Red, White & Blues

Kids play

cowboys and Indians

grow into men and women play

Muslims and Christians

hooked on Red Man

chewing tobacco

and American Spirit

cigarettes

and t-shirt tans

fade to skin cancer

for white farmers

fresh out of the army

no sun

screen

calls from Bollywood

Indians

peace pipe smoking

dancing on fire

water

drown

old blues musicians

run aground fleeing

Big Easy

sleezy politicians

can’t feel the music

never had the

blues

haven’t got a

clue

about

right and wrong

write

and

long after we’re gone

they’ll sing the same old

songs

from Mississippi

to Chicago

all the way down to New Orleans

still they sing

sea to shining

see massive inequality

singing the blues

in Ferguson, Missouri

in Oakland,

in Baltimore,

and in NYC

and in America today

Uncle Sam’s hands

still drip

red

blood

and you can only breathe

if you’re

white

and countless

black

people

still have the

blues

still treated like property

still shot like

dogs in the street

shots ring out and

cops choke-holding

court

murdering justice

in the summer heat

and cold of winter

black faces turn

blue

can’t breathe

suffocated like Iraqis

got the

blues

turn off the news

channels don’t matter

white

hands still

red

blood

from indigenous holocaust

red

blood

from backs of slaves

in shallow graves

stripped of humanity

no different

than the eighteen-fifties

brainwash kids

to pledge blind faith

and allegiance

we kill without reason

kill for America

the beauty-less

beast

of a nation

from administration

to administration

Kennedy,

Clinton,

Bush

& Obama

no different than

George Washington

all cloaked in Caesars’ clothes

open

concentration camps

for American citizens

of Japanese descent

do the Ku Klux

Can-Can

dance for Uncle Sam

we’re his nephews

and nieces

selling our souls now

just to pay rent

on stolen land

no,

we won’t stand

for your anthem

we got the

red,

white

& blues

and with nothing left

we got nothing to lose

all-in

pockets full of

change

is more than

a campaign slogan

believe in

ourselves

we are millions

strong

and our songs

are no longer

just the

blues

they are battle hymns

we beat war drums

still

but we come in peace

so don’t bother calling

the police

there’s nothing they can do

we no longer fear you

and we’re through

pledging our allegiance

to a blood drenched rag

you can kill most of us

but you’ll run out

of body bags

before we give up

we’ll keep turning

other cheeks

like Dr. King

and that bastard carpenter

from Nazareth

we’ll only raise our fists

in solidarity

and fight with our minds

and spirits

until the end

of time,

fight with

art and music,

war drums

so loud they’ll hear it

on Capitol Hill,

they can spill our blood

but generation

after generation

we’ll take to the streets

sing justice

to the beat of

our own drums

but for now

we sing the

red,

white,

& blues…

Muslims,

Jews,

and Christians

all wishing now

that Abraham was an atheist

and Columbus had been aborted,

things haven’t been

sorted out

for so long

it’s all

long been

so wrong

from Plymouth

to Wounded Knee

to Korea

to Vietnam

to Hawaii

and Bikini Atoll,

it has all taken its toll

but still they call

roll

and kids run

out of the projects

and off farms

and we never meant anybody

harm,

we had good intentions

but that’s not enough

as Uncle Sam starts

Vietnam

after Vietnam

after Vietnam…

and if you dare

sound the alarm

they’ll silence you

one way

or another,

lock you up,

or pickle you with pills

and distill you

with whiskey and Budweiser,

drive you to

the edge

then play taps

and hand your mom a flag

to dry her tears,

don’t talk about

what you

see

no evil

hear no

cries for help

for the helpless

dress right

dress you down

now you’re sounding

blue

looking

white

like you seen a ghost,

lets raise a toast

to the father,

son,

and daughter

melting drunk

onto VFW barstools

like fish

in toxic water,

regretting they survived,

ready to die

but still they go on

singing the blues

different versions

of an age old tune

drunk and out of key

more and more depressed

each day

seeing

the younger

and younger

kids

melting drunk

onto the barstools

singing the

red,

white,

& blues…

I got the

red,

white,

& blues…

Turn off the news.

