Is anyone else effing sick of hearing about Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Paris Hilton? Seriously, can we just stop? I don't mean stop talking shit about them, or even to stop singing their undue praises. I mean just stop.
What I propose is that we, the American public, revoke our interest, and seek recompense for the invested time, energy, and money into worthless celebrities who screw it up unwittingly. Let's just find 3 other hot, young, blonde(ish) bitches and give them a ton of money. I mean it. We'll just start over. American Idol for the next Pointlessly Intriguing Teenager. And if the new trio of eye-candy princesses screw it up, we'll just take it away again (all of it), and find three more. It'll be like Menudo for hot young white girls.
I think if we all get together and start a class-action law-suit against the three of them combined we should be able to recoup a few million at least. We sue them on the grounds that they did not provide any of the expected services after we (I mean collectively. I can't say that I've ever given a shit... until now) paid them what they asked for.
They are self-serving, money-hungry, marginally-talented, and unabashedly arrogant whores. Now, don't tell me they're not whores. They all sold their bodies for money. That simple. They did all of the same things intellectually that the average transvestite crack-addict hooker in Harlem would do for $150. But they charged millions, and they took it from all of us. Think of the beautiful, intelligent, talented, funny, interesting women that we could have been hearing about over the last 10 years. Honestly, did we really have to learn about 3 three cum-dumpsters' every move on every fucking news report?
E! channel and Entertainment Weekly... The only thing entertaining about these girls is the shit that you say about them. And now, that's gotten old. We don't care anymore. So please, shut the fuck up.
It's our own fault that people like Lindsay Lohan grow up to be narcissistic maniacs, Paris Hilton to be self-promoting sociopaths, and Britney Spears to be... a mom. Seriously, who the hell would want Britney Spears as a mother? Strike that... who the hell would let Britney Spears stay a mother? America, take her kids away. For the sake of my grandchildren, don't let Britney's offspring stay in the family. This is going to rob many generations after me their peace and sanity without ever knowing the difference. The only credit I could give to Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan over Britney Spears is that they haven't (as far as we know) reproduced.
Here's what I think we should do. We sue the ever-loving hell out of the three of them. All we need is roughly 2 million or so of us, we all give a dollar, hire a crack team of lawyers, and file a class-action suit against the parties of Lohan, Spears, and Hilton, on the grounds that we paid for a service that we didn't get. We list hours collectively invested into Television shows, Movies, Magazines, and Cd's waiting for something worth-while. We watch a shitty-horrible show like "Crossroads", and want to gouge out our own spleen and feed it to a small pony... but instead, we drive home quietly. We leave it alone. What we should do, is ask for a refund. All of us. For every dime back.
Millions and millions of hours invested. Millions of moments that we could have spent working out, reading poetry, laughing at brilliant comedians, studying art history, supporting live music, or perfecting some life-long interest like pottery restoration. Anything. Absolutely anything would have been a better use of time and money, than paying absolutely any attention to these three hose-hounds. So we want it back.
When we, the American public begin to follow a beautiful young woman's career, and we are so forgiving and gracious as to not pull the plug on our attention span in the first couple of years, we expect certain things. We expect, at the very least, their absence from places like rehab, prison, or internet porn. We expect that the object of such unwarranted praise and affection would exhibit a certain amount of grace, poise, mystery, gratitude, humility... I'm not saying they should have all of this. I'm saying ANY of this would be fantastic to see in any of the three of these imbeciles. Any other century would have stoned them. All I'm suggesting is that we sue them. Take back what is rightfully ours.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not promoting a complete absence of forgiveness here. If you have a friend who gets a DUI, you make it clear that you disapprove, and you support them back to health. If you have a friend who gets pregnant out of wedlock, you help. You buy them baby clothes, and bring them a cup of coffee in the middle of the day when you know they're at home elbow-deep in baby shit. If you have a friend who acts like a spoiled brat at their work and gets reprimanded by their boss, you comfort them and offer them a kind ear to hear their side of the story. You take their side. If you have a friend with 2 kids who makes a sex-tape and puts it online unapologetically after they have a get out of rehab... you punch them in the throat and make it clear that you want back your Notre Dame sweatshirt and the first season of Arrested Development on DVD that you loaned them last summer. You tell all of your friends in no uncertain terms that you don't want to be invited to a party that this loser is going to be at. You make clear to new people who are just meeting this person that before they build some kind of friendship with them, there are a few things that should be made clear about their past.
