2012
Oh Iowa
Oh, Iowa
Oh Iowa,
I shed a tear for you.
How do you tolerate all the
men in collared shirts and sweater vests,
polished SUV’s and perfectly combed hair.
Clogging the streets of Mason and Sioux City
with CNN fatty acid news feeds of politicians
spewing cholesterol filled slogans,
slinging hollowed out hot dog promises.
Oh Iowa,
you are the
artery choked heartland of a country in coronary arrest.
Your commonplace street corners over run by
wide eyed crusaders calling out for your right wing conservative votes.
Proclaiming the need to put God back in the White House and every other house
schoolgunstoreshoppingmallgasstationrehablibrary
weightlossprogramfootballstadiumboyscouttroop,
where men and women with perfect sparkling white teeth proclaim that belief belongs.
Oh Iowa,
bologna on white bread miracle whip
ancestors of Anglo Saxon immigrants
home to the Amish, the Quakers, the Mennonites
the German Pietists and Transcendental Meditationists.
In the name of Slipknot we call out to you,
death metal citizens of Davenport, Cedar Falls and Waterloo.
Oh Iowa,
Des Moines, safe and sanctity
capital city
overrun and pillaged by spin doctors
spitting out false prescriptions for healthcare.
Painted faced politicians
fevered and frothing with sound bites
reporters roaming rabid dog expectations
swing votes like small prey
making them anxious
heating their loins.
Oh Iowa,
how do you handle it with such poise
When the devils come dancing down the corn rows.
Oh Iowa,
I shed a tear for you.
How do you tolerate all the
men in collared shirts and sweater vests,
polished SUV’s and perfectly combed hair.
Clogging the streets of Mason and Sioux City
with CNN fatty acid news feeds of politicians
spewing cholesterol filled slogans,
slinging hollowed out hot dog promises.
Oh Iowa,
you are the
artery choked heartland of a country in coronary arrest.
Your commonplace street corners over run by
wide eyed crusaders calling out for your right wing conservative votes.
Proclaiming the need to put God back in the White House and every other house
schoolgunstoreshoppingmallgasstationrehablibrary
weightlossprogramfootballstadiumboyscouttroop,
where men and women with perfect sparkling white teeth proclaim that belief belongs.
Oh Iowa,
bologna on white bread miracle whip
ancestors of Anglo Saxon immigrants
home to the Amish, the Quakers, the Mennonites
the German Pietists and Transcendental Meditationists.
In the name of Slipknot we call out to you,
death metal citizens of Davenport, Cedar Falls and Waterloo.
Oh Iowa,
Des Moines, safe and sanctity
capital city
overrun and pillaged by spin doctors
spitting out false prescriptions for healthcare.
Painted faced politicians
fevered and frothing with sound bites
reporters roaming rabid dog expectations
swing votes like small prey
making them anxious
heating their loins.
Oh Iowa,
how do you handle it with such poise
When the devils come dancing down the corn rows.
Cold medicine conclusions
High on cold medicine
And caught in the act,
I said,
Come on honey
Don’t look at it as porn,
But National Geographic for naked apes.
...and As crisis trickles down the back of your throat
like the slime of so much daytime t.v. snot
Congestion this simple question
do humans really gives a shit AT ALL ABOUT THEIR SURROUNDINGS?
Monkeys scratch their asses and then sniff their fingers, too.
Yet still, there are people out there who don’t believe in evolution.
And caught in the act,
I said,
Come on honey
Don’t look at it as porn,
But National Geographic for naked apes.
...and As crisis trickles down the back of your throat
like the slime of so much daytime t.v. snot
Congestion this simple question
do humans really gives a shit AT ALL ABOUT THEIR SURROUNDINGS?
Monkeys scratch their asses and then sniff their fingers, too.
Yet still, there are people out there who don’t believe in evolution.
maandag 26 december 2011
For the Believers and the Deceivers
FOR the BELIEVERS and the DECEIVERS
T’is the season to revel and dishevel
To look back upon all the memories of the year gone past
To unlock the skeletons accumulated in our closet
And unleash the ghosts of all the holidays gone past.
A time to feel sorry for all those that
We couldn’t be bothered to look at twice
As we rush through the dag in dag uit sludge of
Our daily compulsions
To be shocked and awed at the
Ugly repulsion that is In God we Trust
And the need to spread democracy
Like a junkies hunger and our material lust.
Tis the season to defy all reason
And stuff our faces till our bellies surge
Like a tsunami over our waistlines
A time to remember that what is yours is yours and
Hands off, cause What’s mine is mine.
It’s a time to feel pity on the poor and the sick
Those that we wouldn’t even touch on a normal day
With a ten meter stick
A time to give and a time to receive
As long as it is your own conscious that you please.
Donation seekers disrupt my evening meal
A euro for this a euro for that
Don’t they know that I couldn’t care less
That the poor are getting poorer and
I live like a fat cat.
For I am the Christmas consumer
Spending like a fool
The giving of gifts is the only way that
I can feel good about all the wrong that I have done.
But repenting will have to wait
for tomorrow I am heading off to a third world country
to revel in their Third world sun.
And to all those compassionate souls who sit in glass houses
I will volunteer to throw the first stone.
To smash the glass and cause a stampede
Cause Christmas is the time to give and
The creation of more chaos will help me
Feel better and give me the Christmas feeling that I need.
T’is the season to revel and dishevel
To look back upon all the memories of the year gone past
To unlock the skeletons accumulated in our closet
And unleash the ghosts of all the holidays gone past.
A time to feel sorry for all those that
We couldn’t be bothered to look at twice
As we rush through the dag in dag uit sludge of
Our daily compulsions
To be shocked and awed at the
Ugly repulsion that is In God we Trust
And the need to spread democracy
Like a junkies hunger and our material lust.
