Battle Scar Galaxy

I’m an astronaut on rotting cheese. I’m six feet deep buried to my knees.
The whole whirling world is whorls, earthquakes, hurricanes and whores.
I’m a snail afraid of the razor’s edge with a 21st century laser in my hand…
Shifting through the gigabytes… drenched by dripping fuel from jet planes.
I’m a little like Buck Rogers… but nobody’s heard of Buck Rogers anymore.
I’m not sure I know who Buck Rogers is anymore. I’m an outdated reference.
I’m a little like a velvet Elvis… star of my one-man self-centered crisis center.
This small world of shopping malls, selfish selfies, and soft-served hearts
has me transfixed and entranced — my pants fall down doing a white boy dance.
I’m going to a party of mimes. Everybody’s eyeballs pointed sideways nowadays.
We explain our strange feelings by copy-and-pasting other’s strange feelings.
I’m a crustacean on a Central Coast pier. I’m crawling out of a Cubic Zirconia.
It’s a diamond made of radio waves and gaslight. Carefully curated masks.
Gorging at the News Feed trough, living through a paranoid pretend presidency.
Not sure if I’m the brave puppet or the cave shadow, or if it’s mental telepathy;
I’m paintball splatter… but it don’t matter in this beautiful Battle Scar Galaxy.

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My Drinks So Tropical

 Serve my drinks tropical my minks are fakes
 but I sport them on ice skating rinks
 my shit is Ace like palm springs in a calm breeze
 when I'm on trees, kick back 420 degrees
 injection like antifreeze a soldier's repreive
 the war overseas and between the sheets
 my heart is a trick and it's up my sleeve
 life goes up in smoke while the jokers joke
 in the comedy clubs with all of my buds
 laughing like Trump ain't president
 that chump is a traitor to the nation
 shit can't think about that right now
 chasing good vibrations just a night owl
 with a tight scowl no paper bag I can't fight out
 man, give me a minute, I'm in it like Popeye
 after a can of spinach I pick apart
 the ticking clock, trimming the stock
 pins on the darts and ships in the dark
 looking for a port of call in this hopeless squall
 my pocket was picked at the disco ball
 but I keep dancing like a mannequin
 touched with magic somersault back flip
 every crash landing's so theatric  
 back stage panorama good guy grammar
 west coast straight syrup like French Toast
 My crew so comatose get mistaken for ghosts
 Gary Coleman with the different strokes...

 

 

 

 

Understanding the Protests…

Love it or leave it.

Shut up and sing.

Grab ’em by the pussy.

At first I thought it was silly to be protesting. The election is done. What can we do now about it? It just makes us look like sore losers, I thought.

Then I thought about those phrases used by the dominate culture to silence critics. This rush to move past the election. The normalizing of Trump’s awful rhetoric without any idea of what’s to come.As if it was all a slip of the tongue.

I’ll keep you in suspense… he jokes… haha,

I thought about the Trump rallies that we witnessed for the last 15 months. All those angry (mostly white) faces. All the screaming. All the insults. Obama being blamed for everything. Trump calling Hillary a ‘nasty woman’ for merely disagreeing with him. Trump egging his supporters to beat people, threatening to throw his opponent in jail, threatening journalists with lawsuits, and acting like the whole thing was some hate-filled, alt-right summer festival to drum up viewers for his ghastly media venture.

(Think. What does Roger Ailes know better? Politics or TV? It’s the first time a Presidential Candidate was probably more interested in his adviser’s job than becoming President.)

The reason people are so mad is because they’re afraid of a Trump presidency. They can’t just accept the loss and “stop crying” because they vehemently oppose everything he stands for: greed, white-entitlement, ignorance, and aggression.

They’re afraid because a nationalist who bellowed authoritarian rants was elected to govern a country that is the most diverse, freedom-loving population on Earth. They passionately oppose his us vs. them ideologies. And they want to warn everybody what’s going on and let the world know that there are many of us that are, in fact, grieving.

Because he is the antithesis of the protesters’ values. Love, peace, civil liberties, reasonable discourse, pursuit of knowledge, love of the environment, humane immigration policy, respect for women, etc..

No, the protests aren’t going to change the result. I know this.

But they may send a message to people who now think their racist, regressive views are legitimized by an electoral college victory.

This is no fucking mandate to start reversing years of social gains. He was not elected by a plurality of us. Thank God that will be preserved in the history books.

No, the protests probably are not going to change the hearts and minds of people who aren’t with  us.

But so what. Fuck ’em. They elected somebody so vile to the values of our country, out of either hate or a laughable understanding for economics, that we’re forever tainted by this election. You don’t have to vote for the guy to feel the shame of what’s just happened. And that is worth screaming about.

That’s what’s going on.

We’re protesting the shame this election has placed upon our American souls.

No, the protests won’t change Trump’s heart or his wicked policies, but people want the chance to make it publicly known that he doesn’t represent me or my values.

His grinning face causes anger when it’s smeared across the aquamarine television screens of our living rooms. Snarling and mocking and terrorizing. His mad 3 am Tweets succeeding at nothing but causing arguments and animus. His insane victory sent shock waves of apoplexy through the Blue State consciousness. Laugh if you want, but it rattled our core. Never did we think a man so vile, so undeserving, so boisterously ignorant, and outright scummy could be elected into the highest office in the land.

We are flabbergasted; it’s hard to use flabbergasted in an unfunny way, but Trump did it. He whipped folksy charm and alt-right prejudices with Reality Show bluster and one-of-a-kind demagoguery and winged his way into the White House. It was quite the astonishing sight. Like seeing an iceberg collapse right in front of you and the slow wave coming to tip over your ship.

He may be good for a million memes, but the laughter sure does taste acidic. Let’s get the EPA on that.

Oh, right.

Fuck.

#notmypresident