tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10227670236073171622024-03-14T00:48:29.898-07:00Now that the revolution has begun... Craig ShayThe Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1022767023607317162.post-91515035932096949682011-12-03T10:04:00.002-08:002012-04-08T04:41:59.878-07:00<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Galloping Horses</strong></span><br />
<br />
Dehumanized,<br />
riding<br />
towards<br />
disaster.<br />
<br />
Nature,<br />
no longer<br />
a comrade.<br />
<br />
Mankind,<br />
no longer<br />
astonished.<br />
<br />
Luminosity rests,<br />
a sickly grandfather,<br />
drinking down his warehouse<br />
of history –<br />
taking a nightly stroll<br />
through half-deserted streets.<br />
<br />
The horses have been<br />
unleashed,<br />
they are kicking up dirt<br />
in the dead land.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Now that the Revolution has begun</strong></span><br />
<br />
Material things<br />
lose<br />
definition –<br />
<br />
Our eyes,<br />
indefinitely hold<br />
back<br />
fear and trembling –<br />
<br />
Bludgeoned<br />
into assimilating<br />
with consumer<br />
culture –<br />
though disinterested in the<br />
charade of<br />
selling one’s soul<br />
for wireless, high speed<br />
illusions –<br />
<br />
While the promise<br />
of enterprise<br />
mystifies us<br />
and forces<br />
participating<br />
in the madness<br />
of serial murder.<br />
<br />
It is belief in<br />
the fraud<br />
of these illusions<br />
which destroy us –<br />
<br />
We live in an age<br />
where everything<br />
we’re told<br />
is a blatant lie.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">No Future</span></strong><br />
<br />
The future <br />
is already on fire –<br />
<br />
Though<br />
we tell ourselves<br />
it is just a dream –<br />
<br />
We fall back asleep,<br />
without questioning<br />
or figuring out<br />
<br />
why the fire <br />
is spreading <br />
<br />
or why the sirens<br />
will never stop <br />
<br />
and that pretty soon<br />
there will be<br />
<br />
no more people<br />
and no more beds.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Waking the Dead in the Land of Make-Believe</span></strong><br />
<br />
I am turning a concept of reality over in my mind.<br />
Dragging it blindfolded through dead streets, <br />
dissolving it in puddles of blood<br />
and leaving it out in the rain.<br />
<br />
I am lighting it on fire, <br />
then saying a prayer to heal it.<br />
I am giving it away to the homeless,<br />
then grieving in the darkness for hours. <br />
<br />
It is a lonely concept, this reality.<br />
I am watching it through the keyhole of a church door.<br />
I am looking through a spyglass atop a skyscraper.<br />
Smoke rises from its breath,<br />
and it sounds like the revving engine of a wrecked car.<br />
<br />
Smoke curls appear around it, like the tail of a dragon.<br />
It is everywhere, and inside of everything.<br />
It is everything I am at my core and the absence of what I am.<br />
It is immeasurable and microscopic.<br />
It is every drop of rainfall over the ocean –<br />
It is a pledge of freedom on a despondent planet. <br />
<br />
It is living in the brains of the people of my town.<br />
Breathing like a prisoner held quietly at gunpoint. <br />
It is crying so loud, I cannot understand what it is trying to say.<br />
It is the grotesquery of this modernized world. <br />
<br />
It becomes a flock of white birds and then a giant albatross,<br />
as it glides overhead –<br />
Its body has changed so many times.<br />
It splits and duplicates itself.<br />
It even disappears for a time<br />
and reemerges from the darkness as a billion drops<br />
of October rain.<br />
<br />
It is unexplained and mysterious,<br />
the last man who tried to solve its riddle<br />
lost his mind and became a shepherd. <br />
<br />
It is in that body, pirouetting on the tightrope<br />
over the edge of civilization.<br />
It is in the oil soaked banknotes <br />
<br />
It is in the gaze of women in dark sunglasses,<br />
intensely reading, while curling her hair between her fingers.<br />
<br />
It is turning itself around to face us,<br />
becoming more and more like us,<br />
opening a can of worms and seeing it there<br />
inheriting our thoughts and emotions,<br />
replicating our ideas and imagination.<br />
<br />
It is leaving the school of wisdom <br />
and setting the past on fire.<br />
It is spreading out its vampire wings, <br />
shedding its suit and tie<br />
and flooding through the opened gate of the underworld. <br />
<br />
It is in the condemned warehouses of time,<br />
where heretics are placed to wander the streets after a nuclear holocaust. <br />
<br />
It is the cracked hands of a pianist, a writer, or a painter<br />
who remains, trembling beside the tomb of a pharaoh.<br />
<br />
It is the stirring of life, in a reality upside down.<br />
It has been diagnosed schizophrenic.<br />
It is in no man’s land,<br />
collecting shoes and dog tags of the dead.<br />
Walking through the kingdom of creation completely disoriented.<br />
<br />
It is a winter long bout of delirium. <br />
It is a lifelong battle of xenophobia.<br />
<br />
It is the energy of light, traveling across the cosmos.<br />
It is a wink of the eye,<br />
it is in piercing cry of the lunatic <br />
as he wakes the dead in a land of make-believe.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Chain Gang</strong></span><br />
<br />
