Sunday, November 06, 2005

Turn Up Your Radio

there's a vietnam vet with a cardboard sign
sittin' there by the left-turn line
a flag on his wheelchair, flappin' in the breeze
one leg missin', and both hands free

no one's payin' much mind to him
the va budget's just stretched too thin
and there's more comin' back from the mideast war
we can't make it here anymore

Some very very high livewire hour of radio, 11:00-12:00, November 5, Steve, KZFR. Shoulda had the reels runnin'—all and every. Not often, anywhere, such a sound. The sound of one soul searing.

some have maxed out all their credit cards
some are workin' two jobs and livin' in cars
minimum wage won't pay for a roof,
won't pay for a drink

if you gotta have proof
just try it yourself, mister ceo

see how far five-fifteen an hour will go
take a part time job, at one of your stores
i bet you can't make it here anymore

In intro Steve suggested that rather than farce an election we should commence insurrection.

there's a high-school girl with a bourgeois dream
just like the pictures in the magazine
she found on the floor of the laundromat
a woman with kids can forget all that
if she comes up pregnant what'll she do
forget the career, forget about school
can she live on faith, live on hope
high on jesus, or hooked on dope
when it's way too late to just say no
you can't make it here anymore

Dreaming "Kill the King," Steve decided "We Can't Make It Here Anymore."

now i'm stocking shirts in the wal-mart store
just like the ones we made before
'cept this one came from singapore
i guess we can't make it here anymore

Me, I'm Michael Corleone. Of the mob, looking to out. Always someone to "pull me back in."

should i hate a people for the shade of their skin
or the shape of their eyes or the shape i'm in
should i hate 'em for having our jobs today
no, i hate the men sent the jobs away

i can see them all now, they haunt my dreams
all lily white, and squeaky clean
they've never known want, they'll never know need
their shit don't stink and their kids won't bleed
their kids won't bleed
in their damn little war

and we can't make it here anymore

Pulling me back in: tonight it was you, Steve. When I was really reaching to pull out. And then you sound.

will work for food, will die for oil
will kill for power, and to us the spoils
the billionaires get to pay less tax
the working poor get to fall through the cracks

so let 'em eat jellybeans, let 'em eat cake
let 'em eat shit, whatever it takes
they can join the air force, or join the corps
if they can't make it here anymore

So, yeah, well, I guess. Yeah, yeah, sure. Right: sure. Yes, dammit. Yes.

Yes, I've reupped.

Monday, October 31, 2005

Purple Haze

purple haze
all in my brain

lately things
don't seem the same

"What these frat kids did—it was nothing. Except that the kid died, it was nothing. Nothing, compared to me. I almost died. Several times, I know, I almost died. For football. In football practice."

actin' funny
but I don't know why
scuse me
while i kiss the sky

"And yet, still, when you look at how the longer-term veterans razz the newbies—and there's a lot of that both in my book and in the film—partly it's just standard fraternity hazing, but part of it, too, I'm convinced, is that they can't believe these kids were so stupid as to fall for all that crap and end up in this hellhole, and they're punishing them out of their own projected sense of ever having been such fools as to fall for it themselves."

purple haze
all around
don't know if I'm
comin' up or down
am I happy
or in misery

"Sadism functions through institutions as well as through individuals, and the determination of this administration to treat its enemies in this manner represents moral perversion in its use of national power: not only to impose an American policy on its enemies but to degrade and humiliate them. This clearly is the will of this government with respect to those who stand in its way. Enemies are not simply to be defeated; they are to be annihilated, morally as well as physically. To destroy is to affirm one's own power: he dies, I am enhanced by his death."

purple haze
all in my eyes

don't know
if it's day or night


"Did I hurt you?"
"I'm cold," Snowden whimpered. "I'm cold."
"There, there," Yossarian said. "There, there."
"I'm cold. I'm cold."
"There, there. There, there"

you got me blowin'
blowin' my mind
is it tomorrow
or just the end of time

Man was matter, that was Snowden's secret. Drop him out a window and he'll fall. Set fire to him and he'll burn. Bury him and he'll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden's secret. Ripeness was all.

"I'm cold," Snowden said. "I'm cold."

"There, there," said Yossarian. "There, there." He pulled the rip cord of Snowden's parachute and covered his body with the white nylon sheets.

"I'm cold."
"There, there."