the song of a dove

[[ This started while reading  Ryszard Kapuściński , 'The Anatomy of a Coup d’État', in The Shadow of the Sun. ]]

A peaceful coup,

like the song of a dove,

and the man below

is the man above.

Today is Saturday;

we live in the future.

Today is Sunday;

we live in the past.

This is your signal, 

faithful five:

take them at midnight,

take them alive.

Today is Saturday;

we live in the future.

Today is Sunday;

we live in the past.

A coup must come at once 

from everywhere and silently.

A coup must come at once,

invisibly and deniably.

This is your signal 

at the waterfall:  

stop the five senses.

That is all.

It starts in IT 

on Saturday night.

It ends with pancakes 

at Mama's Delight.

Today is Saturday;

we live in the future.

Today is Sunday;

we live in the past.

...from everywhere and silently.

lapis lazuli

Do you remember

the twenty-first century?

When everyone splendid

would bathe in the nude

in a pool in the wood?

When everyone splendid

was splendidly good?

Do you remember

the twenty-first century?

When everyone's friend

siphoned gasoline nights

just to set it alight?

When everyone's friend

was so right?

Where are we now?

All of our years 

whirled away?

We have washed our hands clean

with a little gasoline 

and some noise

We have made our big play

only traded away

a few boys

We have sung the Afghanistan blues now in every saloon 

this side of the moon

in the nineteenth century

in the twentieth century

in the twenty-first century

in every saloon 

this side of the moon

we have sung the Afghanistan blues

Do you remember

the twenty-first century?

When everyone struggled

to nurture a bruise

to be shown on the news?

When everyone struggled

to cover the ruse?

Do you remember

the twenty-first century?

When the world was run

by a troop of baboons

under two rising moons?

When the world ended

one afternoon?

Where are we now?

All of our years 

whirled away?

We have washed our hands clean

with a little gasoline 

and some noise

We have made our big play

only traded away

a few boys

We have sung the Afghanistan blues now in every saloon 

this side of the moon

in the nineteenth century

in the twentieth century

in the twenty-first century

in every saloon 

this side of the moon

we have sung the Afghanistan blues

pour/poor me

[[ drunk talk of revolution by people who don't know 

pour me a drink, poor pitiful me, poor impecunious me, and pour drunken me into bed 

I'll fill in the blanks later

bonus: Trump tweets on Christmas eve about being alone "poor me" -- that's what it will be

]]

oh pour/poor me

oh pour/poor me

oh pour/poor me...

a cup of that sweet manifesto

and talk to me more of that dirty revolutio [[ re-vol-u-she-oh ]]

no time for your cha-chas

we're talking bout Caracas

then pour me

oh pour me

oh pour me...

into bed

enemy in the wire

[[ I meant "enemy in the wire" in the military jargon sense of having an enemy within the perimeter fence (wire), but also to hint at listening in on the wire: electronic eavesdropping or even voyeurism. ]]

now that we all live 

life on the line

now we will all have 

an enemy in the wire 

sniffer in 

my underthings

have a whiff 

of this

enemy in the wire,

listening to me,

my classified admirer

hiss of the, kiss of the, hiss of the snake in my tree

eye to the keyhole

ear to the wall

finger in bunghole

tongue running, tongue running, tongue running over it all

enemy in the wire,

listen to me:

we will always 

be your enemy 

little breather on the phone

little voice behind the drone

you're nothing to the knife

cartography

[[ looking at a map of a country (any country) with political or social divisions ]]

look at this country

blue is for water

brown is for land

green is for life

the words do not really exist

there are no words

look at 

the red and the blue, 

and the blue and the gray, 

at the black and the white 

at the red and the white,

look at the green and the lines between

look at those islands of all that is new

look at those oceans of old

you could zoom in until 

those colored blocks 

became people

you could go 

virtually there

without going at night

let's not go there

look at this country

blue is for water

brown is for land

green is for life

words do not really exist

there are no words

Pachinko

You're new around here.

Let's play the pachinko.

Have you seen the formations

rise up through the air?

Just look out the window

of this dirtbag saloon.

See nature's formations
rise up from the earth.

Now look the other way,

out past the pachinko,
just through the other window.

There. See those towers 

rise up through the air?

Remember those towers,

those pillars of light.

Look there tomorrow, 

those towers are gone.

But you're new around here.

Let's play the pachinko.