Tis the season to defy all reason
And stuff our faces till our bellies surge
Like a tsunami over our waistlines
A time to remember that what is yours is yours and
Hands off, cause What’s mine is mine.
It’s a time to feel pity on the poor and the sick
Those that we wouldn’t even touch on a normal day
With a ten meter stick
A time to give and a time to receive
As long as it is your own conscious that you please.
Donation seekers disrupt my evening meal
A euro for this a euro for that
Don’t they know that I couldn’t care less
That the poor are getting poorer and
I live like a fat cat.
For I am the Christmas consumer
Spending like a fool
The giving of gifts is the only way that
I can feel good about all the wrong that I have done.
But repenting will have to wait
for tomorrow I am heading off to a third world country
to revel in their Third world sun.
And to all those compassionate souls who sit in glass houses
I will volunteer to throw the first stone.
To smash the glass and cause a stampede
Cause Christmas is the time to give and
The creation of more chaos will help me
Feel better and give me the Christmas feeling that I need.
dinsdag 29 november 2011
Ik ben een jager.
Ik ben een jager,
En ik jaag graag
Op jongens en meisjes
die een jas dragen met een
bontkraag.
Ik wacht bij de kermis op het plein
Met zicht op de botsautootjes
Het is bijna middernacht
De mist hangt over de gesloten attracties
In de verte zie ik mijn prooi.
De rode punt van brandende Marlboro Lites.
Hangt in de lucht,
Ik weet dat ze daar zijn.
Ik zie de witte lampjes van de brommers en
Hoor het irritante geluid van meerdere brommers op de weg.
Ik adem in en uit en luister.
Ik hoor het stoere praten van tieners
de gillende stem en het gegiegel van de dames
de brutale stomme lach van de
nog jonge mannelijke variant.
De jongens proberen elkaar uit te dagen
Om de meisjes te overwinnen
Een bacardi breezer fles is kapot gemaakt)
een vechtpartij breekt los
De politie op het plein is bang
En doet niks,
De mannen en vrouwen in blauw pak blijven op een afstand.
Ik maak mijzelf klaar, en kijk in mijn vizier.
Ik wacht...op een goed schot.
Ik ben een jager.
En ik jaag graag
Op jongens en meisjes
die een jas dragen met een bontkraag.
En ik jaag graag
Op jongens en meisjes
die een jas dragen met een
bontkraag.
Ik wacht bij de kermis op het plein
Met zicht op de botsautootjes
Het is bijna middernacht
De mist hangt over de gesloten attracties
In de verte zie ik mijn prooi.
De rode punt van brandende Marlboro Lites.
Hangt in de lucht,
Ik weet dat ze daar zijn.
Ik zie de witte lampjes van de brommers en
Hoor het irritante geluid van meerdere brommers op de weg.
Ik adem in en uit en luister.
Ik hoor het stoere praten van tieners
de gillende stem en het gegiegel van de dames
de brutale stomme lach van de
nog jonge mannelijke variant.
De jongens proberen elkaar uit te dagen
Om de meisjes te overwinnen
Een bacardi breezer fles is kapot gemaakt)
een vechtpartij breekt los
De politie op het plein is bang
En doet niks,
De mannen en vrouwen in blauw pak blijven op een afstand.
Ik maak mijzelf klaar, en kijk in mijn vizier.
Ik wacht...op een goed schot.
Ik ben een jager.
En ik jaag graag
Op jongens en meisjes
die een jas dragen met een bontkraag.
dinsdag 1 november 2011
Reimagining Allen Ginsberg’s HOWL while listening to the Dead Kennedy’s “Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death” while watching the Occupy Wall Street
Reimagining Allen Ginsberg’s HOWL while listening to the Dead Kennedy’s “Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death” while watching the Occupy Wall Street protests on CNN with the television on mute.
I have seen the best minds of too many generations over educated and out of work, pissed off, angry and finally fed up, in a country where freedom of expression has been replaced by constitutional repression
As the overwhelmed and underpaid set up camp in Zuccotti park, taking Wall Street on one by one, looking for some justification for the fact the world economy has bottomed out,
Dreadlocked hippies, tattooed hipsters in skinny jeans, blue collar workers, the young, the old, everyday people one and all seething at the reason that the job market has dried up and the housing market has become a ghost town,
In a country where financial fraud is a crime easier to get out from under then of paying off ones hyper inflated mortgage
When garage sales become a way to keep from going broke and families go
from living in suburbia, to living in their suburban suv’s, and picket fences and two car garages are traded in for supermarket parking lots serving as their front yards,
In a land where the price of a McDonalds Happy meal is more than the minimum wage earned by the hourly slave whose brain swims in deep fried misery,
And Ronald keeps smiling that stupid clown smile, all jacked up on corporate blow,
Where the cash cow has been slaughtered and hung up to bleed out, blood pooling on the floor rising like the river Styx and we are all floating down together without a paddle. And it don’t matter anymore of it’s been a kosher, halal or Christian kill, we have all become just so much meat to be grinded and blinded, chemically engineered fast food good time slime,
As the middle class has become the toilet paper the rich wipe their ass with.
As the price of oil has become the modern day black plague that we are all fevered upon,
As big money buys up the newspaper space and Fox news sound bites clutter the airwaves, as cardboard shelters pop up underneath hedonistic high rises, we all wait for the golden towers to fall.
As the word socialism is slammed upon to provoke a frenzy of a communist scare and the mid west is injecting democracy into their over worked veins and the influx of merchandise from china keeps the consumer smiling that soft capitalistic glow,
The rug has been pulled out from beneath human behavior, do we really need to blame by name, when even common decency has evaporated like so many passing fads.
