Gaps

I see the blonde accoutrements in the Gucci handbag
The gag of onlookers hooked on the beaut
She rummages for the right makeup combination
To hide the mistakes she cannot refute

Guns are in place with fingers itching
Protect the protected protecting the protectors
Victimizing the victims of victimizers victimizing
Shoot first and let history be written by the victors

My aunt has gout from trying to stay still
Her pills mark out the passing of the day
The TV blinks slowly 'til the gap of the ad breaks
As she wonders when she will walk away

His pinstripe garments are pressed to straightness
Delineating the shape of a man
But faces are gaping staring at nothing
Illuminated by no one’s plan

The makeup finished, her eyes are complete
She watches the city through the cloudy window
The train track gaps rap the measured beats
That slow when we slow
That slow when we slow.

Borat in San Jose?

This person on Craigslist must have seen the new Borat movie. I don't know what tells me that, though...

If life is too exciting...

... perhaps you need more dull.

Monday Distraction

Here's a subversive little flash game where you shoot a kitten out of a cannon and try to see how far you can make it go. Part physics and part perversion, it does make for a bit of an addictive diversion...

You Know You're in Texas When...

What can I say? I'm totally speechless - and it's even on a Japanese car! Must be one of them left wing GOP party members...

An Australian Bloke's Love Poem

Here's something straight from the heart of the Southern Hemisphere that hits the mark in many ways. Thanks to DD for thinking of me when she read it...

Of course I love ya darling
You're a bloody top notch bird
And when I say you're gorgeous
I mean every single word
So ya bum is on the big side
I don't mind a bit of flab
It means that when I'm ready
There's somethin there to grab
So your belly isn't flat no more
I tell ya, I don't care
So long as when I cuddle ya
I can get my arms round there
No sheila who is your age
Has nice round perky breasts
They just gave in to gravity
But I know ya did ya best
I'm tellin ya the truth now
I never tell ya lies
I think its very sexy
That you've got dimples on ya thighs
I swear on me nanna's grave now
The moment that we met
I thought you was as good as
I was ever gonna get
No matter wot you look like
I'll always love ya dear
Now shut up while the footy's on
And fetch another beer.

Death of a President

Since I've been in a media vacuum lately, I didn't know about this mockumentary, Death of a President, that premiered at the Toronto film festival and then screened on British TV on October 9th. It depicts the assasination of Dubya in 2007 in Chicago and the ensuing events given that scenario. It's generated enough controversy that two out of three of the largest theater chains have banned it. To get an idea of the style of the film, here is a 10 minute clip including the assasination scene.

Although condemned by many Americans as" shocking", "disturbing" and "irresponsible", the head of More4, the network that originally screened the film on British TV stated on bbc.co.uk: "I'm sure that there will be people who will be upset by it but when you watch it you realise what a sophisticated piece of work it is... It's not sensationalist or simplistic but a very thought-provoking, powerful drama. I hope people will see that the intention behind it is good."

Newmarket Films, the distribution company attempting to convince theaters to show the film in the US hopes to have some takers by smaller theater chains to make the release date of October 27th. Richard Abramowitz, who is consulting with Newmarket on the film’s distribution, said “Death of a President” has been booked into more than 100 venues and he expects that number to rise as he expands his sales effort into other regions.

Let's hope that this piece of entertainment does not become the focus of a political agenda or censorship.

Attack of the Killa Mike

Late night sessions in P-slim's garage abetted in the background by the elusive BuggaSG brought forth a monster rap which will be unleashed on an unsuspecting populace. The killa mike featured prominantly in the creation process, and we had trouble controlling it. BuggaSG, the main MC, busted some rhymes to define the spine of the lyrical beast, and yours truly contributed a verbal entree to the hip hop feast.

A sample of the monster rap:

To bug or not to bug
Don't even try to aks me
My lyrics are so money
The Feds just wanna tax me
I'm worthy
To bug you all the time
So say, "Crazy mutha bugga!"
When you hear my rhyme...

Here is the latest mix of the beast from monster producer, P-slim.

This Child of NineEleven

Born with the breaking of metal and glass,
I passed through an orifice like a TV screen
Into the bright sheen of a media campaign
Red white and blue red white and blue
As I tumbled to the checkerboard floor in the hospital
Where spin doctors picked me up and cooed
“The truth. The truth. The truth,” they said,
“Is that we love you, our sweet consumer.”

Rumor has it that my garden is full of terror plots
Tilled by nimble fingers that linger over vulnerable power plants
And spots where scant lines of defense are furrowed in dry soil.
Hot days are spent rubbing oil beneath straw hats buzzed by military flybys
Spies are everywhere
Terror is everywhere
White convolvulus blooms, weaving its way into desert sands
Abrams are jammed in a bad gag commute
Hands, tied by ticker tape news,
Outline the rise (and fall) of the price of crude,
Imply democracy while others pay our rent.
Let’s portray sporadic resistance
(Turn your head and cough)
Then in the distance the bombs go off
And everyone bows down to our (fallen) monument.

