Friday, November 25, 2022

Revelation

Before the shadow cloaked the land,
    And sun and moon had ceased to glow,
    By towering giants made of snow,
Apposed with broomsticks high in hand;

Before the ants had plumbed the Earth,
    And water ran from sea to root,
    And every seed had borne its fruit,
And far were famine, death, and dearth;

Before the fire found its start,
    And mind of man was set ablaze,
    Pursuing virtue in a maze,
Consumed by follies of the heart;

The clouds concealed a silent storm
    To quench the thirsty ancient mold,
    Whose rotting choked the land with cold;
An oath to keep the planet warm.

Then snaking down on hidden wire,
    The lightning left a little spark
    For eager trees bound in the dark
Whose loveless limbs were lit with fire.

As ashes buried last of blight,
    The gods hid deep their sacrifice,       
    The toll of time turned Earth to ice,
And snow-men grew to rule the night. 

And what was lost and what was gained?
    Nature turned to ice from cold,
    to night from dark, to new from old;
The waxing crescent then since waned.

And layer-by-layer the years were painted
    Till snow-men rose above the clouds,
    Their children forming shrunken crowds,
A maze to bind the unacquainted.                        

Then through a crack there came a creep,
    The ghost of ancient, buried blight,
    A famished tendril hunting light
Through broken glass at giants' feet.

And fearing youthful tales of horror,
    The giants vowed as one to fight,
    With cloud on left and club on right
The rain and steel attacked the floor.

Unfazed, it climbed the giants' spire,
    Surpassed the clouds, and bathed in light,
    Forcing old gods to reunite
And strike the tendril down with fire.

The shrinking tendril traced a path
    of flame from trunk to snowy foot,
    A scar composed of ice and soot,
Dissolving snow to watery bath.

Then melting all to equal height,
    The sun and moon began to shine,
    The clouds and giants saw eye-to-eye,
And at last the land returned to light.

And what was stole and what was asked?
    Nature turned from ice to cold,
    From night to dark, from new to old;
The waning crescent since then waxed.

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Brainwashing (clean lyrics)

I

False dichotomy
Forced lobotomy
Serendipity
Fuck Hate Ron Jeremy.

Baby's out to sea
Doctor Jones at three
Test for pregnancy
Lunch is never free.

Bull economy
New morality
Flagrant vanity
Unabashedly.


II

Study history
Land in poverty
Service industry
"Smile, please, it's free."

Freedom by degrees
Electricity
Work will set you free
Self-vasectomy.

Modern slavery
Brand-name loyalty
Common courtesy
Social parody.


III

Toppled monarchy
New democracy
Slow bureaucracy
No efficiency.

Same nobility
Now celebrity
Tout astrology
God is on TV.

Fuck Love on ecstasy
Laugh on LSD
Soul toxicity
Jail will keep you clean.


IV

Tough love policy
Brutal honesty
"Let us help you breathe"
Pneumonectomy.

Old philosophy
Love your family
Give to charity
Life and liberty.

Lust insanity
Crave finality
Immortality
Sip the hemlock tea.

Saturday, October 29, 2022

The White Elephant's Burden (demo)

The black mirror pupils repeat "he da one," 
And now the elephant's job has begun.
With white wrinkled straw the water is drawn,
His canvas colored, his story is done.

Then petting each dog (that's fourteen plus two),
E. flew past the sun to look for what's new.
With bravest of moods he stepped on the moon,
Then opened his eyes and blackened his view.

An alien emerged who only asked "why,"
E. sang it a song: "just open your eyes."
At last they drank wine, played chess, danced, and died,
And when E. awoke, black asked "did you lie?"

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Contagion

 
The abstract axe chips away at fallacy,
The dynamite drug unearths new thoughts, 
The shimmer of truth is hewn into language,
The infection spreads.

Some sicken, some strengthen, 
In some it evolves and devolves again.
Some make poor hosts, others foster children,
Some birth, some adopt.

My progeny are numerous.
My disease has spread far.
It is all I have.

And yet -- is it not all we all have?

Thursday, July 21, 2022

Theirs is a world

Theirs is a world I shall not know;
        A lusty glance from darkened eyes,
        A knowing smile speaking lies,
        The mutual beckon of selfish thighs.

Theirs is a world they will not show;
        The curtain veiling smoke and mirrors,
        The tribes united planting fears,
        A funeral filled with muted cheers.

Theirs is a world I can’t let go;
        The never-ending cocaine nights,
        The sex-stained clothes and passionate fights,
        The feeling that this must be right.

Theirs is a world I need to know;
        Yet mine is a world I must keep too,
        And mine is a world they wish they knew,
        And ours is a world of worlds unglued.

Friday, November 4, 2011

The Sound of Science

After writing this I searched youtube and discovered that this has already been done twice... one is about Darwin and the other is by the Beastie Boys.

-----------------------------------

                      Hello dark room, my old friend
                      I've brought my western here again
                      This time my protein's not degraded
                      This time the signal's not yet faded
                      And the bands will stand out like a yellow fly
                      With white eyes
                      And shine the sound of Science

                      In LTL I walk alone
                      Cultures still have not yet grown
                      Giving up I return to home
                      My pain is growing like a new genome
                      But then I turn around and from Wawa I buy hoagies
                      and two coffees
                      To fuel the sound of Science

                      And on the cover slip I saw
                      ten thousand cells or maybe more
                      Cells dividing without splitting
                      Cells dividing without quitting
                      Cells secreting hormones that others will not use
                      And then they fused
                      And grew the sound of Science

                      "Fools", said I, "You do not know
                      My thesis like a cancer grows
                      Read my words that I might teach you,
                      Read your mail that I might reach you"
                      But my pleas, like a senior thesis fell
                      And landed
                      On the shelves of Science

                      And at last I bowed and prayed
                      For a thesis real or fake
                      Then the words of a distant cry
                      Echoed down from a young PI
                      And the voice said "the path to a paper is high-throughput cancer stem cells,
                      not a gel."
                      And it spoke with the sounds of Science.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

A series of awkward metaphors (or Modern poetry)

                      He shot me
                      with his eyes as I waited on the street corner
                      for the red light to turn green
                      with a plastic CVS bag
                      cradling half a gallon of milk and a box of tampons.
                   
                      The smoke cleared
                      from my eyes and I saw him diffuse into the atmosphere
                      of our local tavern happy hour.
                   
                      We mixed red wine with our hearts
                      And devoured each cup like thirsty grad students.
                      I told him how he shot me
                      and he offered to show me his gun-
                      I told him that the light was still red.
                   
                      "We both want the same thing,"
                      he whispered into my eyes,
                      but personally I thought it was the other way around.
                   
                      His bed looked just like a frozen waterfall
                      and felt about the same.
                      But before long the bed was singing,
                      the song was sweating,
                      the sweat was pulsing,
                      the pulse was bleeding,
                      the blood was smelling,
                      the smell was tasting
                      the taste was icing,
                      the ice was melting.
                   
                      And when we fell apart
                      like two used kitchen sponges, wrung together then carelessly tossed aside,
                      I gazed down at my weary carcass
                      and thought to myself
                      "Fuck. I left the milk out."