brother can you spare

 

the convoy is over

rose & violet

some say the yard will end in roses
some say in violets.

from what i know of shears & hoses
i hold with those who favor roses
but if i may on clay hedge my bets
i would enthusiastic'ly
say that for displacing grass violets
kick ass & likely
require less maintenance.

maskmaker, maskmaker

maskmaker maskmaker
make me a mask
two plys of cotton
that's all i ask
maskmaker maskmaker
sit at your singer
and make me a perfect mask

maskmaker maskmaker
i'll bring my bandanas
if you've nothing to do
if you're going bananas
cover my face up so i can buy food
and a break from this solitude

for earloops
you can use hairbands
to hold it
as i sniffle and cough
a noseclip might
keep it from snagging
my stubble and sliding right off

maskmaker maskmaker
executive orders
have kept me all cooped up
alone in my quarters
the pantry is empty the larders are bare
so please make a mask i can wear

for papa
the family tartan
for mama
something flowery and bright
myself well i'd just be heartened
if i could buy groceries tonight

maskmaker maskmaker
make me a mask
stitch me a stitch
of cotton not bast
maskmaker maskmaker
if you're up to the task
oh make me a perfect mask

cf, for the youths
and see

trying not to go viral

oh yeah i might have caught something
spreading across the land
so you don't catch that something
i'm gonna wash my hands
i'm gonna wash my hands
i'm gonna wash my hands

if you pick up that something
while we all shelter in place
to better avoid contagion
try not to touch your face
try not to touch your face
try not to touch your face

and when you lather up the palm of your hands
please make sure thoroughly that you scrub each phylange
each phylange
each phylange!

oh yeah i might have caught something
spreading across the land
so you don't catch that something
please go and wash your hands
i'm gonna wash my hands
please go and wash your hands

and when i watch you in the bathroom with the soap
i tell you baby for a moment i feel hope
i feel hope
i feel hope!

as i cough up a droplet
no telling where it lands
the surest way to stop it
frequently wash your hands
i'm gonna wash my hands
i hope you wash your hands
i'm gonna wash my hands

cf, for the youths

warmbier's story

i have deleted
my draft tweets
mocking that gq writer's
terrible writing
by quoting it.

that terrible story
was very well reported,
despite its tragic prose.

they were too cruel
tho the writing was
so absurdly bad.

both sides, now, now

drawn from reddit & gamergate
united in the name of hate
they say they'll make our nation great
this nation just for some

who once were out just for the lulz
now seeking chances to crack skulls
& fantasizing racist culls
to great encomium

i've studied our political spectrum
grabbed my pen, guitar & plectrum
down w/false equivalencies
black lives matter don't compare w/nazis

w/rebel flags & swastikas
they're marching in Virginia 'cause
a golden age that never was
seems imminent to some

to meet the enemy unbowed
& shout i hate you right out loud
backed up by an angry crowd
chanting opprobrium

i've heard the false equivalencies
from npr & all the TVs
it's propaganda wall to wall
i don't trust anyone at all

& now the white supremacists
reviling "cultural marxists"
complain about their victims' fists
resisting in the scrum

& a fresh wave of violence
emboldened by the president's
willful false equivalence
has got me feeling glum

i've heard the false equivalencies
from npr & all the TVs
it's propaganda wall to wall
i don't trust anyone at all

from blood & soil to lügenpresse
the pageantry of storm & stress
they feel empowered now i guess
a taste of things to come

thought we'd finally heard the end
of blood libel & dolchstoßlegende
& everything that they portend
we still shall overcome

i've heard the false equivalencies
from npr & all the TVs
it's propaganda wall to wall
i don't trust anyone at all

i've studied our political spectrum
grabbed my pen, guitar & plectrum
down w/false equivalencies
antifa don't compare w/nazis

i've studied our political spectrum
grabbed my pen, guitar & plectrum
down w/false equivalencies
black lives matter don't compare w/nazis
__
cf.

xmas.sux.vol.9: slayin' at the one-horse show

find prior xmas suxs here, or browse them individually here.