Liberty blinded by the pure sight of it all, a culture based upon three monkeys who see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil have generated enough pure evil to leave us flat on our backs,
Advertisings evil angels calling us out to be individuals, don’t be like the rest, be your own consumer,
Born to gestate, impregnate and buy real estate,
These violations of our time,
Bleed from the need for social media, facebook your network to feel connected alive and involved in this devolution of human connection,
Have we been rendered passive by pessimism, anger, frustration a common thread to hang oneself upon,
Too long have we the people suffered in silence, we all have to speak out,
We need to educate beyond the schools,
Color outside the lines
Teach the simple skills of giving a decent handshake
and how to look one another in the eye.
Time to repaint the penitentiaries, parole for the petty criminals and drug offenders
while the pedophiles and rapists need to make some room for their new white collar cellmates.
And here in the Netherlands…it is “do effe normal, man”
After eight years of Balkenende, now we have to deal with a new ellende,
With the CDA, the VVD, the PVV
Is it only me or does it seem to be raining
a continuous political shit storm everyday,
and Geert we all pray for your soul, cause I do reckon,
Give it enough time and someday your next breath will be exhaled through a bullet hole.
I say Swaffel the State!
Let freedom reign in the cum
stain left dripping from Mark Rutte’s expressionless face.
End the corporate fascist greed with one big shot of Occupy the world’s communal seed.
This message has been brought to you by Codependent Consumers for a more Compassionate Capitalism.
footnotes...
"do effe normaal man"... Dutch street talk used by politicians
Balkenende..ex Dutch Prime Minister
Ellende...word that means that everything is shit.
CDA, VVD, PVV...acronyms for Dutch political parties that run the country but don't get along.
Geert...Wilders leader of PVV and Muslim hating all around douchebag.
Swaffel...to slap someone in the face with your johnson.
Mark Rutte...leader of political cannibals the VVD.
I have seen the best minds of too many generations over educated and out of work, pissed off, angry and finally fed up, in a country where freedom of expression has been replaced by constitutional repression
As the overwhelmed and underpaid set up camp in Zuccotti park, taking Wall Street on one by one, looking for some justification for the fact the world economy has bottomed out,
Dreadlocked hippies, tattooed hipsters in skinny jeans, blue collar workers, the young, the old, everyday people one and all seething at the reason that the job market has dried up and the housing market has become a ghost town,
In a country where financial fraud is a crime easier to get out from under then of paying off ones hyper inflated mortgage
When garage sales become a way to keep from going broke and families go
from living in suburbia, to living in their suburban suv’s, and picket fences and two car garages are traded in for supermarket parking lots serving as their front yards,
In a land where the price of a McDonalds Happy meal is more than the minimum wage earned by the hourly slave whose brain swims in deep fried misery,
And Ronald keeps smiling that stupid clown smile, all jacked up on corporate blow,
Where the cash cow has been slaughtered and hung up to bleed out, blood pooling on the floor rising like the river Styx and we are all floating down together without a paddle. And it don’t matter anymore of it’s been a kosher, halal or Christian kill, we have all become just so much meat to be grinded and blinded, chemically engineered fast food good time slime,
As the middle class has become the toilet paper the rich wipe their ass with.
As the price of oil has become the modern day black plague that we are all fevered upon,
As big money buys up the newspaper space and Fox news sound bites clutter the airwaves, as cardboard shelters pop up underneath hedonistic high rises, we all wait for the golden towers to fall.
As the word socialism is slammed upon to provoke a frenzy of a communist scare and the mid west is injecting democracy into their over worked veins and the influx of merchandise from china keeps the consumer smiling that soft capitalistic glow,
The rug has been pulled out from beneath human behavior, do we really need to blame by name, when even common decency has evaporated like so many passing fads.
Liberty blinded by the pure sight of it all, a culture based upon three monkeys who see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil have generated enough pure evil to leave us flat on our backs,
Advertisings evil angels calling us out to be individuals, don’t be like the rest, be your own consumer,
Born to gestate, impregnate and buy real estate,
These violations of our time,
Bleed from the need for social media, facebook your network to feel connected alive and involved in this devolution of human connection,
Have we been rendered passive by pessimism, anger, frustration a common thread to hang oneself upon,
Too long have we the people suffered in silence, we all have to speak out,
We need to educate beyond the schools,
Color outside the lines
Teach the simple skills of giving a decent handshake
and how to look one another in the eye.
Time to repaint the penitentiaries, parole for the petty criminals and drug offenders
while the pedophiles and rapists need to make some room for their new white collar cellmates.
And here in the Netherlands…it is “do effe normal, man”
After eight years of Balkenende, now we have to deal with a new ellende,
With the CDA, the VVD, the PVV
Is it only me or does it seem to be raining
a continuous political shit storm everyday,
and Geert we all pray for your soul, cause I do reckon,
Give it enough time and someday your next breath will be exhaled through a bullet hole.
I say Swaffel the State!
Let freedom reign in the cum
stain left dripping from Mark Rutte’s expressionless face.
End the corporate fascist greed with one big shot of Occupy the world’s communal seed.
This message has been brought to you by Codependent Consumers for a more Compassionate Capitalism.
footnotes...
"do effe normaal man"... Dutch street talk used by politicians
Balkenende..ex Dutch Prime Minister
Ellende...word that means that everything is shit.
CDA, VVD, PVV...acronyms for Dutch political parties that run the country but don't get along.
Geert...Wilders leader of PVV and Muslim hating all around douchebag.
Swaffel...to slap someone in the face with your johnson.
Mark Rutte...leader of political cannibals the VVD.
woensdag 28 september 2011
Scratch my Bitch...35,344 "restaraunts" in 98 countries, Haarlemtown too.