[[ Even I know only vaguely what this one is about. This is probably the framework for something larger. It's the opposition of nature and technology, or east and west, or indigenous and colonial, or Las Vegas and the desert, played out in a shitty bar set between the two. And there's a pachinko machine, which is something I have never actually seen. It is chance, fortune, noisy gaudy fate. The song and the universe are cleft in two by a pachinko machine. This could be anywhere two such forces clash. And the older, natural, indigenous force will win. According to the narrator. Don't worry, I'll come back and add rhymes and stuff to make it suitable for your weekly line dancing class. ]]

little green men

[[ about the day aliens finally came, or foreign workers, or environmentalists ]]

We gave up beer

We gave up dope

We gave up God 

We gave up hope

We gave up cars

and parking space.

We walked, for Christ's 

sake, in disgrace.

I used to work there;

Turned a knob.

They took our factory,

job by job.

In walked Roberto

Out walked Bob

They took the factory

They took my knob

little green men

We didn't know 

what hit us

We didn't know 

a thing

We didn't see 

it coming

We didn't know 

a god damned thing

little green men

Right here in Jonestown,

In Grover's Mill,

In Roanoke, Virginia,

On Bunker Hill

waiting for America (start again)

Waiting for America

over the horizon

Waiting for America

to sink beneath the waves

and start again

and start again

Waiting for America

smoke over Phoenix? [[ too obvious allusion to the mythical bird? Eh. I'm keeping it.]]

Waiting for America

to burn to the ground

and start again

and start again

I can't remember 

the anthem of America

Do you remember 

the anthem of America?

It's just another 

song about another war

The war when someone burned 

the White House down

The war when someone ran

the president out of town

Escape from Washington 

burn the fucker down 

and start again

and start again

[[ An anti-anthem for America, and not a very good one. It needs lots of work. It's not supposed to be wishing things to fall apart, but just waiting for things to fall apart, because that's the way it looks like it's going. But I'll let Blogger be my backup in the meantime. ]]

boy on the beach

[[ from a picture we have all seen -- Alan Kurdi ]]

A boy on the beach
in the waves on the beach
in the sand on the beach
unafraid of the sea

You're not afraid of the open sea
You're not afraid of the rolling boat
You're not afraid of the open sea
You're not afraid of the rolling boat
You're not afraid of the deep deep water
You're not afraid of afraid anymore

You're Mama's brave boy
You're Baba's brave boy
You're not afraid of
anything anymore

two dirt roads

Let's take a walk: 

here was the church,  

here was the bridge, 

here was the tavern, 

as fine a road 

as you could walk

on any other day

Rest your head 

here in this meadow, 

each leaf and flower 

once was a soldier 

as fine a man 

as you could meet

on any other day

Come Judgment Day,   

how many souls

will stand up in this meadow

rise up into the air

and straight into the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will walk out of this river

rise up into the sky

and burn gold in the sun?

The names they call 

these places now

could never say

what happened here

Here in this place,

a crumbled church,

a broken bridge, 

a burning tavern, 

at the meeting 

of two dirt roads

as fine a road

as you could walk

on any other day

you might have met

your oldest friend

come the other way

at the meeting

of two dirt roads  

Come Judgment Day,   

how many souls

will stand up in this meadow

rise up into the air

and straight into the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will walk out of this river

rise up into the air

and burn gold in the sun?

Come Judgment Day,

how many souls

will stand and stare  

at the meeting of two dirt roads?

how many souls

will stand and stare

at the meeting of two dirt roads?

migrant blues

the country we grew up in

does not exist anymore

the country we grew up in

does not exist anymore

the home that we were born in - 

had strange men kicking at the door

we have seen the people vanish

we have seen the people die

we have seen the people vanish

we have seen the people die

we have nothing left to stay for

and the tide is rolling high  

one more for the boat, sir

one more for the sea,

one more for the boat, sir

one more for the sea,

one more for the wind, sir

one more 

for life 

in a new country

is there room for my child, sir?

is there room enough for me?

is there room for my child, sir?

is there room enough for me?

one more for the wind, sir

one more 

for life 

in a new country

Hold on to your children

Hold on to your skin

Hold on to your children

Hold on to your skin

For a fistful of money

Somebody will always take you in

We may die on the water

We may die in the dark

We may die on the water

We may die in the dark

Our graves may be the open sea

Or a truck in an empty car park