50 ways to levy (give Greece a chance)

the problem is your middle class, said the elite
expecting to redeem their pensions, not be thrown out on the street
but with another round of loans and a bit more austerity
there must be 50 ways to levy the euros

we grow quite weary beating on dead Trojan horses
yet your ministers' grexit rhetoric finally forces
us to consider privatizing your public resources
there must be 50 ways to levy the euros
(50 ways to leave the EU)

renege on the loans, homes;
look 2 the BRICs quick;
slip off the leash, Greece,
get yourself free...
you restructure the debt yet?
no need to be coy, polloi
let 'em refinance, France
give Greece a chance.

they said, you show a great deal of temerity

accepting our investments and then threatening to flee

when all we want to do is help you to restore liquidity

there must be 50 ways to levy the euros

get back on rations, Athens
to reopen the banks, thanks
don't gotta be hard, Lagarde
those loans are ill-starred
we've come full circle, Merkel
don't mean to tease ya, Syriza
can't get blood from a husk, Tusk
the vig is too much

it is a shame that you elected all to shirk

your obligations to your creditors now please don't go berserk

just sit quietly and watch the shock doctrine do all the work

there must be 50 ways to levy the euros 

get back on rations, Athens
to reopen the banks, thanks
don't gotta be hard, Lagarde
those loans are ill-starred
we've come full circle, Merkel
don't mean to tease ya, Syriza
can't get blood from a husk, Tusk
the vig is too much

you restructure the debt yet?
no need to be coy, polloi
let 'em refinance, France
give Greece a chance.
renege on the loans homes;
look 2 the BRICs quick;
slip off the leash Greece,
get yourself free..

___
cf. 

volume nein: a visit from saint nobody

'twas nigh unto midsummer, and XMAS SUX volume IX
was just about the furthest thing from my mind
('tho' i do keep a list as i listen all year
to consult as XMAS-SUX-mixing season draws near),
when there arose unexpectedly a dreaded circumstance
i eventually noticed due to the silence of the fans.

no fans, no blinkenlights, no files, stunning:
the RAID had turned off when it ought to be running!

i pressed the button and waited, reconnected the plug,
sprang to the netgear user forums with a bit of a shrug
where i described the issue and scanned through the posts
'til i found something close and tried what was proposed;
tried over and over, all apparently in vain:
yet 'twas running just fine when i came home the next day!?

i browsed more in the forum, used software to scry,
found no sure diagnosis, detected nothing awry.
i turned it off and back on, moved some files around;
it worked several days more before it went down.
then i repeated the foregoing, vacuumed the case,
tried some percussive maintenance: each effort a waste.

what's all this to me, why do i give a damn
about your problems with some computer acronym?
you may ask, having parsed all the torturous meter
dear reader, o'er line after line only to see there's
so far left to go. it's because you've been picked
(or shoulda or woulda been) to get an XMAS SUX disk
and, so, now may harbor some slight expectation
as to your part in my ghoulish yule observation.

your role here is vital: to receive and listen loud!
but all there are to hear, these past editions on the cloud:

now, "xmas sux"! [2006]

now, "christmas is capitulation"! [2007]

now, "hang a red star on that tree"! [2008]

now, "untitled"! [2009]

on, "i want my tuppence back"! [2011]

on, "oh come on, ye faithful"! [2013]

on, "gold frankenstein smurph"! [2012]

on, "tender and biled"! [2010]

alas, 'tis my duty to report with disappointment sincere
there will be no new edition of XMAS SUX this year.

that Redundant Array of Inexpensive Disks
is where the bulk of my data exists:
an immense amount of data encoded as .mp3s
meta-reified as my vast eclectic music library,
with other vital classes of data, magnetically arrayed
'cross all the platters of my erstwhile terabyte RAID.

as far as i know the files and songs remain sound,
and my technical expert has since come around;
his prognosis is that it ought to work just fine
once i buy and replace the unit's power supply
(the electronics required imply a steep learning curve,
an ascent i'll attempt when i've got the time and the nerve).
'tis (kinda low) on my list of things to do,
but this is also to say that, if that be true,
then XMAS SUX vol. IX might suffer only delay:
it could be an XMAS SUX st. patrick's day!

