Archive for the ‘Adventures In America’ Category

HUAC

Dream or awake, I’m not sure,

but that episode of Law & Order SVU, season 72,

seemed familiar,

the scenario similar to NCIS season 48,

episode nine.

Perhaps I’m mistaken,

or have been hallucinating,

after all, I also vividly remember seeing

bizarre, updated (second-rate) versions of

MacGyver, Magnum PI and Knightrider.

… And, if they could, they would

be electing Ronald Reagan President again!

Seeing and being aware of,

I feel no desire to partake.

So, I change the channel

and am blown away by the utter garbage:

Brand new, award winning, tawdry *shit*.

Putrid.

I apologize: now I see the appeal of never-ending golden series

and remakes from “olden” times.

… Come back *original* MacGyver, agent of peace.

 

(To be continued…)

       

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

#FollowMe #FollowBack

Money, decadence, American dream…

The more you have, the more you get,

the more you are forgiven.

I know how it goes,

I’ve watched television,

and spoken to the Guatemalan

who picks up your trash.

Something like CSI.

 

(To be continued…)

               

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Horror Movie

I checked into the hotel on Halloween, but really it could have been any night. A guy had already invited me to watch a movie, share the fright.

“Nein, danke. Ich verzichte!”

I made sure to lock the door.

What is it with Americans, Brits, Anglo-Saxons, Celts …

and their addiction to horror?

Don’t they get enough in their everyday lives?

Or is it a perverted fantasy, craving the satisfaction of seeing someone suffering misery, worse than their own?

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wm in Chains

“Pornographer, perhaps. Blasphemer, no!” ardently, he said.

“Now, look into the camera, and spread.”

 

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

7.09 (1425)

She told me her story,

astounded, my eyes widened,

and remained so.

… Somehow, I know, the words being so powerful,

that when I close my eyes,

late night, early morning,

trying to sleep,

I will still see vividly.

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

NYC Therapy

I woke, and hearing strange noises, it took me some time to realize where I was.

Ah, yes. Sheepshead Bay. Visiting, well, someone.

Gradually, amongst the haze, I remembered I had an appointment today, to see a therapist. Of course, when in New York, do as Romans!

Therapist.

Indeed, as I wait, I see the letters differently, more clearly: The-rapist, yes, the Rapist!

Nein danke!

My mind is messed up enough,

determinedly, I walk away.

Behind me, beseechingly, the receptionist calls…

(To be continued…)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

1st Ave (3)

Big city, behind the façade,

social history gives a different portrayal,

human betrayals which money can’t hide…

Like scum and cream,

blood, dirt, anger, hurt

rise to the surface,

best and worst,

mediocrity and primal,

baseness.

Greed and freedom,

fear of exploitation,

conscription,

life wasted,

mob mentality rules…

Humanity burning,

out of and into control,

New York City cauldron.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

NYPD 1

NKVP,

NYPD.

Heroes and villains both,

law enforcement,

similar enough,

different time and place.

Context,

relative,

good, bad,

misunderstand…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Subway

Lev Davidovich rides the New York City Subway one day, lost in time and space, contemplating life and place. He is sitting between two young women. They talk incessantly, about themselves. They introduce each other, both Patricia, one Hearst, one Reagan. On and on. … Lev Davidovich would like some peace.

Captains of Capitalism,

their daughters’

attributes displayed,

corrupt system,

celebrity, money, power,

fascination, manipulation.

They screw our hearts and minds.

… Soul sold

to nearest hole.

Demented people crammed in Subway car.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

 

 

 

 

Jean-Pierre-Laffont-foto

The Big Apple is rotten,

as is the rest of the fruit salad.

Regardless, the tired and hungry masses clamor

to be accepted into its embrace,

its new and interesting ways of exploitation.

“Why?” I ask my dead relative.

Her reply: “The myth of apple pie.”

 

©SvetkaSamizdat