People of Haarlemtown it almost as if we live in heaven on earth. I mean all one has to do here in Haarlemtown to feel th wealth is to roll out of bed and stroll into town. There the bling bling of what humanity has to trade and sell in the common market is served to us all microwaved and packaged in paper. We are lucky people.
Opening soon here in H'town, a brand new Subway franchise, the McDonalds of sandwiches back in town. Smack dab right in the middle of town, one of the first things you will see (if you peddle with your eyes open) along the Kruisstraat, across from the Hema, when coming in to town. A fucking Subway. Come on H'town, we can do better than this. Or can we? I remember reading in the Haarlems Dagblad a number of months ago (yes, i read the paper everyday, i got my finger on the pulse) an article/interview with the previous business owner at the same location. Maybe some other people remember what used to be there as well, a belegde broodjes shop, a sort of delicatessean, an independent meat man, selling cold cuts, tuna salad, roast chickens, all that sort of stuff. He had to close up shop because the rent of the location became to high, and I guess the want for homemade sandwiches was not too highly in demand. So he is gone and in its place we get a Subway franchise, a place for pimpled faced teenagers to work and serve up standardized,commercialized food. Another chain store in the noose that is slowly strangling the independent business situation in Haarlem. Though to be honest, there are a number of independent shop owners who sell over priced bullshit all over town. Rents in the commericial district of this city are staggering and the "good will" to take over another business is obscene. Haarlem is becoming, has become just like all other city centers in the Netherlands. The same shops, the same shit everywhere. So it is easy when "travelling" in Holland, everything is familiar, no need to take a chance. So when tourists stroll into town from the station, stoned and hungry from their day in Amsterdam, the Subway will be there all neon and microwave ready to feed them their meal deal. Unless the fake stank of grilled meat from the Burger King in the station triggers their Pavlovian need to eat shit, first. It usually does mine.
Opening soon here in H'town, a brand new Subway franchise, the McDonalds of sandwiches back in town. Smack dab right in the middle of town, one of the first things you will see (if you peddle with your eyes open) along the Kruisstraat, across from the Hema, when coming in to town. A fucking Subway. Come on H'town, we can do better than this. Or can we? I remember reading in the Haarlems Dagblad a number of months ago (yes, i read the paper everyday, i got my finger on the pulse) an article/interview with the previous business owner at the same location. Maybe some other people remember what used to be there as well, a belegde broodjes shop, a sort of delicatessean, an independent meat man, selling cold cuts, tuna salad, roast chickens, all that sort of stuff. He had to close up shop because the rent of the location became to high, and I guess the want for homemade sandwiches was not too highly in demand. So he is gone and in its place we get a Subway franchise, a place for pimpled faced teenagers to work and serve up standardized,commercialized food. Another chain store in the noose that is slowly strangling the independent business situation in Haarlem. Though to be honest, there are a number of independent shop owners who sell over priced bullshit all over town. Rents in the commericial district of this city are staggering and the "good will" to take over another business is obscene. Haarlem is becoming, has become just like all other city centers in the Netherlands. The same shops, the same shit everywhere. So it is easy when "travelling" in Holland, everything is familiar, no need to take a chance. So when tourists stroll into town from the station, stoned and hungry from their day in Amsterdam, the Subway will be there all neon and microwave ready to feed them their meal deal. Unless the fake stank of grilled meat from the Burger King in the station triggers their Pavlovian need to eat shit, first. It usually does mine.
dinsdag 27 september 2011
Scratch my Bitch...New Shoes.
I hate buying new shoes.
Well actually I don't really ever wear shoes. I think since I was 16 or 17 all I wear are some sort of combat/motorcycle/cowboy boot. Sometimes I might wear sneakers, but they seem like something that are meant only for the gym or for kicking a ball with. Unless you are some indie shoegaze rocker. Converse and Vans got co-opted by the mass hipsters long ago. Plus the pair of black velvet Pumas I bought last year still don't fit right and suffcate my feet everytime I try them on.
Shit kicking black leather boots are where it's at. Shoes are for office work. If you work in a job wear you have to wear shoes, it is probaly boring work that entails wearing a suit and tie to. I used to wear shoes and a tie when I waited tables. Fuck waiting tables. At least when I worked in the kitchen as a cook you get to wear rubber clogs. I do dig Crocs.
Buying new boots sucks. I wear my boots to the bitter end. Till the rubber soul is cracked and pealing off the bottom of the leather boot. Till my big toe can kiss pavement as I walk down the street. Once boots are broken in, they can carry your strut everywhere. But the process of breaking in the new boots is a painful one. I mean just going shopping for new ones is a pain in the ass. Do I get the same style, just like the ones I have been wearing for the last three years? Or should I get something new? I search for simple, but only find kick ass boots I can't afford or ugly ass cheap imitations that are embarassing even to look at. Plus the dude standing in the corner, he who followed me upstairs into the men section, readjusting every boot I pick up to look at when I put them back. I pick up as many as possible to give him something to do, then say thanks and walk out of the store. Stepping in a puddle, the water seeps through the cracks in the rubber soul of my left boot and soaks through to my sock. I laugh and hope to get down to Waterlooplein sometime next week.
Well actually I don't really ever wear shoes. I think since I was 16 or 17 all I wear are some sort of combat/motorcycle/cowboy boot. Sometimes I might wear sneakers, but they seem like something that are meant only for the gym or for kicking a ball with. Unless you are some indie shoegaze rocker. Converse and Vans got co-opted by the mass hipsters long ago. Plus the pair of black velvet Pumas I bought last year still don't fit right and suffcate my feet everytime I try them on.
