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.

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.