Archive for March, 2018

3.08 Schwedentrunk


The Thirty Years War,

another chapter in civilized Europe.

Religion and ideas,

bursting with inspiration, excitement.

If you ask nicely,

gentle Swedes will pour you a drink,

speak, explain…






all lies.

Even the lonely hero has a kid

(unseen in the film).

But not you,

you’re truly alone.




The kulak family dances on the grave,

day after day,

confetti money,

merchants gather,

shitty wannabe artisans

make forgettable quotes

and sad aphorisms.

Such is the stuff of petty capitalism.

Dark laws of economics.

Wheels turn.

Morals burn.




The driver looked at me,

wordlessly asking where I wanted to go.

I gave it some thought and replied:

“1967, s’il vous plaît.”





the conspiracy theory is

given credibility

by that thing you say,

by the fact that you think it

and give it words.




Samantha Smith came to me,

in another dream,


we’re so much the same…

… In our façades of freedom and decency,

we persecute our dissidents

quite similarly.




Sweet as

a sleep deprived dream

in which your dog,

dead 10 years or more,

jumps into bed with you,

his paws on your shoulders,

he pulls you back to another time and place,

you feel his long member hard and extended,

it’s against your back and then it’s inside of you,

and he’s fucking you,



like the brutish little rapist he was

and apparently is.

Sweet as…




They see what they want to see,

the overweight American wannabes,

Commandos, they remind us constantly,

as they squeeze themselves into their wetsuits

and prance purposefully down to the water’s edge.

Bulging, seething masses of imperial perpetuity,

hunting Nazi shadows,

flattering to deceive,

and always,

absolutely always,

following the almighty Dollar.




“Merd-iterranean!” I repeated, fawning.

“Oh, Mozart, you’re so witty!”

I shivered as he slid his hand up my leg, indecently probing my nether regions, groping, squeezing.

I simpered, obsequious.

… How could I say no to the genius?




There’s a time

when someone decides

that your life won’t be the stuff of American dreams.

Someone decides,

not God and not yourself,

that you’ll live the ramshackle life

of the desperate,

the hurting,

the betrayed.

No matter your good deeds or intentions,

fatally and fatefully, my friend,

society says,

people like you and me

are fucked.

… Welcome to the underground.