Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Sorry: Can't Go With (Busy Getting Things Done)

So where were we? Oh yes, "beliefs", in a world that's here for the living.

Going through life like a gullible child, returning again and again to the trickster who snatches a coin from your ear, until you start bringing him (or her, he's increasingly a she) your own cash to see how it's done, only to find they don't return it. "Nuh uh", they say when you ask for it back, looking smug at having got you again - surprise! - so your dumb ass trundles off to find more, maybe bringing a friend along next time to go "Ooh".

Suckers. Rubes. Really, that's what you are. There's no honor amongst thieves - that's what you ought to be texting.

But, unfortunately, the practical things can't make a deep enough impression in your head - at least, not enough to make it down to your thumbs anyway.

(I'm a two-finger typist myself. Duh.)

Today's great "artists" are pretty much all propagandists - how's that for a kick in the head? They promised us Burning Men and all we got is a bunch of old embers, smoldering with the extinguished flames of the '60s.

These fools can't provide beauty for all the money in the world, determined as they are to parade their ancient "ideas" - if you can call them that - cribbed from Lenin and Marx (or "marks"). It's gotten so bad, pretty soon, we'll be signing I.O.U.s with an "X" - which will stand for Malcolm, not you.

And I don't mean Malcolm Little either, but some other, scary black not-your-brother, who's still very-much alive - and living in run-down splendor right down the street - and who'll kick your ass, while laughing at you, for having the temerity to think getting what's yours back is the point. Shit, getting what's he can is the point, and now he's got yours, too. Fool. Your stupid ass wanted to "help".

He'll have his whores - Nancy, Shirley, Oprah - and what you got? Nothin' - because you were stupid enough to listen to the stupid bitches and think they were your friends in the first place - but they could give a fuck about you.

Ain't they sweeet? No, loser: ain't you sweet? Piece of candy for the baby? I don't think so.

Sleight of hand, bait-and-switch - that's all that's presented now - and badly. That's all you get. Maybe all you deserve.

Like I said, you're children, so you can't see the moves, because experienced hands are always a blur - usually headed in the direction of your pocket - while clinging tightly to what they've got and, much more, determined to keep it. If you're one of us, I think you'd better have a gun handy: you're gonna need it now. Sorry.

A lot of damage can be done in four years. Hell, it's been only 8 months since the knock-knocks danced in the street, celebrating their new (greatest? latest?) "messiah", and, already, the pillars of society are shaking like it's 9/11 all over again.

Sure, we got Van "Basketball" Jones but he ain't "The One", and who knows if you losers will tire of the game before the score becomes too lopsided? Shit, you already gave the "players" too many unearned free throws (but, thankfully, not a home court advantage) and anyone dumb enough to let that happen is bound to be a little demoralized.

Maybe even a lot.


Despite the cigarettes (or maybe because of 'em) I don't tire and part of my job as head cheer leader is to provide a beacon for new recruits whether anyone can see me or not.

I wonder if they can sometimes.

Don't you worry: y'all rotate for now, I'll find more back-up.

I'm not looking for people mesmerized by flashing lights, but those who feel most comfortable in the dark, standing watch, waiting for the sunshine. And I mean real sunshine, not the promise of (Ah, see? Gotcha).

People who still remember The Greatest Generation's advice and realize, if this is the shit they had to get through, then most of them couldn't have been too stupid after all.

(We'll talk about all that "God" shit later,...I mean, really.)

Our ancestors, too, risked losing the whole thing, but never who they were as Americans in the bargain.

Somehow, that didn't get passed down too well (your wannabe hippie parents were good to you but not good for you) so who got lost, stupidly trying to "find yourself", listening to charlatans leading you astray by pointing away from what works and telling you to "Be Here Now". And you did it! (Yes, that act of idiocy still startles me.) You big dummies, this ain't India, and you don't need to go to know. Crazy that is. I've already dropped acid: unless it don't (which is tragic) it lasts eight hours and you're back. Big deal.

And, having always preferred Stars and Stripes, I could never be a huge fan of paisley anyway - and, especially, not in my mind.

So what are you gonna do now, Woodstock Nation?

You convinced one black guy to wrap a rag around his head and destroy the Star Spangled Banner, and now you've got another one going for the meat.

I swear, you idiots did seem happiest when partying in mud of your own making.

"It's a free show!" you cry, when, truth be told, the (community) organizers merely get all the money they could carry and leave your silly asses there with the musicians who keep playing because A) it's a(nother) distraction and B) they feel sorry for you.

But don't you remember: they always arrive and leave by helicopter. Woodstock, anyone?

Y'all will never learn. Not even after Altamont.

So where were we? Oh yes, "beliefs", in a world that's here for the living. You know, the folks who are so smart they'd never accept an invitation to a seminar about escaping society or being taught how to breathe.

Of course, you can't count yourselves amongst that group, my friends.

Nobody's fooled by you anymore:

It's almost 2010 and you've been chasing The Grateful Dead.


  1. At the risk of sounding like I'm inappropriately pushing my band's music, let me express my complete agreement with the above sentiment. You'd think that Seattle would be a great locale for an individualistic rock entity, but it turns out that a collectivist/post-hippie/K Records/slacker aesthetic is the prevailing taste of the day.

    I could spend awhile describing an intentionally shitty, pandering joke band/experiment that I briefly had in college (Quaalude City), and the takeoff success it had (because it was non-threatening, with no talent on display), but that would be another story.

    Most kids don't want to experience beauty or awe; they want the deluded, smug feeling of being equal to the musician onstage. Well, I don't compose music for New Agers who know nothing of music history, who think all music is created equal, and who think they can dismiss Beethoven because he is a dead white male. If you don't cherish Beethoven as one of the greatest specimens our underachieving species has ever produced, then I don't take your professed love of humanity seriously. Period.

    The motto of The Empty Mirror: "Postmodern hope is spent. But will you still not repent?"


  2. Grant,

    Promote your band here all you want. (Fuck that false modesty shit.) I'm a recording artist, too, and find your outlook refreshing. I'll be sure to check out your music as well. Maybe even write a review. But be warned:

    I'm brutal.

    If it's good, though, I'll make you a star, baby!