This is all I'm suggesting. We've invited these people into our homes. Into our vocabularies. Into our worlds. We don't need them. Never did. We didn't do so completely out of benevolence. We had certain expectations. Those expectations weren't meant, so we want back what we invested. That simple. We want back that ND sweatshirt, and the Arrested Development DVD's. We'll spare punching them in the throat (for now), but we expect that they, with all haste and hostility, return to us what is rightfully ours, or the aforementioned socks to the esophagus will begin. Millions and millions of punches to the throat.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Leslie.
The stuttering transvestite flasher turned politician
Rages through his fiery orange beard and buck teeth
To scream the scene with obscene indecencies into the town hall mic
”S… S … Save the Music Channel!”
This is our spokesman or woman,
Whatever
This is the politician who needs our votes to exist
This is the candidate with no illusions of connecting to the voters
He wants an office so he can have a warm place to sleep and a few bucks for the bus
This is Leslie.
This is the politician of the little man.
This is Leslie.
This is our microphone
We are the dripping red calligraphy of the disenfranchised
The not quite sold, but completely self-assured
The generation of Americans who can sleep soundly in our own insecurity
We burn scarred with the lies of our electric parental guardians who flicker all night long in
Black and white dots, dancing, singing, screaming their message… all is NOT well
Be afraid,
Be very afraid
Cut to Leslie
Cut to the sheman of A-town
All the while scratching is bare ass
And flashing for their cash
And waving tauntingly at the cops he knows by name
As everyone who passes him knows his
He’s the Texan singing naked cowboy
He’s the loon that every big city has,
And every little city secretly plots to kidnap
This is our microphone
This is the laughing stock you’ve made of our freedom
This is the joke we’ve seen in you all of our lives
This is what we go to sleep knowing is incapable of actually harming us
This is what you tell us to fear
But what we fear is you
What we fear most are the cavemen you wrap in blue and strap with triggers
What we fear are the mounted patrollers with nines, glocks, bad attitudes and less education than our Leslie, our microphone, our politician
What we fear is the shear stupidity that you broadly assign to our names
What we fear is that one day
One sweet day
We will wake up,
And the entire world will not see Leslie in a suit and a tie and a clean face with perfect speech,
But they will see you,
With cheap, store-bought breasts, bucked teeth, and a yellow thong,
Waving, flashing your ass, kissing for cash, the way we always knew you could.
Welcome to our world
And by all means…
Speak into the microphone
Rages through his fiery orange beard and buck teeth
To scream the scene with obscene indecencies into the town hall mic
”S… S … Save the Music Channel!”
This is our spokesman or woman,
Whatever
This is the politician who needs our votes to exist
This is the candidate with no illusions of connecting to the voters
He wants an office so he can have a warm place to sleep and a few bucks for the bus
This is Leslie.
This is the politician of the little man.
This is Leslie.
This is our microphone
We are the dripping red calligraphy of the disenfranchised
The not quite sold, but completely self-assured
The generation of Americans who can sleep soundly in our own insecurity
We burn scarred with the lies of our electric parental guardians who flicker all night long in
Black and white dots, dancing, singing, screaming their message… all is NOT well
Be afraid,
Be very afraid
Cut to Leslie
Cut to the sheman of A-town
All the while scratching is bare ass
And flashing for their cash
And waving tauntingly at the cops he knows by name
As everyone who passes him knows his
He’s the Texan singing naked cowboy
He’s the loon that every big city has,
And every little city secretly plots to kidnap
This is our microphone
This is the laughing stock you’ve made of our freedom
This is the joke we’ve seen in you all of our lives
This is what we go to sleep knowing is incapable of actually harming us
This is what you tell us to fear
But what we fear is you
What we fear most are the cavemen you wrap in blue and strap with triggers
What we fear are the mounted patrollers with nines, glocks, bad attitudes and less education than our Leslie, our microphone, our politician
What we fear is the shear stupidity that you broadly assign to our names
What we fear is that one day
One sweet day
We will wake up,
And the entire world will not see Leslie in a suit and a tie and a clean face with perfect speech,
But they will see you,
With cheap, store-bought breasts, bucked teeth, and a yellow thong,
Waving, flashing your ass, kissing for cash, the way we always knew you could.