Shit kicking black leather boots are where it's at. Shoes are for office work. If you work in a job wear you have to wear shoes, it is probaly boring work that entails wearing a suit and tie to. I used to wear shoes and a tie when I waited tables. Fuck waiting tables. At least when I worked in the kitchen as a cook you get to wear rubber clogs. I do dig Crocs.
Buying new boots sucks. I wear my boots to the bitter end. Till the rubber soul is cracked and pealing off the bottom of the leather boot. Till my big toe can kiss pavement as I walk down the street. Once boots are broken in, they can carry your strut everywhere. But the process of breaking in the new boots is a painful one. I mean just going shopping for new ones is a pain in the ass. Do I get the same style, just like the ones I have been wearing for the last three years? Or should I get something new? I search for simple, but only find kick ass boots I can't afford or ugly ass cheap imitations that are embarassing even to look at. Plus the dude standing in the corner, he who followed me upstairs into the men section, readjusting every boot I pick up to look at when I put them back. I pick up as many as possible to give him something to do, then say thanks and walk out of the store. Stepping in a puddle, the water seeps through the cracks in the rubber soul of my left boot and soaks through to my sock. I laugh and hope to get down to Waterlooplein sometime next week.
maandag 26 september 2011
Scratch my bitch
Life as an expat can be an exciting adventure for those who choose to live abroad and delve into a foriegn culture. It creates an oppurtunity for one to broaden their own horizon when it comes to the understanding of another culture. As an expat myself, i truly believe that the expierence I am living through now has helped me to understand other persons from diverse backgrounds in a very deep and dynamic way. But sometimes, I just don't fucing get it. It...what...people, life...this fucking world.
Ok, Here is my bitch. All over the world, countries are more focused then ever to force new residents to attend courses where the new immigrants/expats learn about the history, the culture, the customs, the proper response to seeing two men kissing, in their new land of residence. What is most stressed upon by naturalized citizens of these countries is the fact that the new immigrants have to learn to speak the mother tongue of that land. New citizens have to learn to speak the language to get on in a new society. I agree to with this point, to a certain extent. But that is not what I am getting at here.
What I am trying to get my head around here is, why is that on one of the Netherlands most viewed television shows, "The Voice of Holland" do almost all the contestants sing in fucking English? Ok, I know the immediate response is, "well English is an international language and if you want your music to be heard....blah blah blah bleh." I know something like 95% of Dutch musicians/singers perform in English. Ok so what, I don't care unless their english sucks and their lyrics sound like they were written by junior high school prepubescent jerk offs. All I am saying is why call the a show "The Voice of Holland" when your contestants don't sing in Dutch? Huh? I mean how many times a week do I have to deal with someone saying to me, "oh, I should speak Dutch to you." No shit, and say that in Dutch too! And then I start speaking in Dutch, and halfway through the conversation I am butchering the Dutch language and the Dutch person is talking in some fake British accent and I am yawning.
My point here...my question...my statement...my bitch...If you are going to single someone out as the voice of wherever they are from, shouldn't they be performing in that countries mother tongue. Otherwise back off all the fucking immigrants for not learning the language and let them jabber away in what ever jawah taal they want. And you Dutch folk, I know you like to practice your english, your little love/hate relationship with everything not Dutch and American. Your Miami wet dreams and Hollywood wannabe boners, Well if you want to singing in english, go ahead and do it. Just don't suck at it. I mean we already have plenty of Americans back in the States singing in english and they can't even speak the language either.
whatever.
Ok, Here is my bitch. All over the world, countries are more focused then ever to force new residents to attend courses where the new immigrants/expats learn about the history, the culture, the customs, the proper response to seeing two men kissing, in their new land of residence. What is most stressed upon by naturalized citizens of these countries is the fact that the new immigrants have to learn to speak the mother tongue of that land. New citizens have to learn to speak the language to get on in a new society. I agree to with this point, to a certain extent. But that is not what I am getting at here.
What I am trying to get my head around here is, why is that on one of the Netherlands most viewed television shows, "The Voice of Holland" do almost all the contestants sing in fucking English? Ok, I know the immediate response is, "well English is an international language and if you want your music to be heard....blah blah blah bleh." I know something like 95% of Dutch musicians/singers perform in English. Ok so what, I don't care unless their english sucks and their lyrics sound like they were written by junior high school prepubescent jerk offs. All I am saying is why call the a show "The Voice of Holland" when your contestants don't sing in Dutch? Huh? I mean how many times a week do I have to deal with someone saying to me, "oh, I should speak Dutch to you." No shit, and say that in Dutch too! And then I start speaking in Dutch, and halfway through the conversation I am butchering the Dutch language and the Dutch person is talking in some fake British accent and I am yawning.
My point here...my question...my statement...my bitch...If you are going to single someone out as the voice of wherever they are from, shouldn't they be performing in that countries mother tongue. Otherwise back off all the fucking immigrants for not learning the language and let them jabber away in what ever jawah taal they want. And you Dutch folk, I know you like to practice your english, your little love/hate relationship with everything not Dutch and American. Your Miami wet dreams and Hollywood wannabe boners, Well if you want to singing in english, go ahead and do it. Just don't suck at it. I mean we already have plenty of Americans back in the States singing in english and they can't even speak the language either.
whatever.
donderdag 8 september 2011
Haarlemtown 2011.
Haarlemtown, my town, our town, glorious mind snumbing beautiful frustrating and heartwarming Haarlemtown
023 in the mutherfuckin Leidsebuurt callin out to ya’ll, Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown, who saved me from the existential American consumer horror
Watching the world unfurl from haarlemtown, watching you all Haarlemtown
The ontwinkelening twinkling eyes of haarlemtown,
The godverdamenr sai eyes of haarlemtown, open your eyes plenty to do in haarlemtown
The ghost of the Fietsznfabriek still resonates in the chaos of the phoenix 13, Haarlemtown
The rock steady dub roll of Laag Sounds and lekkah band Haarlemtown
The Patronaat all concrete and glass, with a Blij guy at the helm and in control
The Storing, fired my ass and I can only be grateful to not work at Bruxelles on Zee
Who said its boring here in haarlemtown, was it you was it me?
