End Game
English: Dying offspring – Painting by Joakim Wiborn 2009 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
agnewpickens
May Gumbytron heap blessings on you and yours
Posts Tagged ‘ Apocalypse ’
Jehovah’s kiss
The Statue of Liberty front shot, on Liberty Island. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
mad men in their vestibules
seeking counsel from vexe’d mules
pass this rider, here’s more cash
deals made over sour mash
written in rivers of corporate ink
how can the politician even think
that folks on main street will not hear
the American dream is strippin’ gears
gathered in the coffee shops
the radical quickly licks his chops
small businessmen invest in fear
in hopes of holding on just one more year
and teachers teach to worthless tests
to youth, imagination, none invests
while all about us the planet rages
no shelter found in cardboard cages
will we dream or face the depths
of Judgment’s fated gallows’ steps?
will we shine or cease to dream
inside this broken star machine?
i’d hope there’d be enough who wake
to save us from this planet’s fate
but hope is nothing, fools know this,
annihilation is Jehovah’s kiss
should i write a sonnet about lemmings?
English: A dead lemming on a stone in the river Revåa in Norway. Lemmings migrate in large numbers across the landscape, stopping for nobody. When they have to cross a river of some size, some lemmings will die. Every few years so many lemmings die this way that drinking the water from the streams becomes a health hazard to people hiking in the mountains. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
should i write a sonnet
about lemmings?
their charming culture
and complicated relationships?
should i go on and on about the baby lemming
a lemming mother lost in a snowstorm?
should i try instead to reform them?
or just laugh, heartily,
as they run off yet another cliff?
Hippie Eupocalypse – T – 32 Hours
Hamster fishing (Photo credit: The Shifted Librarian)
This may be the last time I write in a human form.
The day of the Hamster Ascension is upon us and when
you see me next I may be a 400 pound white hamster.
I eat crackers, not because I have to but because I
like them.
We are entering a 3 day randomization wave that will
cause many hierarchies to shuffle and you may find
yourself reading meters for Columbia Gas in a suburb
of Columbus, Ohio. Or find that you’ve turned into
a FOOD – LODGING exit sign on the highhway.
I howver planned ahead and asked Gumbytron for
intercession that I become a 400 pound white hamster.
DO NOT PANIC!
All universal IP addresses have been logged prior to
the randomozation, and if you can’t handle your new
assignement, you can follow the tinmeline you were
on for a small monthly fee which will be added to
your cable bill.
Those wishing to continue on with the new protocol
will have the opportunity to see what the new
technology brought to you by Burnt Hamster is
really capable of.
Set you sights on hyperevolutionary transformations!
what do you call a man?
who doesn’t breathe in what he believes?
what do you call a woman?
whose days are spent with timely thieves?
what are we doing?
really
writing all this nonsense
none will read,
and those who do
have agendas of their own
i have an agenda
a simple one
leave me and mine alone
we have no quarrel with you
no matter how we disagree
your system breeds more of us
than it can imprison
or kill in pointless wars
you can’t poison our babies with your GMOs
cause we are getting wise to who and what you are
so pick a spot
how many of you are there?
i think not as many as you would like to believe
you’ll find yourselves on an island
gold to make the Inca drool
but who will do your bidding now?
Hippie Eupocalypse, Day -5.12
The powers that be have always sought to divide the people into more manageable chunks, so over the course of history, they have divided us by language, religion, nation and state. It’s “us” against “them” except the “us” is “them.” We are shackled by all the invisible strands of governance whether it is the Father and Mother governing their Children, a priest governing their parishioners, on and on.
It is so instilled in our evolution that we accept that this is the way things are supposed to be. When we were called to Gumbytron, it was to be like Her, not to be worshiped or pleaded for favors. All these strands, these shackles, have been useful up to a point. Why am I rambling… sermonizing? In a pious mood I guess…
Invisible strands but not stronger than the power and realm of your imagination. Not stronger than the strands of love for one, love for all things UGH, I hate myself when I ramble on like this… You can do it yourself or seek a guru or rabbi. Anyway who cares? What comes from Source returns to Source so it can’t be all bad.