either way, i wish you a pleasant december,
joy when you can find it, and goodwill wherever.
and, finally, here, ere i run out of lines
great "bah, humbug!" to each, and, to all . . . better rhymes.

through an onion, darkly

i told you once about Gill and Ghafoor
who despaired of finding remedy in court.

well, five Michigan plaintiffs last week
filed for declaratory and injunctive relief.

fixing the whole constitution,
trying to catch an out-boud flight yeah.
pulling up a congressman's pants!

specifically, the plaintiffs request a declaratory judgment that the "policies, practices and customs" of the defendant agencies' and offices' coordinated watch list programs "violate the Fifth Amendment" and the Administrative Procedure Act, and an injunction requiring the defendant agencies and offices "to remedy the constitutional and statutory defects identified," remove plaintiffs from any list impeding free travel, and implement a legal mechanism for notice and opportunity for watchlisted individuals to contest. also attorney fees, costs, litigation expenses and such further "just and proper" relief as the court may be pleased to dispense.

which agencies and offices, you ask; why, the Attorney General of the United States, the Commissioner of CBP, the Administrator of TSA, and the Directors of FBI, TSC, NCC, DHS, and ICE.

sweet dreams.

(cf.)

a one

a winter's day in a frigid polar vortex
i stare at the screen
troubleshooting windows or lying on my back
consuming content idly on my mac

i am a one
i am a zero!

i have my apps, a smart phone to inform me
i know where the deals are!
i've no newspaper subscription, no landline ties me down
i'll rent a bike and drink microbrews downtown.

i am a one
i am a zero!

we've NPR to talk about together
but nothing else in common
your fav'rite band sucks! but that's okay with me
if you weren't square i wouldn't be edgy

i am a one
i am a zero!

and a one's pretty sure
and a zero doesn't count

(cf.)

silence and voice

some say the world will end in silence
some say in voice.
an impending sense of oppressive violence
presses me to favor silence.
but if a diff'rent agent destroys,
i've heard sufficient logorrhea
to ken for ending a world voice
also would be a
decent choice.



(cf.)

quis custodiet quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

i'm looking over
the oversight oversights
overlook'd before!

some of the Sleeper's other stuff

[Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!]

On the countertop next to the fryer in the kitchen of his house in R'lyeh, the calimari of Cthulhu in the colander of Cthulhu cool, steaming.

Sustaining the objection of opposing counsel, the magistrate of the high court of R'lyeh ordered the colloquy of Cthulhu struck from the record.

In the gastrointestinal surgical suite of Merciless Memorial Hospital in R'lyeh, while he was under general anesthetic, the colostomy of Cthulhu was performed.

In individual mylar sleeves and hanging files on the shelves of the bedroom in his house in R'lyeh, the comic book collection of Cthulhu is stored, appreciating.

A popular entree on the menu at five-star rated House of R'lyeh (conveniently located near the convention center, right downtown!) the kohlrabi curry -- served on a bed of fresh kale -- of Cthulhu showcases the chef's exciting and innovative Elder Gods-South Pacific-Creole fusion cuisine which promises to take the epicurean community by storm, while the mini-calzones of Cthulhu, to tease the palate of the less-adventurous diner with a sample of this unique fusion, can be found among more traditional appetizers.

At the tenure committee meeting of the department of history at the University of R'lyeh's College of Cthulhu, the colleagues of Cthulhu decline to extend his tenure in favor of assigning his classes to two freshly-minted associate professors and an adjunct for a fraction of the cost.

The hateful dance of lurid witchlight and lightning reflects tumultuously down limitless non-Euclidian avenues of light as one gazes through the cyclopean kaleidoscope of Cthulhu while in the distance the calliope of Cthulhu maddeningly shrieks and pipes.

Drink E-Bola Cola® -- "The Cola of Cthulhu"!

see also.

the bottle

See that tote bag over there by the chair?
You know it used to be a bottle.

