When the phone rang I was already awake and cranked tight with last night’s blues, drinking yerba matte &coffee. The twat was back from vacation and painfully back On the Air. He was playing some Bon Iver and talking about his Holiday in London where he enjoyed single digit temperatures and the Good Life of a fucking idiot. A phone call at 9am is never good. Never.
The state was burning. After 100 consecutive days of triple-digit temperatures what good is a cool summer breeze if all it brings downwind is smoke&flames?
There was Exodus happening, from Bastrop County, Spicewood, and out from Steiner Ranch, evacuations from Leander and nothing but black smoke on the horizon and cattle in the creek.
That maggot Rick Perry came home to roost, putting on a brave&solemn face and soundbyting that all he cares about is Texas now that his sojourn in New England is over. But don’t get fooled again. NPR might be inundated with farmers crying about burning pastures but the longest running US Governor will be on TV on Wednesday night in time for the Presidential debates. Count on it. We had a good run, brother, but Trouble has found us here, at last, at the end of the Terrible Summer in the New Century.
I wonder if this recent rash of catastrophe will delay the Boy Wonder President from announcing his solutions to the unemployment problem in his address on Thursday. Rates of Unemployment hover around 9% and the month of August offered zero job growth in the Land of the Free.
There’s should be plenty of work in the Other Hemisphere. The People of Libya have a whole country to themselves now and their ousted leader Q is probably ruminating over a pilsner in Berlin.
The problem with being a newly liberated, oil-rich country in the New Century is that you have to ask somewhat coquettishly for your money back from the Bank of World Hegemony.
Life as you know it can end at any time and in any country in the New Century and there are no mistakes in World Hegemony. Keep in mind that while the last two administrations have left themselves no choice but to blast back and rebuild any country they wanted to, and for any reason, it was always the People doing the dirties.
It was the People who were mowed down on the streets of Bahrain and the People standing guard for officers having rape parties like the ones documented in The Deserter’s Tale in Iraq for 10 years. It was never the Man unless the Man was YOU.
Jimmy on the radio? Yes Sir and Good Godamn, HOFFA in 2012.
Aho. We made it to Paradise but it took too long. Now we’re Cold and Bitter.
My days are cranked tight with impatience and anger. Too many nowhere roads, Pilgrim. It made me Wise but it broke my heart. This town needs a little bit of winter. The bat is hung. Nights are getting long and cool. I’ve been writing about the news too long. Either that or I’ve been too paranoid for my own good b/c my vision only darkly colors current events in some kind of infidel prophecy.
Death is the only escape. A little nightflight forever,out of the blue and into the black.
When I hung up the phone, the bat was hung, the grackle quiet, just windchimes and an old dog barking out there on the greenbelt. I went back to bed as Texas burned. No trouble for me is the worst kind.
Nam Myo Ho Renge Kyo
Going for the Throat 