From the Toneel and Film schuur to the schauwburg and the philharmonie, Haarlemtown culture city,
Haarlemtown let us not forget the under appreciated always free and amazingly programmed Patronaat Café, damn we are lucky here in haarlemtown.
Haarlemtown are we a
a culturstad
A winkel stad
A jazz stad
A stad als podium
A hooftstad
A Bloemstaad
a schizophrenic whore of a stad, Haarlemtown
From the Pitcher to the Briljant, the Melkwoud to the Jeltes, the Vijfhoek, the Stalker the Botermarkt, the Stiels, there are plenty ways to waste your days pay getting wasted in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown, all the greedy maakelaars and tired coffee bars, how many all you can eat sushi places do we need to feed haarlemtown
Born to consume in Haarlemtown with over 125 café, bars and restaurants I always eat in the same damn places in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown, lunch by the overkant, pizza by pappies, garronies ice cream and Frans the kapper for keeping my beard in control here in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown in memorial the Cinema palace – what a waste to tear away, we don’t need anymore overpriced ultrahip clothing stores in haarlemtown, this our town.
Fuck Heemstede, Aardenhout and Bloemedal- haarlemtown is not your shopping mall
Haarlemtown, conflicted by its concrete present and its beloved rough house past.
Haarlemtown – Horizontil vertical, klein haarlem, 37PK, the Piet and Jan museum and all the upstart art intitiatiefs in haarlemtown
Haarlemtown DIY, do it yourself Haarlemtown– Geertruida, Haarlems atllernaief, metal night haarlemtown the begijnszaal as a headbangers hangout, all Haarlemtown needs is some Minor Operations for its punk rock soul Haarlemtown.
Haarlemtown mediate with Generation Y in haarlemtown cause haarlems is where it is at.
Haarlemtown fuck the cultural bezunning take the art to streets haarlemtown
Haarlemtown ultimate respect to Tony and Willeke from the Daisy Bell, all the musicians from Haarlemtown salute you.
Haarlemtown fuck the vastgoed mafia that kicking out the better projects in haarlemtown
Haarlemtown Kraaken gaat door Haarlemtown, the weggave winkel the only way not to spend a dime in haarlemtown
Haanes Kuiper still rocking in the free world in Haarlemtown
Holy shit haarlemtown PP fischer finally made a baby in boy in Haarmlemtown
Haarlemtown when will we see an alternative Bevrijdingspop in Haarlemtown, if you ask me no one is free between fences, shit beer, over priced food and pin automats in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown at least our burgermeester is somewhat of a rock and roller
Will some one please tell me where I can get a godamn good hamburger in Haarlemtown.
And finally,
Thank you Haarlemtown for giving me and the Irrational Library a home, here in Haarlemtown
023 in the mutherfuckin Leidsebuurt callin out to ya’ll, Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown, who saved me from the existential American consumer horror
Watching the world unfurl from haarlemtown, watching you all Haarlemtown
The ontwinkelening twinkling eyes of haarlemtown,
The godverdamenr sai eyes of haarlemtown, open your eyes plenty to do in haarlemtown
The ghost of the Fietsznfabriek still resonates in the chaos of the phoenix 13, Haarlemtown
The rock steady dub roll of Laag Sounds and lekkah band Haarlemtown
The Patronaat all concrete and glass, with a Blij guy at the helm and in control
The Storing, fired my ass and I can only be grateful to not work at Bruxelles on Zee
Who said its boring here in haarlemtown, was it you was it me?
From the Toneel and Film schuur to the schauwburg and the philharmonie, Haarlemtown culture city,
Haarlemtown let us not forget the under appreciated always free and amazingly programmed Patronaat Café, damn we are lucky here in haarlemtown.
Haarlemtown are we a
a culturstad
A winkel stad
A jazz stad
A stad als podium
A hooftstad
A Bloemstaad
a schizophrenic whore of a stad, Haarlemtown
From the Pitcher to the Briljant, the Melkwoud to the Jeltes, the Vijfhoek, the Stalker the Botermarkt, the Stiels, there are plenty ways to waste your days pay getting wasted in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown, all the greedy maakelaars and tired coffee bars, how many all you can eat sushi places do we need to feed haarlemtown
Born to consume in Haarlemtown with over 125 café, bars and restaurants I always eat in the same damn places in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown, lunch by the overkant, pizza by pappies, garronies ice cream and Frans the kapper for keeping my beard in control here in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown in memorial the Cinema palace – what a waste to tear away, we don’t need anymore overpriced ultrahip clothing stores in haarlemtown, this our town.
Fuck Heemstede, Aardenhout and Bloemedal- haarlemtown is not your shopping mall
Haarlemtown, conflicted by its concrete present and its beloved rough house past.
Haarlemtown – Horizontil vertical, klein haarlem, 37PK, the Piet and Jan museum and all the upstart art intitiatiefs in haarlemtown
Haarlemtown DIY, do it yourself Haarlemtown– Geertruida, Haarlems atllernaief, metal night haarlemtown the begijnszaal as a headbangers hangout, all Haarlemtown needs is some Minor Operations for its punk rock soul Haarlemtown.
Haarlemtown mediate with Generation Y in haarlemtown cause haarlems is where it is at.