Let down<br />
that curtain, <br />
which shrouds<br />
reality –<br />
Reveal<br />
these chains<br />
around our<br />
heads,<br />
feet,<br />
and wrists –<br />
We are<br />
incarcerated here,<br />
in comfortable<br />
cages,<br />
which lull us<br />
passively<br />
into a state<br />
of acquiescence –<br />
Why is it<br />
that the circus<br />
distracts us so?<br />
Why is one’s soul<br />
exchanged<br />
for handfuls of ash?<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Song for the Postmodern Void </span></strong><br />
<br />
I am playing possum,<br />
indoctrinated by shareholders,<br />
and corporate elite,<br />
whose aim is to devour my soul.<br />
<br />
I am alien to this body;<br />
this fleshy machine of wilderness.<br />
<br />
I serve, as a cog in their bomb,<br />
which aims to destroy everything alive.<br />
<br />
Humanity has adopted<br />
this system of order<br />
and exploitation,<br />
which serves to maintain<br />
the illusions it creates.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Cognitive Dissonance</strong></span><br />
<br />
There are nights<br />
I almost forget<br />
theses shackles<br />
on my hands and feet.<br />
I almost feel free –<br />
Then I remember<br />
the streets are still on fire<br />
and there are no firemen.<br />
I watch years pass<br />
into madness,<br />
as the fires rage to destroy.<br />
No one talks about the rising smoke clouds<br />
engulfing the sky and blotting out the sun.<br />
No one is ready to confront the avalanche<br />
of violence and fear.<br />
No one believes it is going to destroy us.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Death Waltz</strong></span><br />
<br />
We are waltzing instep to a cold wind, <br />
blowing us toward extinction.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, in the glow of computer screens,<br />
while specters haunt our American Dream.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, because we support illegal wars every day, <br />
with our tax money and by pretending they don’t exist.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, while innocent civilians submit <br />
to the brute force of our military.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing through shopping malls, <br />
while foreign cities are bombed to ash.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing quietly, <br />
unaware that our government,<br />
which preaches freedom and equality, <br />
is the world’s greatest purveyor of violence.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, with our hands held <br />
tightly over our mouths. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing, because the American Dream<br />
is really the coma of consent.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing through massively corrupt systems<br />
of monopolies and oligarchies. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing through decades, <br />
suspended in consumer hypnosis.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing up to voting booths,<br />
believing lies, fed to us by puppets. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing, while a handful of corporations <br />
control the music of the dance.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, while our media provides <br />
the chanting drone of obedience.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, because denial reigns, <br />
like a pistol, butting everyone over the head.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing through our empire of illusion, <br />
too petrified to act out against it.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing, while waves of false history <br />
knock us back into the Middle Ages.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing as serfs and peasants, <br />
on the manors of dark lords. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing on vast plantations, <br />
working for ruthless masters and demonic butchers. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing, like zombies down dead-end streets <br />
with faded promises tattooed to our eyelids.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing through a luxurious ballroom,<br />
without realizing we're on a sinking ship. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing, though the glass ceiling is caving in,<br />
and water is slowly rising around us. <br />
<br />
We are waltzing, without realizing that we are dancing,<br />
with entities of death and annihilation.<br />
<br />
We are waltzing with blindfolds on,<br />
oblivious to the emergency,<br />
with nothing but apathy in our souls.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Premonitions of Fascist U.S.A.</strong></span><br />
<br />
The black out<br />
has begun.<br />
<br />
The public, <br />
never wonders<br />
<br />
though they surrender<br />
each day<br />
little by little<br />
<br />
to a silent <br />
totalitarian reign<br />
<br />
of fascist USA –<br />
<br />
Submitting<br />
to brute force<br />
and corporate interests,<br />
<br />
to shareholders <br />
and moguls, <br />
<br />
who force us <br />
into quiet obedience –<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Witnesses</span></strong><br />
<br />
We are witnesses to the domestic terror ensued by television. <br />
We are witnesses to the ignorance of our news media to report the truth.<br />
We are witnesses to the destruction of our basic civil liberties.<br />
We are witnesses to the corporate takeover of our lives.<br />