(Cue music)

Five years on with my umbilical still attached
I come back to the TV for warmth
Your glow of digital manipulation
Mama mama mama
Don’t abandon this child
Stay with me stay with me stay with me
Keep me awake, keep me abreast
With news breaks and shakes of paranoia
Amid earthquakes and floods and the falling stars
Keep me safe in my shell
Keep me safe in my shell
Keep me safe in my shell.

The Wake Up

Gotta get down these moments of clarity
These pieces of me on the greasy cloth seats
The train riders half asleep
Despite electronic beeps and jerks of electricity
Thirty years of diseases and dirt
Left by countless soles rubbing the rug under their feet
Thrive with each minute of human humidity.

The sycophantic backs that circle
The sycophantic backs that stare
Swing their slow legs
Dressed in tidy threads
Business threads still absent of sweat
Shiny with iron marks
Dull in the daylight of the clouded windows

The gray sky turns and stays away
From the lengths of cars speeding towards the hill
The tunnel beckoning suggestively

I have ruminated about life
Over the click clack of tracks
Fluoresced until my eyes watered
Begging for sleep until my head waggled
Watching the line of people wander towards the leftover empty spaces
The fat, the thinning, the old, the aging
Staging their way through measured spans of time
Transitioning through the double-doors to the next car to find a seat
Forgetting their daily decay until they are reminded.

This morning I watch their groggy thoughts stumble and slip
After toothbrush automation
As a prelude to sunglasses half-sleep shaken open by the ride
Their demands are just keys to be pushed repeatedly
Pressed by my fingers in their delivery

Gotta get down these moments of clarity
These pieces of me
Each with a feeling and a memory
Needling nerve endings like a ringing phone
Each alone, but together a symphony.

Today I Threw You Away

In the papers and letters
The stacks of square notes you scrawled
The physics books, the math books,
The dated pamphlets in triplicate,
From the hard candies to the soft socks
I hauled you to the dumpster and threw you away.

Today I coughed what was left of your dust
And sneezed it out into your cave
The white walls your pre-grave
Silent from countless clicks and stares
Your folded chair cold
Despite the hours you played freecell

Today I threw out your old life
Your first wife, your first son
Paid one of your parking tickets
Chucked your debris:
The one-armed reading glasses
The 1945 yearbook
The broken ukulele

I squeezed you out
I wrung you out
I washed and wrapped you
And put you in a box.
I threw you away.

I crushed what was left of you,
Crumpled what was left
Smashed and folded and shredded
Your post partum remains.
I destroyed what was left of your chains,

And today
You are free to go.

Bush on Borders

A little immigration humor for you since the subject could use some about now...

Minimalist Laughs

I never saw Brokeback Mountain...

..And now I don't have to because the bunnies have done a 30 second summary for those of us with short attention spans...

I also like their summary of Pulp Fiction...

Calling all Radioheads

P-Slim is the man.

How he was able to secure a pair of tickets to an upcoming Radiohead concert, I have no idea. Tickets went on sale at 10am. By 10:05 they were all gone...

Discover Your Music's Genome

My wife fowarded me this link which allows people to put in their favorite songs and then find music which is similar in genre. Then it plays the music in sequence like a CD. So far the result is pretty bloody entertaining...

You're Such a Pig

Draw a pig and you'll be told what kind of person you are...

What Song was #1 When You Were Born?

Someone with a great deal of time on his hands put together this website. It's worth a look...

Saturday Morning Nostalgia

I got into a discussion with my co-workers today about Sid and Marty Krofft, the creator of many a memorable Saturday morning kids' show such as: H.R. Pufnstuf, Sigmund and the Sea Monster, and the Land of the Lost. These titles bring back vivid childhood memories of me sitting in front of the black and white TV with a bowl of cheerios and being entertained and confused by the Krofft Supershow with such memorable serials such as Electrawoman and Dynagirl, Wonderbug and the Lost Saucer with Ruth Buzzi and Jim Neighbors (of Gomer Pyle fame at the time before we found out about his "friendship" with Rock Hudson). I even remember going to see the HR Pufnstuf movie at the Seaview Twin theatre in Pacifica.

Those were such innocent days. I felt a pang of nostalgia looking through this website that reminded me of the hours I spent glued to the tube. You can click on the titles of these great shows to see the creativity it took to entertain the children of the 70s...

Also in my searches, I found that they are remaking Land of the Lost into a feature film starring Will Ferrell. Since the original show was the essence of camp, I hope they still carry that through to the production as it is the main reason I would ever part with the money to see it.

ritualized

i placed my trust in her
my thrust in her
her bust bronzed and unforgiving
she stares at my profile
prefering plato to plotinus

her divinity was just a phase
assigned by guilty assignations
motivations to repair
the heat she dissipated
into the dusty books she preferred over me

the bird of madness flaps wet wings
and sings in the cloudy mirror
shower steam swirls like fog
the streams of blood left to memory
drained into pipes and smoked before dawn

with her gone i preserved what i could
and now she is good for ritual