Welcome to our world
And by all means…
Speak into the microphone
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Repentence of Recompence
He swings half-assed
And hits her oh, so hard
She swings so soft
And breaks his cold, dry heart
The name he calls her
Rattles down in her bones
She later eats his soul
With the name she moans
He splits her arm
With the swing of a knife
She splits her legs
In return the same night
He spits and stutters
Too angry to speak
She drips and shutters
Cold, sweating, and weak
There’ll be no forgiving
Her sins this time
He has only hate
For the criminal’s crime
Recompense lies wheezing
On this dying floor
Since the day daddy
Called mommy a ….
And hits her oh, so hard
She swings so soft
And breaks his cold, dry heart
The name he calls her
Rattles down in her bones
She later eats his soul
With the name she moans
He splits her arm
With the swing of a knife
She splits her legs
In return the same night
He spits and stutters
Too angry to speak
She drips and shutters
Cold, sweating, and weak
There’ll be no forgiving
Her sins this time
He has only hate
For the criminal’s crime
Recompense lies wheezing
On this dying floor
Since the day daddy
Called mommy a ….
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Playground Bullies and Fireflies
Playground Bullies and Fireflies
July 26, 2004
As if it were disguised
As if it had been bruised by some brute force
Lying bleeding and blinded with bandaged eyes
Or as if it were disguised
We scream and send out a search party
To comb historic forests
And stoic forces
Who must have hid the truth from us
The daybreak turns to dusk
It was just as we had settled in
By the firelight
By the candle’s flickering frail fright
That doubt
Took the seat beside
And propped his feet in pride
And the truth slipped out
Leaving the window open
And letting in the cold breeze
Which sent a sliver
Of a shiver
Down our social spine
Serving to remind
Us that the truth was gone
And the race was on
Our innocence had come and gone
And we were left wheezing, heaving, and lost
It was the letter that grabbed our attention
It was the suicide note that truth left on the seal of the window
The one where the breeze burns cold
And the crisp flick of the curtains
Snap like a hissing serpent in the wake
The letter really proclaimed more than defamed
It was more lament and less fluorescent
Though we always confused the truth with light
“I have not been tried and found wanting
I have been found difficult and not tried”
So the letter reads
And so the search begins
So the difficult becomes the passion that rests inside a weary soul
And bones ache in cold breeze because we can’t bring ourselves to shut the window
We find comfort
In the rhythm
Of the popping
Of the stale sticks falling
From broken limbs
Of trees
Who one knew leaves
We cry ourselves to sleep
On pillows that turn
To ice
In the cold night and crush themselves
To salt
In the morning light
Just in time
For us
To cry again
In the midst of our pathetic, rambling, escapades
We search for the long lost friend
“Where are you?”
While combing the woods behind the house that you left
A wise little weirdo told me how he planned to find you
With a snorting laugh and a silver chain
Connecting
His neck
To a sacred silver cross
That hung over v-neck Haynes
He said “the opposite of truth is not false,
But counterfeit.
the presence of a little bit”
Then he spit
Into a snarling, snorting, sneezing frenzy
And jittered, clumsily away
Maybe you are gone for good
Maybe it is fa(o)r worse
We only wish we understood
Your absence was a curse
Long before the window seal was crossed in silent night
Long before the window seal was broken by your weight
Long before the window fell with this house like a stone
With this house like a stone
Like a stone
Like a
We can fall asleep by the clanking clatter of cobblestone streets
We can ignore the myriad of ads in adjun(ct)k sales
And let sales figures climb in through the hole you left in our hearts
The day you left
You left
That hole
In the shape of you
And though
We know
The glow
That shows
Through clothes
Is just another view
Of our loss
We search
And we do so as clothed as we can
Bare
We cover up in warm daylight while the public eyes are bright
And reveal ourselves naked, scared, and dripping
To the loneliness of night
And it’s all because you lef(p)t out the window
You left your widow
You didn’t shut it
You didn’t cover your tracks
You made sure we’d know exactly how you went
But not where
You made damn sure we never got to close that thing again
It’s not fair
But it’s true
See?