We are witnesses to a conformity, which has stripped away the roots of democracy.<br />
We are witnesses to the abolition of privacy in the name of Counter Terrorism. <br />
We are witnesses to the hijacking of our government by warmongers.<br />
We are witnesses to a foreign policy, which has everything to do with spreading corruption.<br />
We are witnesses to the torture and violations committed by our government. <br />
We are witnesses to the bailouts of bankers who continue to usurp the Free Market. <br />
We are witnesses to the financial destruction and suffering of domestic citizens.<br />
We are witnesses to a New World Order’s global dominance and opponent’s submission.<br />
We are witnesses to the Ruling Class, which continues to profit off our blindness. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Quiet Bones</strong></span><br />
<br />
Will passion continue<br />
to be traded <br />
for a cozy end?<br />
<br />
Caged in relaxing suites <br />
of ether <br />
which lull us, <br />
passively into the land of the dead.<br />
<br />
We glance back on the world<br />
recognizing all that was transparent –<br />
<br />
We vanish from this world<br />
letting our quiet bones listen and hear<br />
the drone of electricity. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>I am the Gutter</strong></span><br />
<br />
I am the gutter of elegies,<br />
reading the last rights <br />
to a dying planet.<br />
<br />
I am a starving, homeless<br />
subway musician<br />
singing about a radiant future.<br />
<br />
I am the gutter of fossil fuels,<br />
swimming in a great black sea <br />
of misrepresentation.<br />
<br />
I am the gutter of corporations,<br />
giving away my best years,<br />
to a humanity hating enterprise.<br />
<br />
I am the gutter of catastrophes,<br />
television composes<br />
most of my cultureless identity.<br />
<br />
I am the gutter of deficiency,<br />
raised in a boomtown <br />
of arsenic and cancer.<br />
<br />
I am the toxic minded, low-test scorer,<br />
who grew up drinking <br />
contaminated groundwater. <br />
<br />
I am the gutter of illusions,<br />
observing the demise of rationality,<br />
while human life evaporates,<br />
sprayed with insecticides.<br />
<br />
I am the gutter of stock quotes,<br />
of Frankenstein soldiers –<br />
of systematic failures<br />
and greenhouse gases. <br />
<br />
I am the gutter of the future,<br />
drowning in debt, <br />
singing to the walls<br />
of a glass prison.<br />
<br />
I am the gutter of the disenfranchised,<br />
sawing at the invisible chains which keep me bound<br />
and nailed in a cemetery of complicity. <br />
<br />
I am the gutter, retaining dead leaves of summer,<br />
holding them deep within my lungs until they suffocate me.<br />
<br />
There’s a gutter wind blowing,<br />
as a cavalry of goblins spring up from the sewer.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Outside Edward Hopper’s New York Office</strong></span><br />
<br />
It is a neutralizing void,<br />
outside the window that spooks me.<br />
<br />
It lies there, <br />
inside the emptiness <br />
of cracked sidewalks <br />
<br />
Where shadows scream,<br />
like an animal, <br />
born with its umbilical chord<br />
tied around its neck.<br />
<br />
It is on these streets <br />
where one feels alienated, <br />
into a vortex of bones.<br />
<br />
This city is not alive,<br />
but a glass dungeon of the mind.<br />
<br />
I hear it in the sound<br />
of unthinking people, <br />
where consciousness has been severed –<br />
<br />
I see it on faces, <br />
grieving this unknowable loss,<br />
a spiritual castration –<br />
<br />
Tonight there will be a florescent glow<br />
hovering above buildings –<br />
<br />
As subjugated masses, align themselves<br />
and bend over for the faceless machine. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Wall Street</strong></span><br />
<br />
We make camp in a<br />
deserted part of town<br />
where pockmarked buildings<br />
stand empty and unrecognizable.<br />
<br />
We search the ruins<br />
for a sign of life,<br />
but nothing is found.<br />
<br />
At dusk, a ragged man <br />
appears on horseback.<br />
<br />
He’s dressed like a general,<br />
from a war that ended<br />
decades ago.<br />
<br />
The horse he is riding<br />
looks like a marble statue,<br />
until it starts to urinate<br />
in our drinking trough.<br />
<br />
The man stares at us<br />
through eyes that have seen <br />
an apocalypse in full bloom.<br />
<br />
He tells us<br />
we look to him<br />
like a troupe of amateur<br />
carnival performers,<br />
wandering around<br />
on a makeshift stage.<br />
<br />
He tells us the building<br />
we are using as a latrine<br />
used to be the epicenter<br />
of western finances.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Blueprints for a New Imagination</strong></span><br />
<br />
In a flash, it came<br />
with thunderclaps and rain,<br />
the birth of a new imagination.<br />
<br />
A night of darkness<br />
becomes engulfed by vision.<br />
<br />
In the silence of light<br />
we’re given eyes of clarity.<br />
<br />
Everything appears as it is,<br />
upside down, and backwards.<br />
<br />
A necessary angle returns,<br />
to light the fire, which burns away <br />
the constraints of dead reality.<br />
<br />
A hell of repression extinguished,<br />
the silence shattered<br />
by the sound of humanity<br />
kicking through its coffin door.The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com1