Haarlemtown fuck the cultural bezunning take the art to streets haarlemtown
Haarlemtown ultimate respect to Tony and Willeke from the Daisy Bell, all the musicians from Haarlemtown salute you.
Haarlemtown fuck the vastgoed mafia that kicking out the better projects in haarlemtown
Haarlemtown Kraaken gaat door Haarlemtown, the weggave winkel the only way not to spend a dime in haarlemtown
Haanes Kuiper still rocking in the free world in Haarlemtown
Holy shit haarlemtown PP fischer finally made a baby in boy in Haarmlemtown
Haarlemtown when will we see an alternative Bevrijdingspop in Haarlemtown, if you ask me no one is free between fences, shit beer, over priced food and pin automats in Haarlemtown
Haarlemtown at least our burgermeester is somewhat of a rock and roller
Will some one please tell me where I can get a godamn good hamburger in Haarlemtown.
And finally,
Thank you Haarlemtown for giving me and the Irrational Library a home, here in Haarlemtown
woensdag 20 april 2011
Waiting time
Your words lose meaning as you type them. Figures take to shape and dissipate as you describe them. Loose fingers type vague meanings, expression is a gimp in a cheap suit sitting at a bus stop waiting on a bus that may never come. Little girls run screaming by their blonde hair in pigtails, geared up in soccer uniforms. They are infernos of prepubescent longings. Their screams shrill against the static sidewalk scene. A pigeon lands and picks at a piece of liter in the gutter. A larger pigeon lands next to the first and begins to pick out the eye of the first pigeon. The pecking order in plain sight. The bus arrives out of nowhere and runs over both pigeons. The gimp remains seated on the bench. He ain’t got no money no ticket no rhyme, he ain’t going anywhere. The bus rides by, trailing pigeon feathers in its exhaust. The little girls scream again and the gimp in the cheap suit stands up to salute the dead scavengers. Across the street in the McDonalds parking lot an American Flag the size of a small Eastern European country sways in the breeze. The line for the drive through stretches back into the street. A serepentine line of mini-vans and SUVs gleam freshly cleaned in the early evening sun. There is handgun in the glove compartment of more than one of the mini-vans and SUV’s, it’s a suburban Russian roulette waiting to be played. God is in the ketchup and mustard stains smeared upon soccer uniforms. Happy meals sedate screaming children better than Prozac. Jesus supports more than one of the families dining alfresco. These are people who allow bumper stickers to speak for them. Too wealthy or too fat for t-shirt slogans, some may suppose. The gimp across the street smiles into the setting sun and sits back down upon the bus stop bench; as Minivans and SUVs screech out of fast food parking lots and carry microwaved nuclear familys home to the soft glow of Glee.
Waiting ain’t a waste of time when you ain’t got no where to go, says the gimp. Neither is writing about nothing, when writing about nothing is better than waiting on inspiration to show, says the writer.
Waiting ain’t a waste of time when you ain’t got no where to go, says the gimp. Neither is writing about nothing, when writing about nothing is better than waiting on inspiration to show, says the writer.
maandag 11 april 2011
The show must go on even as the ghetto rages in flame.
Last week the founder of the Jenin Freedom Theater, Mer Khamis was murdered outside the theater. Another sad day in an ever saddening situation between Israel and Palestine. This poem is in memorial to him.
The show must go on even as the ghetto rages in flame.
A cold blooded murder
in the heated sand strewn streets of
Jenin
An execution in front of the affirming doors
of the Freedom Theater.
God was a blind eyed nonpaying
Member of the audience that day,
Seemingly a critic of his own creation,
It was said that he left after the first
and only act,
Which portrayed the slaying of
a proud man
who had breathed
and now bled,
struggling through a divided life
with only one want
one artistic vision
to produce peace upon a ghetto stage.
By pursuing freedom,
through
the release of creation,
the liberation of performance
the safety and sanity of the theater
as a relief from the chaos
and out of control insanity
of the daily drama portrayed
beyond the theater doors.
Bullet holes lashed his body
Like misplaced dialogue that
Had lost control its tongue.
His body heaved and sighed
a last bow
a creators struggled final breath
as violence conducted
its very own curtain call.
And like so many biblical images
of rivers,
The murderer ran away, red
Through raped streets filled with chaos and shame
Through scarred slums where creation cries
Itself to sleep each night
and where passion is seen as a pariah
by the political fanatics
And the occupying state.
The artist’s body ruined sagged
and slumped over in the auto, dead.
A man finally free from dogma,
slain at the footsteps
of the foundation
of his very own hopes and dreams.
What was once a place established
for a frustrated forgotten people
to pursue peace through portrayal
was now where mayhem
had become the main attraction
on the marquee
standing dead center stage
a theater of pain,
where the creators heart will always be present
but the houselights will never
shine so bright again.
thanks to Poetry 24 blogsite for first publishing this poem. http://poetry-24.blogspot.com/
The show must go on even as the ghetto rages in flame.
A cold blooded murder
in the heated sand strewn streets of
Jenin
An execution in front of the affirming doors
of the Freedom Theater.
God was a blind eyed nonpaying
Member of the audience that day,
Seemingly a critic of his own creation,
It was said that he left after the first
and only act,
Which portrayed the slaying of
a proud man
who had breathed
and now bled,
struggling through a divided life
with only one want
one artistic vision
to produce peace upon a ghetto stage.
By pursuing freedom,
through
the release of creation,
the liberation of performance
the safety and sanity of the theater
as a relief from the chaos
and out of control insanity
of the daily drama portrayed
beyond the theater doors.
Bullet holes lashed his body
Like misplaced dialogue that
Had lost control its tongue.
His body heaved and sighed
a last bow
a creators struggled final breath
as violence conducted
its very own curtain call.