Yesterday, I went to Downertown to see my pops. He’s Cronos, but somewhere along his journey he forgot that. He remains steady at the helm of his remote control. Bottle of Kessler’s. Max has gotten used to me bringing him Slim Jims. He searches me now and whines whenever I walk in the door. It smells like 90 cats in pops’ lil shed he lives in. I usually reek when I get home. That’s why I usually only stay a couple hours at most. I love my pops, even bought him some Febreze, but with 5 Cats and a pit bull in a 2 room 9 X 18 shed, it can be pretty overwhelming. Pops was immune. He had long since given up on the chemical war he was having with his cats.
It starts, I guess, when you begin sharing.
The coming Hippie Eupocalypse: Day “Oh who cares?”
The Hippie Eupocalypse
Rog and I are in the Family Dollar on Main to get pops
some collector’s edition toilet paper. I grab the
biggest one of ’em I can and Rog says, “Damn, that’s $9.50.”
I said, “I know but it’s the best value.” Rog doesn’t want
anything for his 50th birthday, at least not from Family
Dollar. Hell, it was like pulling teeth trying to get him in
the store with me. Rog is my pops’ brother but he never
officially adopted me as a nephew so I just call him Rog.
Trouble at the counter, the computers are fucking with me
again. First, the scanner won’t read Rog’s Turtles candy bar
and the girl behind the counter fiddles around, first with
the candy bar, then tries punching in the numbers, then tries
scanning again a couple times. Finally, she reaches over the
counter and grabs another Turtle and it scans.
I go to swipe my pass card on the reader and it’s cranked up
against the register and my card won’t slide right. I try it
from the bottom and it reads. I go to punch in my PIN and the
girl pushes the reader down and I hit the wrong digits and panic.
I let out a groan and the girl says, “Sorry!
I say, “No problem, not your fault… I was just trying to
punch in my PIN when you moved the reader. It’s the machine’s
fault.” Rog and I grab our goods and I head off in the wrong
direction for the door.
Rog says, “The door’s this way Mike.”
I reply, “See, I told you to come in with me. I’d have gotten
lost and had another panic attack. And you didn’t want to come
in with me.”
Pops, doesn’t feel much like drinking, says he’s been sick for
three days, but Rog and I are by the liquor store so we stop
to get a bottle. Rog won’t come in again and I’m not gonna
argue with him so I head into the store by myself, leaving Rog
in the minivan listening to the radio.
The girl at the liquor store says, “Hi!” I’d only seen her
there one time before but she seems to recognize me.
I say, “Hi!” back at her and look behind the counter at the
liquor bottles. They put all the hard liquor behind the
counter a couple months ago because too many people were
stealing. The Evan Williams isn’t on sale any more so I ask
for a fifth of Kessler’s. That’s pops’ usual brand anyway, it’s
alright I guess, but I would have preferred the Evan.
Rog is in the minivan, zoning out when I come out with the
Kessler’s. The doors are locked and I can’t get in. Rog
fumbles around and I point to the lock switch and he flips it.
I get in and Bob Seger is still playing Ole Time Rock ‘n’ Roll
on the radio. Time is moving slow again so I bang my chronometer
on the dashboard.
We’re listening to the radio about to turn on Jefferson when I
see the soy bean trucks going in and out of the processing plant.
There’s no hurry now on the narrow stretch to Huckabuck, just
take it slow and let them do their things. A tune pops into
my head, a fragment of a new one. I sing:
“The GMOs are running slow on Jefferson today…” as we’re going
over the railroad tracks and Rog pipe’s in with another fragment:
“With the old soy beans laying across the tracks
Hope that trains full of women
‘Cause I’m tired of going in men’s backs…”
Rog, it’s at moments like these when I realize just why I love
Rog & pops and Downertown.
Honey Boo Boo dyed for our sins.
With a tiny bit of faith in Gumbytron and a functional Level 4 Matrix Control Panel.
agnewpickens 