Musings of the Reverend Meduri and Dr. Jackass
Experimentations in Literary Groin Punches
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
 
I'll edit the last one when it's done. here's an add on to keep the train moving.

Part II

No longer an animal I feel cold emotion
Heightened by my confusion of what I hear in song
What I see in waves
And the clay I touch with latex gloves
Covering my fingertips.

Inside the shell I sit taking a silicon shit
Pissing wires and nails through gritted teeth
Then the payoff comes,
Ah sweet relief

Still an animal I suppose
Wandering the jungle streets with covered toes,
A masked nose, the real world closed.

How does the natural get through to me?
Slipping through firewalls?
Dancing through customs halls?
Is it sold in our shopping malls?

Is the hunger I feel there because I’ve eaten too much
Or am I the one who needs a crutch?

Foolishly, animals stay true to themselves
And they’re all in zoos, not caring or knowing what to do.

The animal is unpure, unpatriotic, and unholy.
It has no religion, it has no civility.
And it leaves no waste or pestilence behind.
 
 
Foaming, Frothing Lunatic: Unkempt, Uncontrollable, Irascible
Living in "the land of the Greed, and the home of the Slave."

An infant wails. His older sister's skull crushed against the pavement.
His life will be a succession of senseless, ever-escalating atrocities.

Moving backwards, speaking forward.
Vapor trails and jet exhaust scream vertically through the atmosphere,
Delivering doom of megaton proportions.

We are parakeets, chirping and scraping at our brass prison in indiginant protest.
Until someone throws "our colors" over the cage
We see nothing but stripes,
Hear nothing but anthems,
And sleep soundly, believing that nothing exists Outside.
 
 
A notion inspired by the Reverend --

Washed Bleach Clean by the Airwaves

With the jingle jangle of coins
I hear the moneychanger:
I see his slit eyes,
gold-gleaming grin.
I watch a pumping out of currency,
electronically stimulated
at a dollar per hour rate
that would surpass the sum total
of daily wages
in Singapore.


I blink my eyes

It's sitting in the driveway,
all silver and streamlined
with an emblem erected in shiny steel,
like an obelisk.


I stare then look away

It's that boilerplate bank statement:
[OUTSTANDING BALANCE] [REMIT AMOUNT SHOWN HERE] [OVERDUE PAYMENT]
It could be anyone's.
It has no sympathy.


I sigh

The exhausted breath of the television
idling on a commercial.
I see it.

Which one? Oh, you know the one.
The one that reveals the orgiastic brilliance of product
and the happiness it's acquisition creates:
Inhumanly straight teeth.
Over-inflated breasts.
Imaginary garments.
Oh, and just the right number of MINORITIES
(They're a key demographic too you know)
Sprinkled with Black and Yellow and a dash of Brown.
There, that should do.

I feel my throat closing

Gripped by the weight on your shoulders.
The crushing weight.
It is Atlas' burden bearing down.
Those above and below you survive
off the bounty of your toil
yet if you do not lift
it will crush you.


I cry no tears

It is the man in the cage.
Morally objective justice
in a morally subjective playground.
Scheming and dreaming.
Inventing grotesque fantasies
of revenge fulfillment.
Being fed fear and cable tv.


I close my eyes to sleep

It is the aching numbness as you awaken.
Stumble to work.
Twisted wreck on the highway.
Frozen in place.


I am an indentured servant,
bowing and scraping for Master's mercy.
But the Master, my Big Brother, does not truly possess me.

My Will ascends

I dance and flail

I owe them nothing,
so to nothing I will return.
 
Sunday, July 13, 2003
 
"Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious." -George Orwell, 1984
 
Home place with writes from guys both one Meduri Preacher. Two healer of Donkies. E-mail drjackass@gmail.com with question.

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