Love And Litter

A little road can make a big difference.  Dirt, concrete, brick, gravel, or stones.  As on a map, the lines say nothing.  They are just lines.  The actual roads might talk to each other when no one's around.  They might talk about freedom and independence.  They might talk about failure and tragedy. 

Only roads know what roads go through.  They are a kindred spirit, they are somehow all connected.  They have dents and holes, skids and blood, love and litter.  Mostly, they hum.  Each it's own hum, for no two hums can, or should be, exactly the same.  They all have different sounds, trips are like symphonies, except on the Interstate. 

That's just loud racquet, not worth the trouble, not worth the sadness, not worth the speed.  All time should be enjoyed, especially time on roads, otherwise, stay home.  There is enjoyment there too, where the hearts are, memories made, pride busting, the friendly.  Patio birds and butterflies.  Dreams and mist.  Words.

Electric Fence Shock

Take the hammer too.
Need to nail it home.
Really smash it good.
Give it a final whack.

Acceptance has a sweet taste.
It's lack of bitterness.
Clean and fresh.
Light.

Like an electric fence shock.
Zips you good.
Tingles the heart.
Wakes you up.

Anger has no future.
It'll just wear itself out.
Finish up tired and worn.
And wasted.

Forgive the world.
Let others forgive you.
Forgiving yourself is pointless.
And impossible.

20/20 Gonzo 28: Essentially Blinded

Avoiding eye contact, no smiles under the masks.  Hands in pockets unless you got business, and if you got hands, gloves are handy.  The age of assumptions is over, card carriers and micro validations of proper vaccinations and exterminations, bugs and viruses will never gain the high ground again.  Humanity will not succumb. 

The pathetic campaigners sound silly and look sillier.  Pay attention and listen up, your swampy, slathering, lumpy, lard butter suggestions and your grime coated, cottage cheese covered analysis are being ignored.  Muted until unmuted.  Like Time Bandits, like the roadrunner and coyote, like ELO, like picking peaches from an orchard, like bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes on the side of the highway.  Like Atari and Asteroids, phasers and laser shots, quarter after quarter.

No way to tell, but the irresponsible and ignorant will lead the way back.  The reckless, the desperate, the smug, the frightened.  Their sheep will follow, like sheep will follow and follow, follow to the end, the very end, because they follow.  Following is what sheep do, wool covers their eyes.  They are essentially blinded, blinded for life.

Stare Down My Madness

CGx3

D7CG

One day I'll leave this place.

With a smile on my face.

Gonna leave the human race.

Behind.

Don't come after me.

Don't try to save me.

If you want to take care of me.

Then fine.

Stare down my madness.

Time, it's still passing.

Reaching for my glasses.

Going blind.

Perhaps tonight I'll dream.

Some psychedelic scene.

Like a colorful quarantine.

It shines.

What The Beatles Can Do

DCGx2
DD.CG

There is nothing to find.

The infantry feels good.

War doesn't hurt, it just looks like it ought to.

71 thousand and the American dream.

Shake up the family with art.

Hopefully, there are writers in Kansas City.

The pity of the mad.

Kind gestures need to be somewhere.

Selection of incidents.

Happier than they thought they were.

The Indy laps.

If you want to write fast.

Block the block.

Feel good anyway.

Artist aren't supposed to be political.

They have enough to do.

Inner necessity.

From right handed to left handed.

About the end of the world near Lake Erie.

The earth is exhausted.

PR at GE.

Popular plot form.

'Til He rose.  Water.

Love in the English Department.

Constantly interviewed.

Treasure Island, Jeckel And Hyde.

Lessons on how to live.

Knew Kerouac slightly.

Died a couple of weeks ago.

Tremendous amounts of alcohol.

Save creative lives.

Talk about other aspects of life.

Room 471 has no energy.

Don't kill, don't litter, only what you need.

Hillbillies are fundamentalists.

The only known poem.

Go write, without help.

To make contented.

To sustain and distract.

What The Beatles can do.

Be silly, cheer people up.

It isn't very hard.

20/20 Gonzo 27: Dripping With Sanitizer

The drive-thrus are thriving.  Everywhere cars and trucks line up to get to the window.  The window slides open and the touchless transactions occur, efficiently inefficient.  One at at time, a sad modern day symbol of the population's sacrifice and misery.  Dripping with sanitizer, served with a smile.

One party has banned males from becoming Vice President.  Seems odd.  Who would wanna be VP any way, unless you could get bribes or something.  But, one has to have a taste for that kind of money, too greasy for my stomach.  A shitty way to get rich.

Black Saturday leaves us shamed.  Weak and unable to do anything about it, the tomb is closed, everyone scattered, ran like chickens.  Ran to the chicken coupe, wait it out in the feathers, settle in for a nice rest.  The rooster's been crowing low, before the light, before glory, because glory's for tomorrow.  Today he just crows low.

Muddy Fool

That's a long list.
With awful deeds.
Offenses.
Defenses.
Irritations and peeves.
Robber of years.
Stealer of dignity.

A muddy fool.

Brainwashed and ruined.
Psyched out.
Color drained.
Worn.
A long list.
Of disappointment.

And shame.
And sins.
And more.

Here, take this nail.

Make Some Deja Vu

E
A

You're so contagious.
Intimidated.
It's so outrageous.
I'm fascinated.
My goodness gracious.
Not overstated.
Nothing salacious.
Sophisticated.

DAx3
GAx3

You're so outlandish.
Bet you're a cool chick.
You live so lavish.
Hit your mojo mix.
Sing it in Spanish.
Extravagante.
Your mind's so delish.
With all your lipsticks.

DAx3
GAx3

Like patient zero.
Doesn't have a clue.
Kind of a weirdo.
Thought they had the flu.
Put on some disco.
Make some deja vu.
Your innuendo.
Your whole attitude.

20/20 Gonzo 26: The Moron Crowd

On the side lines are the sneerers, the snickerers, the low-down slitherers, the extra sour.  Practically cheering on the calamity, the death, the vindication.  As if 'I told you so" applies.  As if their scientifically charged brains justify some sanctimonious standing.  The moron crowd.

The death is excruciating, suffocation and gasps, breathing machines, beeps and bangs.  Scurrying everywhere, recoveries and care.  Fought and fought and fought.  Broke another fever, breaking through, fight.  Stick with it.

On the inside, we are inside, together and alone.  It has come to this, no work around, no other way through.  A temporary sacrifice of freedom and liberty, self imposed and righteous.  A decision that's made.  Freely.

Bandana Revival

DG
CG

What you gonna wear for a mask?
Gotta do what the President asks.
And who you gonna get close to?
Not too close, we keeping track of you.
Where you going this time of night?
You know we got this shut down tight.
And why you think you need so much?
Go on over there, don't cause such a fuss.

You some kinda quarantine outlaw?
Super spreader, asymptomatic, the gall.
Don't you know you gotta stay inside?
The Rona is airborne, you better hide.
Any idea about your infection potential?
Only get out for the very most essential.
What you think about a bandana revival?
Flatten the curve to maximize survival.

The Solitude Machine

E
A
DA
EA

The solitude machine.
Don't move around.
Just stay right in your places.
Don't you make a sound.

The solitude machine.
Put on your socks.
Don't wanna get too chilled.
Wanna keep it kinda hot.

DAx3
EA

I'm sure you knew
Heard the news.
A million or more.
Gonna die in this war.

The solitude machine.
Gotta keep it greased.
Cranks and gears can't rust.
They gotta keep the peace.

The solitude machine.
One day it's gonna stop.
Park it in the back near the windmill.
Stash it in that vacant lot.