Monday, March 23, 2009

Prepositions and pronouns

God works
in mysterious ways,

and God gives
and then he takes

from me.
- Jenny Lewis, Born Secular

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Quote of the Day

"In my humble opinion, we're all fucked."
- Socrates

Theoxigenises reports that these were in fact the dying words of the famous Greek thinker in his newly-discovered text, Assofunmeus Guffawaeus.

Theoxigenises, the youngest brother of Plato, born of the brief but passionate union of Plato's father, Ariston, and one of Ariston's slave girls, Trodupon, (celebrated in the poetry of the great Greek tragedian, Genitalianis), is one of the lesser-known Socratic students.

Scholars disagree on the precise teachings of Theoxigenises and many have dismissed his interpretations of Socrates' dialogues as misguided at best and outright deranged at worst. Recently discovered DNA evidence suggests that Theoxigenises actually suffered from ADHD, which may explain the at times disjointed iterations of Socrates' teachings in Theoxigenises' writings.

I awake a ‘merikin

I awake and I see you, ‘merika!
Waving your foam finger –
a die-hard fan –
for fear of failure.

I awake and walk your streets
full of belching engines driven by
morbidly obese homeless men;
even in poverty, you are gluttonous.

I awake and I see you, ‘merika,
in your offices, your homes,
your home offices
with degrees strung up
on accent walls,
wringing your hands
over the latest news
your man, your market,
your team, your target,
your dow industrial, GDP,
fundamentalist, activist,
sexist, racist, homophobic,
radical, terrorist, enemy
combatant, immigrant,
your us and them,
your name here,
up or down in the polls.

I awake and ride your trains
full of sour vapid faces –
ears on cell phones and ipods,
eyes bent to glowing screens,
fingers frantically texting,
afraid to speak but to one self,
afraid of others’ smiles.

I awake and stand, ‘merika,
amidst your touring throngs marveling
at the quarter billion dollar bean
and see my own reflection there,
guitar in hand, wondering, “what?”

I awake and sing, ‘merika!
A song of my own making,
written by you.
My shame and pride
are yours and mine.
My failings, yours; yours, mine.
I am of you,
I am among you,
I speak your tongue, ‘merika!

You cannot blame me
more than I blame myself;
we share it equally.

I awake a ‘merikin
and wonder where I can
that rhymes and rhythms
will not sound
and hollow,
but ring hallowed,
heard by more than one
and sung by many tongues;
I awake a ‘merikin,
and dream American,
wondering, “what?”