I got the

red,

white,

& blues.

My hands are red,

my flag is white,

I got the blues.

The bank took my house,

my dog ran away,

but even if I were gay

I could kill Muslims now too…

Three-cheers for equality

from sea to shining sea

we’ve got

the illusion that we’re free

an illusion of equality,

but no justice

the world over,

and no peace,

what would Dr. King think?

I heard what he said

at Riverside

one year to the day he died…

No, it ain’t all

peaches and cream,

we’re in a losing battle

against a machine…

so, I got the blues.

I got the

American empire

crushed my hopes

and dreams,

killed my spirit

and stole my soul,

so now I got to go,

Red,

White,

& Blues.

We’ll call em’ French Fries again

Cartoon drawings of

profits

splattered with blood

draining from the

wrists

of artists pushing the

limits

tempting the reality of a

world

we’ve created since the

crusades

fought now by Muslim

police officers

dying in the streets

to protect a country

that sees no difference

sees the same

faces

names sound the same

faces of Muhammad

faces of Osama

unnamed

faceless,

face it

we’re racist

about face

racing against

time is no longer on our

side of the road

dead children

playing with

bombs dropped by

soldiers fighting for

fighting for

fighting for

soldiers know not what they’re

fighting for

freedom to fight

more war

after war

after years of aggression

and oppression

and exploitation

and

this is nothing if not

new-age colonization and the

empire never dies just

travels to new kings with

new crowns

and we don’t want to be

royals

flush blood diamonds

drown in crown

royal

tear the queen’s gown

unraveling the planet

thread by thread

unraveling humanity

thread by thread

the dead bodies

pile up

soon enough

head to China

by way of new silk

road blocks don’t stop

progress

must go on

climbing over great wall

mart shoppers

lining up to be

shots ring out in

wal-mart

made for TV

nightly

news to

progressive shoppers buy

made in China

rotten apple

products

progress

must go on

must make reasons

to expand

empire needs a

reason

no shortage of

enemies

from sea to

see what we’ve done

see nightly news

headlines spreading

from DC

acoss the Atlantic

xenophobia spreading

like the plague

they get us to panic

read between the

lines outside shopping centers

to buy more

made in China

toys made in America

tanks and guns and drones

and of course terrorism

is

terrible

but where did they

come from

who built their bombs

and guns

who built their ideology to

freedom fight

communism,

who trained

and funded them…?