And see that big sack fully packed with bric-a-brac,
sure 'nuff used to be a bottle.

And don't you think that it's fine
that time after time we're reusing the bottle?

Do you see that fleece hat on that hip cat?
That too used to be a bottle.

Much more than an idle rumor, if its post-consumer
probably used to be a bottle.

If you please, avoid bag fees with one of these

that used to be a bottle.

And don't you think that it's fine,
and well past time for reusing bottles.

Don't you think it's 'bout time,
that we finally tried recycling all the bottles.

(With apologies to Mr. Scott-Heron, whose original song* was quite a bit more serious than this.)

10.

out, shooting. But the hole a spider relatively dejected.
Mána the American spider hole grab prey animals out
on Navajo women have her shove scarce
enough to hold a crouch
You'll be bummin', for cigarettes must leave in the hole

No trap door was screaming in a hole somewhere to represent the spider hole,
if you do that, hide out shooting and hole in charge, him

She takes mirror down
into the spider side of small cornstalk. shivering
'Cause you'll be.

yea

ask and ye shall get,
but first, be quiet.

determine necessity
without willing then
will concisely, or

do not ask: ye shall
take what ye get.

A Spy on the Street Where You Live, pt. 3

But what can I say . . . to make it clear? How can I say that to her, when the groveling started sixteen years ago—or thirty two, if my stars really do point at her—was ineffective then, and has, it would seem, continued, to resurface now? How can I say that, which every brokenhearted singer has ever sung, that every adult has recognized for the screen-kiss kitsch it is, as a vehicle for commercial culture and greater need, to this stranger whose company I crave with a thirst I’d say anything to slake? Never trust a junkie or a crooner: My mama done told me, they’ll both do anything for another hit.

And, how, after all, if she won’t return my calls, who gave up writing weeks ago, who won’t be getting in touch, nor speak to me at all? If the sun refused to shine, perhaps she would return my calls; or if the moon plunged into the sea, perhaps she would call me. Of course, if that happened, phone service would likely be adversely impacted, not to mention low-lying coastal areas, and we, refugees, going nowhere.

If it were but a matter of faith,
if it were measured in petitions and prayer . . .
but it is not, nor do I care.

Barring the fools’ unforgivable sin of rushing in and talking out loud; even choosing not to tell her about it, how can I even think I crave such things, and continue to think of myself as a person? No: Must struggle, must ramble on; must . . . resist . . . compulsive . . . romantic . . . hyperbole.

A Spy on the Street Where You Live, pt. 2

And there’s Lerner and Lowe’s Fair Lady, herself also a figment from Ovid as Pygmalion’s Galatea, but, back then, she didn’t have a street, just the pedestal.

The audience of the modern musical, for dramatic development, had to be shown that Eliza Doolittle was not only sophisticated in ladylike civilized artifice, but also filled with the feminine graces known to prompt poets’ odes and lovers’ praises, through the introduction of a rival suitor to the Professor’s as yet unspoken devotion.

Rival suitor sues to see her, and succeeding, has found a reason to sing of enchantment pouring out of every door, has cause for singin’ in the rain, and dancing in the street.

People stop and stare; they don’t bother me,
For there’s no where else on Earth that I would rather be.
Let the time go by, I won’t care if I can be here on the street where you live!

This is before the rain, of course. Properly validated, Liza falls for the Prof.

Excised from the arc of plot, this recorded and rerecorded song is simply everyman’s love song. Again, the lyric is not about the beloved, whose presence merely imbues the setting, but a report on the state of mind and heart of, or simply part and parcel of the art of, the singer. As always, at first, I’ve just seen a face and can’t forget the time or place of that first sight. Then, with or without overtures or encouragement, merely because I want to hold your hand and can’t stop my brain, or maybe because I’ve been watching . . . every breath you take, the residence of the beloved is discovered. Then the wooing, the suiting starts, or the stalking—the difference lies in her consent—with the overpowering feeling that any second you may suddenly appear.