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    dots Submission Name: AMERICAN CACOPHONY dots

    Author: JoshusDog
    Elite Ratio:    0.7 - 0/2/6
    Words: 696
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 393
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 5096

       The best shit I ever wrote. I wrote this in response to the question "What Does America Mean To You"

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.


    Old white shepherds in Armani suits

    tend sleeping herds. Unseated judges

    roam highways and cities, search for new dreams

    and catastrophies. Grumbling teamsters

    share coffee with scab truckers in

    stagnant, seventies throwback choke

    and pukes at two a.m. Never ending samsara

    cycles of latest fashion trends, In Things For Spring,

    swim over magazine covers. Heroin chic bimbos

    with food issues and dead eyes, flirt, beckon and shame

    tight-laced homemakers who love Jesus and fold

    clothes, never noticing. Conspiritorial whispers

    of how they get you echo in supermarket aisles.

    Teachers do their level best to not mention gods

    before impressionable minds. Men take aim at percieved

    enemies, villians of their private feature presentations.

    Elderly Chinese men do Tai Chi exercises in city parks

    with young, tatooed musicians. Hungry bikkhus

    on cross-country buses, crave cheeseburgers and watch stunning

    sunrises in New Mexican deserts. Young turks walk

    from state to state, slowly starving. Hidden prophets whisper

    messages to shouting, angry mobs. Newlywed mothers fret over

    diets and daily serials. Fathers alienate their wives and become

    strangers to their children. Tweakers snort, junkies stick in

    secret places, and fine American children eat X and wave glow

    sticks. White-bread collectives sing happy, meaningless songs

    and accrue sickening debt on special days in self-congratulatory

    orgies. Brothers screw brothers. Friends come and go. Toddlers

    muddle around, while old country barbers boast and complain

    about things that don't concern them. False intellectuals

    reminisce about T.V. shows as if they were real memories. Young

    ranchers dream of city life, while harried accountants book cattle

    drive vacations. A transient knows that the grass is all the same color.

    Subteranians huddle around burning trashcans in winter

    desperate for warmth. Hard-working sons toil on ancestral fields.

    Happy couples flee west to be married by the King. Middle-aged

    gym teachers fuck fifteen year olds. A young football player takes

    walking for granted. A blind bluesman sings a song about loving light.

    Wealthy pedagogues speak to hear their own voices. Stoned students

    sleep at their desks. Upper-middle class pricks bore people in airport

    bars. Brutalized Cherokees watch tourists drive past in luxury cars.

    Migrant workers pick peaches to sale in supermarkets they can't afford

    to shop in. Underpaid servers bear humiliation to feed their children.

    Well dressed liars make their livings meddling in private lives. Children

    are stolen from parents to meet quotas.. Uninformed voters push buttons next

    to familiar names. Heavily dogmatic salesmen walk around dreaming,

    making little progress. Bitter teens carve up their arms as a retribution against

    distracted parents. Red faced millionaires keel over from stress related

    illnesses. Hopeful children read fantasies and grow. Jaded adults harbor illusions and

    decay. This is my home. A place of Resident Evils and Born Again soul

    winners. A field of reticent sheep and ravenous wolves. Futurist dreamers walking

    hand-in-hand with living relics. Skinners Utopia reborn in commercials and

    shopping malls. Orwell's London wearing an Uncle Sam costume. The new

    Babylon of the Rastafari. A racket of loud singing and patriotic nonsense. Bigoted

    old men bickering with P.C. thugs over irrelevant foolishness. The Yardbird's

    ghost whispering cautionary tales, playing sad music to mourn the passing of

    our national integrity. A panorama of bustling city life and dirty white houses,

    of surreal mountain ranges and golden prairies. Proud warriors raising flags

    at personal Iwo Jimas. Peaceful visionaries gunned down by ignorant cowards.

    A dirty rabble massed on a hill, railing aginst the threat of the week. A dozen nonthinking

    joiners in uniform beating a prone crackhead. Three Hundred Million soft decendants

    of rugged pioneers. Three Hundred Million voices singing praises to pretend liberty, illusory

    domestic security, and a dead, forgotten, common dream.

    Submitted on 2009-01-27 13:12:24     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!

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