there doesn’t have to be

a good guy in this

it’s not a pissing contest

both sides can be wrong,

because we all know what violence begets…

think about it,

are men blowing themselves up

worse than an empire

blowing up villages,

destroying whole peoples

and cultures,

circling the planet

like insatiable vultures

flying

drones blowing up

villages destroyed

toy soldiers marching around

the world

war three

is a video game

played at American

Air Force bases

with joy

sticks

and stones thrown from

thousands of miles away

displayed on screens of black and

white

fighting on computer

screens

sifting gold from the

sands of history blowing

can’t see

sand blinding me

can’t see

cartoon drawings of

profits

freedom of speech

is an Orwellian term

when cops beating up

activists

has become the norm

when desert storm

winds

carry sands

fill European cobblestone

streets

broken men

push

falafel carts

broken wheels

wobbling round downtown

square

don’t you dare buy

into the lies

they’re only doing it

to get a rise

out of you

when you ain’t got nothing

you got nothing

Toulouse,

France

cheering on

militarized police

goose stepping

with machine guns

through the cobblstone

streets

monitored by big

brother

glancing

cameras everywhere

conjuring boogeymen

in Paris

scaring little old ladies

with baguettes

in Marseille

and brain-washing

four-twenty babies

in Lyon

with wine bottled

up rage

misdirected away

from austerity

we’re all lambs now,

silently led astray

led to pray for

pie-in-the-sky

promises

but the only promise

was Orwell’s

1984 was an instruction

manual

Ronnie Reagan was a novice

but these draft dodging

politicians

are no joke

gone are the days of

funding covert ops with

opium and coke

now it’s real

wars funded

with our future

with the blood and treasure of

Reagan

and Bush

and now Clinton babies

but gone are the 80’s

when we were born

they were only getting warmed up

and uncle Europe has studied up

and our on-again off-again friend France

has learned a thing or two

from us young pups

we made the world

tired

and hungry

and poor

but now its up

up

And away with

the immigrants

turn around their ships

hope they drowned

hope they,

well…

we need the cheap labor

here in France

so some can stay

but they’re

just so

scary

look like they

might have Ebola

or Aids

or they’re running around

dressed like nuns,

depending where they’re from

Christ,

they probably exit the womb

with Kalashnikov

lullabies

getting them by

until the time

when they can

kill us,

blow up a bus

or something.

Well, all the Muslims I know

are nice

but I watch the news

each night

so I know that they

wouldn’t think twice

about killing me

I can see it in their eyes

see,

I just know the newsman

wouldn’t lie

just know

that we would all die

if not for all of the

militarized police

and all the cameras on every street

corner…

Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you

when you’re the only one left

and the government comes to

take you away…

please

pull your head out of your

ass now

before its too late

because

what we’re looking at today

does not have to be

our fate…

please,

France

and other countries,

let’s learn from

our collective mistakes,

Indochina…

then Vietnam

didn’t end well

and remember,

Uncle Sam,

at the end of the day

even Rome fell…

My letter to the IRS: War Tax Resistance

soitgoes1984:

War tax resistance letter to the U.S. government

Originally posted on soitgoes1984:

The following is the letter I mailed to the IRS a few days before tax day about my reasons for not paying federal income tax. This is the first year since leaving the military that I have had taxable income, otherwise I would have done this sooner. Working under-the-table is a much simpler form of protest, and perhaps no less effective, but it also involves no risk and no sacrifice. I am no longer protesting in silence. This is not a symbolic gesture either; I am not paying one penny in federal tax, but instead donating every cent of it to charity. I do not think any less of my family, friends, and neighbors for continuing to pay taxes, however I urge you to consider exactly how those hard earned dollars of yours are being spent. They’re certainly not being spent in our communities. We all deserve better.

13 April…

View original 2,591 more words

America, 2005

Broken levees

and broken bones

a decade gone

without house

and home

there’s no place

for the heart

get high on the fumes

of political art

as jam bands learn to play

amazing grace

sweet old ladies

try hemming

superman’s cape

but it’s too late

no heroes left

around here

wonderwoman grounded

like doves with wings clipped

choking on olive pits

still waiting on old

jazz men

to sing

songs drowned out

by

flood waters rising

sing,

crying out for a

life raft

craft beer flows

as hipsters go

wading through toxic water

waiting for the jazz man

to play on

and on and

the water rises still

no need to water lawns

below sea level

let me level with

you and your crew

wouldn’t know

what to do

if the levees broke

in your backyard

but at least you got

daddy’s car to drive away

wait out the storm

at the summerhouse upstate

where you’ll only unlock the gate

to let the maid in

made in Mexico

maiden voyage

bon voyage

make a collage from pictures

of dead Americans

dead humans

being turned into ratings

nightly news stories

until

-cut-

to drunk frat boys

treating sorority girls

like cheap toys

cheap beer

and whiskey

a culture cheapened to

plastic beads

forget the heart

of the city

bleeding still

blood spilling from

the fingers

of old musicians

trying to close windows

as water seeps in

keep the shades pulled down

drowned out by cries

for Saints

doors still marked

lead-based paint

count the bodies and move along

ride your Ducati home drunk

gone before long

line up for

ashes to ashes

mourning after

Fat Tuesday

catch the fat blues lady

singing about saints

pray for grandmas

Cajun cooking

looking around the French Quarter

for a pound of grass

summertime

get high

feel god starting to cry

again

gotta get outta here

can I get an amen?