And like so many biblical images
of rivers,
The murderer ran away, red
Through raped streets filled with chaos and shame
Through scarred slums where creation cries
Itself to sleep each night
and where passion is seen as a pariah
by the political fanatics
And the occupying state.
The artist’s body ruined sagged
and slumped over in the auto, dead.
A man finally free from dogma,
slain at the footsteps
of the foundation
of his very own hopes and dreams.
What was once a place established
for a frustrated forgotten people
to pursue peace through portrayal
was now where mayhem
had become the main attraction
on the marquee
standing dead center stage
a theater of pain,
where the creators heart will always be present
but the houselights will never
shine so bright again.
thanks to Poetry 24 blogsite for first publishing this poem. http://poetry-24.blogspot.com/
donderdag 27 januari 2011
Cryptic Carnival
Cryptic Carnival
Is it any wonder
That in this world of twisted perception
Admittance to the carnival is
Non optional
You don’t even get asked if
You want to buy the ticket or not
It just is.
Cotton Candy pushed into one hand
Popcorn into the other
Kicked in the ass
Out of the uterus
and pushed through the opening
in the circus tent flaps of the
vagina door.
Welcome to the world.
Shit, the bearded lady or a two headed dog
Pales to what you may come across
In your day
in day
out life.
Is it really any wonder
that people don’t dare to say hello
to a stranger passing on a deserted street.
.
How can one
describe what one
can hardly fathom.
The newspapers deliver headlines
Oozing like diarrhea
Spraying out what the advertisers pay
them to say
in as few constipated words as possible.
Syllables stutter off my tongue
As I read this poem,
Not really knowing where it is attempting to go,
What I am trying to say.
Just a weave of ideas, rants and subtle rhyme
To break the cold silence of time.
I am relieved that devastation is momentarily another
Mans problem.
I know that all this can change
In less time than it would take for a butterfly
To fart in the ear of a priest in Bejing
a killer bee to sting an illegal south American immigrant in San Diego
or a B’boy to put a B’bullet in another B’boyz brain
in the outskirts of another busted up inner city scenario.
Living separated, cardboard walls of muffled shouts
Riding in metro cars over crowded with self delusion.
At a certain time today we will all do something that
we are unaware
that we always do,
And will continue to always do so
To the annoyance of someone close to us.
Offer the world another way to look at itself,
And you may be accused of being too dramatic,
Maybe even labeled a socialist
A linkse hobbiest.
Shoulders hunch when asked vague questions,
Like what is the meaning of it all.
Questions like,
Why didn’t you say anything when
You saw the hummingbirds pick out the eyes
Of the underfed and overly bloated
Why? Because we, like everyone
You and me included.
thought that it was all
Part of the show
The freakshow of our days
The twisted wonder of our minds
What lies inside the circus tent flap
The price of admission to the Carnival
That is our lives.
Is it any wonder
That in this world of twisted perception
Admittance to the carnival is
Non optional
You don’t even get asked if
You want to buy the ticket or not
It just is.
Cotton Candy pushed into one hand
Popcorn into the other
Kicked in the ass
Out of the uterus
and pushed through the opening
in the circus tent flaps of the
vagina door.
Welcome to the world.
Shit, the bearded lady or a two headed dog
Pales to what you may come across
In your day
in day
out life.
Is it really any wonder
that people don’t dare to say hello
to a stranger passing on a deserted street.
.
How can one
describe what one
can hardly fathom.
The newspapers deliver headlines
Oozing like diarrhea
Spraying out what the advertisers pay
them to say
in as few constipated words as possible.
Syllables stutter off my tongue
As I read this poem,
Not really knowing where it is attempting to go,
What I am trying to say.
Just a weave of ideas, rants and subtle rhyme
To break the cold silence of time.
I am relieved that devastation is momentarily another
Mans problem.
I know that all this can change
In less time than it would take for a butterfly
To fart in the ear of a priest in Bejing
a killer bee to sting an illegal south American immigrant in San Diego
or a B’boy to put a B’bullet in another B’boyz brain
in the outskirts of another busted up inner city scenario.
Living separated, cardboard walls of muffled shouts
Riding in metro cars over crowded with self delusion.
At a certain time today we will all do something that
we are unaware
that we always do,
And will continue to always do so
To the annoyance of someone close to us.
Offer the world another way to look at itself,
And you may be accused of being too dramatic,
Maybe even labeled a socialist
A linkse hobbiest.
Shoulders hunch when asked vague questions,
Like what is the meaning of it all.
Questions like,
Why didn’t you say anything when
You saw the hummingbirds pick out the eyes
Of the underfed and overly bloated
Why? Because we, like everyone
You and me included.
thought that it was all
Part of the show
The freakshow of our days
The twisted wonder of our minds
What lies inside the circus tent flap
The price of admission to the Carnival
That is our lives.
donderdag 23 december 2010
Wait a minute my life is still buffering
Wait…Wait…wait…
Wait a minute my life is still buffering…
Previously on sitting on my ass
While scratching my balls…
Watching television series
Is
A waste of time
And
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
Wait a minute my life is still buffering…
Previously on sitting on my ass
While scratching my balls…
Watching television series
Is
A waste of time
And
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
cigarette
And a good shit
Before I go
My way.
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
cigarette
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.
Cha’
Nog 15 minuut
Dan Amsterdam Centraal Station
Dan ben ik
Op mij gemaak
met alle de ander niuewe nederlanders.
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.
Cha’
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
prescribed
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
and
love is good
and
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.
Is there Love in Amsterdam, Pakistan or Detroit.
if god is love
and love is good
and this is the
prescribed
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
and
love is good
and
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
today.
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.
it shines
it seems as if mother nature is roaring
through menopause
today.
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...
Love
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.
so another poem...
Love
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.
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