Saturday, May 31, 2008


Summer in the Ozarks means flies in the kitchen, ants on the counters, mosquitos on the front porch. Frogs sing songs and the air smells like charcoal and freshly mowed grass. Nothing but hip-hop and punk rock anthems on my stereo. It's about goddamn time.

Give 'em enough hope...

Scrawled this on scrap paper at work tonight. Perhaps there's the seed of a song buried somewhere in there. How should I know?

Your dreadlocks don't convince me of your radical motives, I need to see some smoke and blood tonight. We all have our faults, but I treasure my awareness, that awareness you lack, blinded with the illusion of doing good. I'm prepared tonight, I need to see some smoke and blood. Real change begins in your heart, and it burns with the fire of a thousand flaming ballot boxes.

The "illusion of doing good" is so frustrating. Don't litter. Save Darfur. Take part in the democratic process. This will grant you immunity when the world rears up and vomits and throws itself into a bloody froth. False. You'll be burned at the stake with everyone else.

The "illusion of doing good" perpetuates apathy and sloth. I may not be as active in the process of radical change as I'd like to be, but at least I have an awareness about the Truth that lies beneath all of the complete bullshit that is showered upon us daily. That awareness is more important than any voter registration card or idealistic political rhetoric could ever be. So many would-be do-gooders lack that awareness, and are simply wandering the same well-worn paths forged by their parents' generation, convinced that they're doing the Right Thing for the Right Reasons, and then wondering why nothing is changing.

Come on, boys, let's see some blood and smoke tonight.

Lots of Tom Waits and the Clash in heavy rotation lately. Tom Waits' music affects me in much the same way reading Hunter S. Thompson does. Fairly routine tasks while listening to Tom Waits turn a bit weird, exaggerated, grotesque, mysterious, dynamic, colorful.

The Clash (and Joe's solo music) make me so glad to be alive and part of the living, breathing thing that was, is, and will be Punk Rock. The Clash wrote and played songs that were as life-affirming and inspirational as any gospel song could ever be.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day, 2084
It's been a hundred years since I was born
And I wonder if anyone will remember me
Who will see to it that my grave is swept clean?

Will they say I dug my bootheels in,
And refused to give up the ghost?
Did I hold tight to this temporary thing?
Or did I just lie down with that night train roarin' in my ears
Close my eyes to dream the endless dream

It's Memorial Day, 2084
It's been a hundred years since I was born
Will anyone be around to breathe a letter of my name,
Will the world go on spinning just the same?

Will a great tremor run through the earth,
Will all the oceans turn to steam?
Will all the songbirds forget all their songs?
No, the stars will just laugh and shine and the tide will rise and fall
And everything will go marching on

It's Memorial Day, 2084
It's been a hundred years since I was born
And I hope that they speak of me with love and not with shame,
Because I'd rather be forgotten than be blamed

Will all my tattoos fade to dust, as all my words and all my deeds,
All memories that I ever even lived?
Will all of the saddest girls turn their backs to my stone,
Or will they find it in their hearts to forgive?

It's Memorial Day