Get a case of Abita

then catch the train

as the rains

break the calm

before the storm

college kids head back

to dorms

high

and dry

as it is color

coded

who’s left

to die

who’ll be left to cry again

when the saints lose

and march away

before long

all that’s left is booze

and old jazz

musicians

trying to stay

in tune

as flood waters

force them to

the roofs of old theaters

left to rot

after the last storm

and they join the jam band

playing taps

because the waters five feet high

and rising

and the newsmen

will only show up

again

once the bodies are floating

away

passed gambling men

on riverboats

into the

oil-saturated Gulf

and the politicians

will only fly over

in helicopters

on their way home

from summer vacations

spent smoking

expensive cigars

with their gulf buddies

and the governor will say

the National Guard

couldn’t save the day

because they were sent back

to Iraq

but he assures us

that the flood waters

will recede

and the important parts

of the city

will be cleared of debris

in time for

Mardi Gras

Génération Perdue

We are a generation

lost amidst the rubble

of the                            world

we                                 traded

our souls away

self                                centered

bullseye

hit targets

hit bars

collapse on bar stools

drink it all

away now

far, far, away

far away

far away

from families

away from society

corrupted

we’re not

lost

you left us

behind

buried us deep

beneath ground zero

mountains of

red

white

and blue

clouds of black smoke

rising

clouded our eyes

only our ears

left to hear war drums

drumming

cheer on red horses

running

around the

bend but don’t

break the illusion

you dumbed us down

public school propaganda

white-washing blood-

-soaked history

standardized testing

punishing creativity

eliminating critical thinking

cutting art and music programs

programing us with Playstation violence

gladiator sports

and plenty of pills

when we didn’t comply

propaganda

propaganda

propagandized

to hate an ‘other’

but we saw our mothers

and sisters,

fathers

and brothers in their eyes

so we hate ourselves now

and cry

in our beers

because we were socialized

to fear

socialized

to wind up

lost

you wound us up

let us loose

now we’re

losing

generation after generation

keep losing

generation after generation

keep losing

our friends

our families

our minds

our time

never get it back

running out of

time

the hour glass is cracked

can’t patch it up

with yellow ribbons

and gi bills

the hour glass was smashed

just about

run out of

worn out

boots

were made for

walking

not stomping

left

right

left

and right around the corner

you’ll find a Santa-looking

Vietnam vet

staring at the sun

drinking cheap wine

and talking to ghosts,

the only folks who would listen

until I sat down

right next to him

bummed a smoke

and joined in the conversation…

Andalucian Red Wine: part I

soitgoes1984:

Big fan of the wine here…

Originally posted on soitgoes1984:

I took the midday train

to Spain

and found old women

singing

and dancing

in the

middle of the

cobblestone street

tapping their canes

to the beat

while kids splashed in fountains

to spite the heat.

But then the rains came to Spain

and the drains failed to drain

so the rain turned to a flood.

But just as flood waters

began to rise

and we were getting high

one last time

on the finest wine

you can find

this side of the Pyrenees,

flood waters started to part

like the Red Sea

and a flamenco dancer

outstretched her hand to me,

“Put on your dancing shoes

honey,

this is just the opening band”

but she said so in Spanish,

so I didn’t really understand.

I took off my shoes,

handed them to her,

and ran.

But my feet began to hurt,

all banged up

from the cobbles

of Triana

and…

View original 232 more words

Las Barreras Full Moon

Two-thirty in the morning

full moon-howling

in this ghost town

woke me up.

I put my glasses on

and wandered

around the farm,

through row

after row

of olive

and almond trees,

soaking up this

late-spring

wee-hours-of-the-morning

moon

illuminating the mountains

and valley

and Orgiva in the distance.

I was appreciating the breeze

that was carrying away

that stagnant-water stench

from the Moorish channels

as I stared at the moon,

mesmorized

by the soundtrack

to this night sky.

But just then

Rosita the donkey

appeared out of nowhere

and stood there

staring at me for a moment

then,

I swear,

she joined me in admiring

the moons beauty

until she vanished

just as fast as she appeared.

Well,

when I looked over

I did see her walking away,

I suppose she just stopped by

to say hello

before she hit the hay.

Now,

standing all alone

between the olive

and almond trees,

thankful for the moon

and the cool breeze,

I listened quietly

to the music

in the distance,

happy it woke me

in the first place.

Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone. -Kurt Vonnegut

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