That’s the problem is it’s true
We can’t escape you
You can run, and we can’t hide
Fists split and wrists slit when worlds collide
And you don’t move
But you did once
Once upon a time
In the back of this house
You woke from a dream
As quiet as a mouse
And you split your lip on the broken glass
When you dove face first
No one heard the crash
But we found the trail of blood
That led out back past the trash
We were covered
We were mesmerized
We’d been dreaming that we’d never let you
From our eyes
Again
After tonight
After we’d had our fun and forgotten for a while
So we bomb the girl
And rape the world
And scrape
Grape juice from the bottom of the sacrilegious pearls
Make a jelly thick enough to dip a wafer into
And we lick the goo
We suck it dry
We eat it up and sing a gospel lullaby
And we know you’re gone
You’re so not here
You’re so 5 minutes ago
You’re like, that one guy
From that one place
With that one look on his face
The one with bleeding eyes
And watery sides
The big naked center-place
The picture hangs above the mantel in the house that you just left
Yeah, you’re like him
You‚re dead
At least that’s what they said
We told them you were gone and when the search had yielded none
They told us you were dead and that we should find another one
The translation killed the messenger and we could save our shots
But I remembered that wise weirdo who was covered in sun dots
I’d just been staring at the sky lying peaceful in the grass
When he leaned over the sun and said “this too, has come to pass”
“What the hell, man. You’re blocking the rays. I was about to go blind”
So he walked away with the urgency of a drunken father time
He said “dude, I know you’re pissed ‘cause you’ve been lied to for so long
But it was for your own good, though the liars were still wrong.
If you always knew the truth, you would have never grown through time.
But now that you’ve tasted mother earth, you should enjoy the wine.”
“Wine’s for drunkards, you freak.” as I sat up on the hill.
“And stop your cliché an(ec)tidotes I’ve taken my last pill.
I don’t care anymore. I’ve lost that flavor from my tongue.
Or maybe when truth left, I bit it off.
Either way, I’m done.”
“Then why are you screaming?” he smiled, but cleverly, or wry
He was grinning like a school boy with a secret he wouldn’t tell
I noticed now that he was holding a baby and my hands fell to my side
“Don’t follow if you don’t want to, but I‚m gonna get the hell…”
Before he could finish I jumped
Like waking
Like water
Weeping and whining all at once
I felt like I’d pissed my bed and fallen down
I had a headache that wouldn’t stop
And I felt the breeze
It was c(rue)ool
Long before I even had the chance to think it was all a dream
It was like a slap in the face
Some resounding gong
An alien probe that wasn’t so private
This was capital punishment in the private parts of my inner ear
The letter and the wind joined together to remind me
Like a child in the corner of the room screaming to the top of his lungs
“I’m hiding”
Only this “child” was the truth
And this “hiding” was having been beaten down, broken up,
Battered
Tattered
Torn
Worn
Wrangled
Mangled
Maimed
Framed
Feared
Speared
Resisted
Raped
Abused
Misused
And what’s worst of all
Forgotten
But not by me
I have not forgotten thee
Don’t think for one moment that you are out there on your own
“Let the truth sting” sings the foreign man made of black and white
Like a shepherd of the yin, yang coming from the clock radio in the night
Sing it out
Let the truth sting
And while we’re at it,
Let it burn and bleed
And fear for its life
As if a feeble fable of its own ghost
We seek for truth like it’s lost
When it’s we
Who are being (not so much) sought by the truth
(As) baited
By truth
Having waited
Knowing we’re jaded
And it’ll take a while
One day we’ll discover you
And when we do
We’ll be blinded by the darkness of it all
The absence of you was the search in itself
Your opposite is not the absence of you
But counterfeit
The deception of thinking we’ve found you
Just long enough to call off the search,
Feed the dogs,
Downgrade the code from the red of the dragon
To somewhere around a suburban Orlando tan
The search for the truth is over
We’ve found something almost as good
He claims to be god.
He has a church on a hill
And he drives long silver sedan
He’s a family man
An all-american boy
He’s the talking, walking, shaking, quaking, Playschool Jesus toy
And all the while you wait
Desperately in the shadows
So close
You have to sense that one day we will trip over you
And when we do
You will look laughing from above
Cover up the sun
And float down like a dove
And hand us a picture of
Ourselves
Before we were dead
But only by a moment
You’ll say this is what you’re looking for
You wink, I think
Then you’ll vanish.
