July 24th, 2012
you choose not to see me.
raped brain and broken soul.
live free, not anymore.
shackles grow stronger.
the depths of despair.
telling ceased long ago.
only discord’s secret.
caged in cold regret.
the sanctions were announced.
that sheltered doorway.
open in wet dismay.
might see the raining past.
shame at every breakfast.
terror at our meals.
see what’s ripped from their souls.
hear what happened to me.
why the showers must be.
the old Dutch, a Sabo is a shoe.
not fancy. Their not extravagant.
not a wealth of stocks on banks. Their wood.
on freedom. But still, their just a shoe.
because you own something, and can lie,
mean you own our States, laws, or rights. You
own democracy. You can’t own We.
those lost in finance often will try.
we to do? Disassemble in peace?
the gears moving us into slavery?
despots to keep killing workers?
our rights be traded for fleeting fleece;
futures seized without prosecution?
We camped out, and kept assembling speech.
the machine kept turning tyranny,
burn our resolve and Constitution.
coming. So goes our Republic.
we still have shoes, though not made of wood.
what are free citizens to do when
steal libraries meant for the public?
justice, all moral values, and laws
broken by those who protect and serve
order to manufacture subjects,
make themselves traitors to freedom's cause.
not sure what “Tage” means, but there are clues.
know, in Dutch, it must mean “in the works.”
means attacks our democracy’s soul,
must attack the works with shoes.
people. Not things, not Corporations
have no soul or self-control).
are workers. Not gears, not coke machines
can’t create a country, or vote).
are citizens, not commodities
can’t protest or walk free).
are voters, not incorporations.
can’t incorporate democracy.
are only shoes, just wooden soles.
Sabo in the works are liberty.
revolution of democracy,
ideals on those without souls.
citizens must sabotage tyranny.
by regime, capitalist, or
capital bought government, our shoes
must be thrown into the gears of
November 2nd, 2011
The biggest curse of being a
poet is that you cannot tell when you write something great, but you can
tell when others write something great. There are so many examples of this
I can’t even begin.
Here is a nice simple one from
Pink Floyd’s Final Cut. I have an Audio bootleg (which I can copy
if anyone is interested, if I can find it;-), of Rogers and Eric Clapton
in New Jersey in 1984. I think this is the show: Roger
Waters & Eric Clapton live in New Jersey 1984, July 21 (I can't
say for sure if this is the same concert as I think they did 4 or 5 in NJ).
It held a song that seemed out of place called The Gunner’s Dream.
It was not a song of it’s time, as it seems to be more of a post-WW2
song. But it seems to be becoming more-and-more a song for this time.
I put this song on my first MP3
player years ago, along with a ton of other music. A couple of weeks ago I
lost the cord for my latest MP3 player. Being as cheap as a billionaire
forced to pay taxes, I decided to grab my old MP3 player and download my
podcasts into it. Naturally, I started listening to some old tunes on my
old MP3 player, which were mostly tracks from my vast bootleg collection.
It was then I was struck again by The Gunner's Dream, which seems
to have been written in the past for right now.
was Pink Floyd’s final album is a post Wall masterpiece that few
have ever heard. I first heard The Gunner’s Dream on the radio,
once. Pink Floyd had broken up and it all seemed to be “floating down,
through the clouds.” However, the song struck a cord somewhere deep in
my soul as the “memories come rushing up to meet me now.” As odd songs
sometimes do to everyone. In the dark side of my memory it grew in
strength and scope. It was probably never played on the radio again. I
certainly never heard from Floyd’s lost album again. But hints of that
song stayed “in the space between the heavens and the corner of some
foreign field” in my subconscious.
had a dream” of democracy. It was all just something never really seen
or heard again. Then “I had a dream” that democracy could provide
liberty and equality. You know. Memories of songs we don’t own that
strike when we are the most vulnerable and leave an indelible scar on our
souls. Like when you realize democracy is dead. You have to say “goodbye
[Lady liberty]. Goodbye Ma.” So you have to go to the funeral service,
and “after the service when you’re walking slowly to the car” you
here some dirge on the wind. You remember when the angel of liberty was
young and silvery. You can see her still flying free from sea to shining
sea, “and the silver in her hair shines in the cold November air.”
song sticks in your mind like that day. It’s different for everyone. A
songs are for everyone. Like when “you hear the tolling bell, and touch
the silk in your lapel,” and bands rise and fall and come and go. But
some silly old songs never leave. When you hear it again at some odd time
it brings you back to that service when lady liberty died. And “as the
teardrops rise to greet the comfort of the band, you take her frail hand,
and hold to the dream.”
suddenly about 12 years ago, I finally traded for this bootleg of Roger
Waters live in New Jersey with Eric Clapton. I traded for it because it
had a version of Gunner’s Dream on it. And the version turned out
to be haunting. He starts off singing so low you can hardly hear him
(“floating down, through the clouds”). His voice raises its’ levels
as the music swells to met his sorrow, frustration, and lost dream.
Finally ending the second verse with a near silent and sorrowing “you
take her frail hand.” Then the famous Waters screaming as he fades away
from the microphone, “and hold onto the Dream.” It is striking
brilliant. But then as his voice fades a little too far, a haunting Sax
picks up the refrain and carries the Water’s haunting scream further
than all human endurance.
know its’ my soul scarring song, and you all have your own songs, but I
don’t know how you hear that scream and Sax intermingling together and
not find something changing in the dark side of your mind. Especially when
your conscious finally uncovers the words and realize he is speaking of
solders who never really returned home from the terrors of war.
is this aspect of the song that made me write this trite in comparison
opus. There is something seriously wrong with this country when citizens
peaceable assemble and the government attacks them in every dirty way
despots attack those subjects trying to become citizens. When cops are
forced to attack and nearly murder our brave service men who came home
from war after serving our democracy, and get treated like subjects. So
the second half of The Gunner’s Dream, written and performed by
Roger Water in NJ in 1984, is dedicated to Scott Olsen, for his courage,
his sacrifice, and his service (After the screaming the sax cries, it
dances as it drops down from the clouds into silence. Rogers finally cuts
in with his minimalist beginnings that makes you remember the day the
angel of liberty died. The lyrics are a cross between what’s written,
what’s sung, and what my crazy brain heard in my bootleg):
place to stay.
