Monday, November 21, 2011

The Victrola Poems

'Tis but a matter of nonsense, these poems doth written hath sleighed the beast of the white mountain, and eaten value suppers upon a giant mushroom, and shit.

I.              Rancor

                        the talking trees
                             the woolly mammoth
                                                a midget with tentacles
                                                      conducting –
                                                            a symphony

II.             Best and Boldest

It starts with men in white coats throwing cheese from a clock tower,
big bright sledge hammer noses sniffing me like a dog

III.            Brackets

I see five walkways
separating us -
three choo-choo trains
two staplers
a plastic shovel.
Six walkways.

IV.            Hot Dogs and Joe Satriani

weiner dog runs at me
to bite my liver spots
via the open window
he can smell the way
a hawk swoops down
then grab and eat him

V.            Letter to Lanny Poffo

We can have breakfast at Burger King and watch
old people punch each other in the face and
children pop the heads off mother dandelions
when the elderly are all dead, we will make like
bananas and split and I will make banana bread, that
night we will go to the same Burger King and heave
empty soda cups through the drive thru window

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Remembering Jonestown

Remembering Jonestown



It was 33 years ago today. Reverend Jim Jones taught the band to play. All 900 plus of them. And play they did.

November 18, 1978 was the day of the Jonestown Massacre in beautiful, sunny Guyana in South America. Jim Jones and his Peoples Temple took a little field trip – no permission slips needed – from California all the way down to Guyana to celebrate life, liberty, and the recent Yankees World Series victory (Especially Bucky Dent’s home run in that playoff game. I’ve always blamed Dent for Jonestown, that son of a bitch.).

These 900 people followed the man with the suspiciously plain name to the point of everyone’s favorite pastime – mass suicide. It was the greatest single, non-natural disaster related loss of American civilian life up until September 11, 2001. Unless you’re Al-Qaeda, you don’t mess around with Jim!

Jones – who, and very few people say this, was truly a go-getter – passed around li’l cups of what everyone assumes was Kool-Aid. Uh-uh. You hear people like Bill O’Reilly use the phrase “Kool-Aid drinkers” to describe those who blindly follow someone or something. But, no, it was a company called Flavor-Aid. Do you really think Kool-Aid would have survived that bad publicity? He comes crashing through a wall and there lies 900 bodies?

Flavor-Aid was the incredibly unlucky company whose product was combined with cyanide and enjoyed by Jim Jones’ followers. No, Flavor-Aid wouldn’t last very long after this day. Kind of like Ayds, the dietary candy that enjoyed moderate success until a certain highly-deadly disease was invented.

A total team player, Jones himself also died that day, but his legacy lived on, particularly in his 1990 co-founding of the neo-psychedelic band The Brian Jonestown Massacre, along with original Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones. This was, of course, after Jim left the band Jesus Jones when he a Jesus had a falling out.

So take a moment today to reflect on the story of Jim Jones - reverend, cult leader, man who had a town named after him. I mean, could you get 900 people to poison themselves to death? I don’t think so.


Wednesday, November 2, 2011

The Buzz Years, Part II

Now is the time on The Unpublishables when we look at teenage drinking and ask ourselves, "Should the drinking age be lowered?"

Will 18-Year-Olds Finally be Able to Enjoy a Refreshing Beer?

August 22, 2008 

College presidents across the country are hooking up to debate an age old question: at what age does all hope vanish, only to be replaced with depressive and severe trouble drinking? Is it 18? Or is it 21? All anyone knows for certain is that ages 19 and 20 can just fuck right off. There’s nothing appealing about them.

Yes, here we go again. Should the drinking age in the U.S. be lowered from 21 to 18, the same age that a person can legally vote and enjoy a nice, refreshing cigarette? One female student told a reporter this week how crazy and “Oh, my God!” it is that she can die for her country but she can’t legally drink, as if the military even wants her, and her own mother wasn’t asking that same question 20 years ago when she was drinking and pregnant with her.

Apparently Whip-its and glue aren’t good enough for some students anymore. What li’l Barbie is forgetting is that the U.S. government doesn’t give two shits whether she lives or dies, as long as she doesn’t crash into a family of four along the way. So the only logical thing to do, if the drinking age is indeed lowered, is to then lower the age of military eligibility to 16, thereby maintaining an even playing field.

Ordinarily I’d be all for an 18-year-old drinking age. The more stories I hear about binge drinking and college kids dying from alcohol poisoning, the more fun life is for me. But what about the amateur bootleggers, the loser townies that 18 to 20-year-old students always turn to to obtain alcohol? What will they do without all their youthful friends? If these creepy people are no longer needed in our college cities and towns, what will this do to the delicate balance of academia? It could be chaos! Lonely, disgruntled townies murdering drunk students! And vice versa!

In movies, this is where that one person begins applauding slowly, and everyone else gradually joins in. Yes. This is why we need the drinking age lowered. Nothing thins the heard like large scales of excessive boozing. Depressed serial killers in the making relying on the pseudo-friendships of future consumption victims from September to May of every year now disenfranchised by the Man’s new law. New adults finding themselves with double the newfound freedom, being perfectly able to walk into any store and purchase an alcoholic beverage or 50.

So, college kids – drink up! Don’t wait for permission. Just do it! And place all your trust in that scary townie while you still have to. After all, we’re all God’s children, yes?