We’ll awake, feel the breeze
Call the search party
Bring the dogs, the cops, the neighbors,
“Who wants take-out Lebanese?
We‚re gonna stay-in to burn the midnight oil”
Then we’ll squeeze
Our eyes shut
And hold on tight to what we saw
But there is nothing left
Just pupils burned raw
From the sun
The sun!
That's it…
It’s when we’re staring that we see
And I fall asleep
And dream in the darkness
That the truth is here with me
And as if some day I’ll see
When I open my eyes
…as if it were disguised
- meshach.
July 26, 2004
As if it were disguised
As if it had been bruised by some brute force
Lying bleeding and blinded with bandaged eyes
Or as if it were disguised
We scream and send out a search party
To comb historic forests
And stoic forces
Who must have hid the truth from us
The daybreak turns to dusk
It was just as we had settled in
By the firelight
By the candle’s flickering frail fright
That doubt
Took the seat beside
And propped his feet in pride
And the truth slipped out
Leaving the window open
And letting in the cold breeze
Which sent a sliver
Of a shiver
Down our social spine
Serving to remind
Us that the truth was gone
And the race was on
Our innocence had come and gone
And we were left wheezing, heaving, and lost
It was the letter that grabbed our attention
It was the suicide note that truth left on the seal of the window
The one where the breeze burns cold
And the crisp flick of the curtains
Snap like a hissing serpent in the wake
The letter really proclaimed more than defamed
It was more lament and less fluorescent
Though we always confused the truth with light
“I have not been tried and found wanting
I have been found difficult and not tried”
So the letter reads
And so the search begins
So the difficult becomes the passion that rests inside a weary soul
And bones ache in cold breeze because we can’t bring ourselves to shut the window
We find comfort
In the rhythm
Of the popping
Of the stale sticks falling
From broken limbs
Of trees
Who one knew leaves
We cry ourselves to sleep
On pillows that turn
To ice
In the cold night and crush themselves
To salt
In the morning light
Just in time
For us
To cry again
In the midst of our pathetic, rambling, escapades
We search for the long lost friend
“Where are you?”
While combing the woods behind the house that you left
A wise little weirdo told me how he planned to find you
With a snorting laugh and a silver chain
Connecting
His neck
To a sacred silver cross
That hung over v-neck Haynes
He said “the opposite of truth is not false,
But counterfeit.
the presence of a little bit”
Then he spit
Into a snarling, snorting, sneezing frenzy
And jittered, clumsily away
Maybe you are gone for good
Maybe it is fa(o)r worse
We only wish we understood
Your absence was a curse
Long before the window seal was crossed in silent night
Long before the window seal was broken by your weight
Long before the window fell with this house like a stone
With this house like a stone
Like a stone
Like a
We can fall asleep by the clanking clatter of cobblestone streets
We can ignore the myriad of ads in adjun(ct)k sales
And let sales figures climb in through the hole you left in our hearts
The day you left
You left
That hole
In the shape of you
And though
We know
The glow
That shows
Through clothes
Is just another view
Of our loss
We search
And we do so as clothed as we can
Bare
We cover up in warm daylight while the public eyes are bright
And reveal ourselves naked, scared, and dripping
To the loneliness of night
And it’s all because you lef(p)t out the window
You left your widow
You didn’t shut it
You didn’t cover your tracks
You made sure we’d know exactly how you went
But not where
You made damn sure we never got to close that thing again
It’s not fair
But it’s true
See?