Somewhere old heroes shuffle saintly down the street.
Where you can speak out loud about your doubts and fears.
And what's more,
one ever disappears- you never hear their standard issue,
kicking in your door.
You can relax,
on both sides of the tracks
don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control.
And everyone has recourse to the law.
And no-one kills the children anymore...
no one kills the children anymore…
Night after night,
Going round and round my brain,
is driving me insane...
In the corner of some foreign field
the gunner sleeps tonight.
What's done is done.
just write off his final scene.
Take heed of the Dream.
Take heed of the Dream...
October 23rd, 2011
heard the clouds clamoring last night through our lands.
lightning bedazzled our hiding trees and tents.
thunder rose and grew, and sifted through the hills,
coarse gravel being rubbed through our empty hands.
lightning gradually grows into a billion
of light, occupying our bankrupt backyards.
thunder condescends from the bankless heavens.
growls stark warnings to the 99 percent.
speaks to the once free, in a dark bass so deep
subjects can’t hear over their fake news fraudsters.
says, “freedom is the right of everyman to
to any man.”
Then a lightning crash
so crass that it blast our parks into bright bits.
lights distort into strange greedy monsters
behind each peaceful tree. They forever
out to us in the microseconds of light.
we run in falsified foreclosed terror,
liberals through the night. It bellows so loud
feel its’ rumbling deep down in our chest, as though
soul was ripped from our hearts, and torn asunder.
grumbles us deep down into Hades dark plights,
the wealthy devil and his Nuevo minions
the self-evident soul of independence.
where the devil reigns there are no rights or fights.
guaranteed rights for life. No fights for freedom,
right to pursue just a little happiness.
lots of lawyers and permits, just none for us.
no judges, they’ve been sold to incorporate.
peers in juries to deliberate Wall Street.
no charges needed to leave justice seething.
is certainly no right to face our accused.
they produce the well-bruised body, there is no
left breathing, or homes to go home to.
don’t search for compassion or rights on a bill.
Hell, there are no citizens voting, civil
or silly Civil disobedience
cash, cells, and torture. And as we all know,
done in our names, makes all of us evil.
turn from this sinister scene simply to vial.
see a dark castle. I can see sad Socrates
helpless Helena still held hostage,
brave Joan of Arc still begging for a true trial.
hear Ovid decrying, “Love never objects”,
the contrasts of masked Shakespeare sing silently.
seems wisdom, beauty, science, and knowledge, must
held separate from all of us sold out subjects.
liberal thunder calls me back, “Democracy,
right of all men to elect to condescend
even the wealthiest one percent of men.”
as lightning clatters through hypocrisy.
condescending light blasts trees over our tent,
all-encompassing paid for light. It shimmies,
and shakes, and plays tricks with brains of the weak,
movement and monsters beneath each branch.
lightning spits corporation news terror
an All-consuming tsunami flooding fear.
who sold the defrauding terror to subjects?
it the stolen storm, the lies from down under,
high-walled storm-banks, or the imagination?
it lightning or those who report the storm’s call?
terrors are theirs. But, self-deceit is ours.
thunder grumbles; A last attempt to wake a
nation. It states, “Equality is the
that all peoples are citizens, and
citizens have the same rights as all people.”
Enemies of Jesus Unite.
October 22nd, 2011
me the pick of the week was easy Penn ST giving 4, and LSU giving 21. I
have been blocked since I got back from vacation on Thursday. It is making
me crazy. So this is all you probably will get. Although I am finally
writing the words that are wondering through my head. It's like I always
say, "if you think I'm annoying you should be trapped in my
head for a day." So my pick of the Week bet at Bodog is Penn St
giving 4. I took both Penn St and LSU, but the LSU game is already under
have so much I wanted to talk about this week. I went down to Occupy
Boston to protest the thieving that has been going on by Wall Street and
the To Bog To Fail Financial Corporations. However, that is too long of a
story for right now.
was watching the Republican Circus the other night and two things struck,
how could anybody vote for these clowns? The second was one of the
"Monkey!" insult Romney for, "supporting social
programs". I thought that was unconscionable. He said it like he was
calling him a scumbag for being n favor of any "social Program."
All I could think was what kind of scumbag is opposed to all "social
programs"? How can you call yourself an American or a Human if you
are opposed to our government helping us? Public schools are a social
program! Oh wait, Republicans are against public schools. Social Security,
Medicare, and Medicaid are social programs! Oh wait, all those
"Monkeys!" are against the Dignity Programs. There is something seriously
wrong with the souls of people who hate the programs that help give our
elderly citizens some dignity in their final years. I just don't know
what's wrong with these alleged people.
the final social program food stamp. I understand why Republicans are
against welfare, but how can any sane rational citizen be opposed to food
stamps. If you are opposed to food stamps you are the worst kind of
scumbag the world has ever known. Food stamp feed families that can't feed
their children. I was on food stamps when I was a kid. To be opposed to
feeding starving American children is so despicable that it can only be
called truly evil. How can anybody call themselves a Christian and be opposed
to feeding starving children? Obviously these evil scumbags who pretend to
be Christians have never read a single word about Jesus Christ himself. If
you oppose feeding starving children than are a direct enemy of