That’s the problem is it’s true
We can’t escape you
You can run, and we can’t hide
Fists split and wrists slit when worlds collide
And you don’t move
But you did once
Once upon a time
In the back of this house
You woke from a dream
As quiet as a mouse
And you split your lip on the broken glass
When you dove face first
No one heard the crash
But we found the trail of blood
That led out back past the trash
We were covered
We were mesmerized
We’d been dreaming that we’d never let you
From our eyes
Again
After tonight
After we’d had our fun and forgotten for a while
So we bomb the girl
And rape the world
And scrape
Grape juice from the bottom of the sacrilegious pearls
Make a jelly thick enough to dip a wafer into
And we lick the goo
We suck it dry
We eat it up and sing a gospel lullaby
And we know you’re gone
You’re so not here
You’re so 5 minutes ago
You’re like, that one guy
From that one place
With that one look on his face
The one with bleeding eyes
And watery sides
The big naked center-place
The picture hangs above the mantel in the house that you just left
Yeah, you’re like him
You‚re dead
At least that’s what they said
We told them you were gone and when the search had yielded none
They told us you were dead and that we should find another one
The translation killed the messenger and we could save our shots
But I remembered that wise weirdo who was covered in sun dots
I’d just been staring at the sky lying peaceful in the grass
When he leaned over the sun and said “this too, has come to pass”
“What the hell, man. You’re blocking the rays. I was about to go blind”
So he walked away with the urgency of a drunken father time
He said “dude, I know you’re pissed ‘cause you’ve been lied to for so long
But it was for your own good, though the liars were still wrong.
If you always knew the truth, you would have never grown through time.
But now that you’ve tasted mother earth, you should enjoy the wine.”
“Wine’s for drunkards, you freak.” as I sat up on the hill.
“And stop your cliché an(ec)tidotes I’ve taken my last pill.
I don’t care anymore. I’ve lost that flavor from my tongue.
Or maybe when truth left, I bit it off.
Either way, I’m done.”
“Then why are you screaming?” he smiled, but cleverly, or wry
He was grinning like a school boy with a secret he wouldn’t tell
I noticed now that he was holding a baby and my hands fell to my side
“Don’t follow if you don’t want to, but I‚m gonna get the hell…”
Before he could finish I jumped
Like waking
Like water
Weeping and whining all at once
I felt like I’d pissed my bed and fallen down
I had a headache that wouldn’t stop
And I felt the breeze
It was c(rue)ool
Long before I even had the chance to think it was all a dream
It was like a slap in the face
Some resounding gong
An alien probe that wasn’t so private
This was capital punishment in the private parts of my inner ear
The letter and the wind joined together to remind me
Like a child in the corner of the room screaming to the top of his lungs
“I’m hiding”
Only this “child” was the truth
And this “hiding” was having been beaten down, broken up,
Battered
Tattered
Torn
Worn
Wrangled
Mangled
Maimed
Framed
Feared
Speared
Resisted
Raped
Abused
Misused
And what’s worst of all
Forgotten
But not by me
I have not forgotten thee
Don’t think for one moment that you are out there on your own
“Let the truth sting” sings the foreign man made of black and white
Like a shepherd of the yin, yang coming from the clock radio in the night
Sing it out
Let the truth sting
And while we’re at it,
Let it burn and bleed
And fear for its life
As if a feeble fable of its own ghost
We seek for truth like it’s lost
When it’s we
Who are being (not so much) sought by the truth
(As) baited
By truth
Having waited
Knowing we’re jaded
And it’ll take a while
One day we’ll discover you
And when we do
We’ll be blinded by the darkness of it all
The absence of you was the search in itself
Your opposite is not the absence of you
But counterfeit
The deception of thinking we’ve found you
Just long enough to call off the search,
Feed the dogs,
Downgrade the code from the red of the dragon
To somewhere around a suburban Orlando tan
The search for the truth is over
We’ve found something almost as good
He claims to be god.
He has a church on a hill
And he drives long silver sedan
He’s a family man
An all-american boy
He’s the talking, walking, shaking, quaking, Playschool Jesus toy
And all the while you wait
Desperately in the shadows
So close
You have to sense that one day we will trip over you
And when we do
You will look laughing from above
Cover up the sun
And float down like a dove
And hand us a picture of
Ourselves
Before we were dead
But only by a moment
You’ll say this is what you’re looking for
You wink, I think
Then you’ll vanish.
We’ll awake, feel the breeze
Call the search party
Bring the dogs, the cops, the neighbors,
“Who wants take-out Lebanese?
We‚re gonna stay-in to burn the midnight oil”
Then we’ll squeeze
Our eyes shut
And hold on tight to what we saw
But there is nothing left
Just pupils burned raw
From the sun
The sun!
That's it…
It’s when we’re staring that we see
And I fall asleep
And dream in the darkness
That the truth is here with me
And as if some day I’ll see
When I open my eyes
…as if it were disguised
- meshach.
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