Fuck Fundamentalism

EcTopic 

 

The wayward egg, confused by a tube

Slightly crooked,

Glided into its niche and found

A comfortable resting place,

Cutting short its usual journey

To roomier quarters,

Seemingly happy to grow

And thrive short of its

Prescribed destination.

 

Its recipient, unaware

Of her renegade ovum,

Diligently took her daily dose

Of Folic acid, never deviating

From her prescribed checklist

Of prospective motherhood to do’s.

 

Not on the list was severe hemorrhaging

From misplaced, now unhappy egg

Nor was the doctor’s absence,

Bound by undefined laws,

Legal consultations, hippocratic sidestepping,

Waiting while time ruptured, out of time

 

The bed, now empty

Sheets replaced

Crisp, white, stiff with bleach

Still, soiled.

 

July 6, 2022

 The Birds 

I had a picnic with Mitski

On a grassy knoll

Overlooking an outdoor concert

Not sure who was playing, but someone

Who was not Mitski, since we were picnicking 

Maybe we shared a bottle of Rose

Since it was summer, I think

And that’s a summer drink

We ate vegan, olives were involved

She spoke of Laurel Hell,

Her new album in red vinyl

I told her my name is Laurel

Maybe we laughed at that

Maybe not, but she started dancing

As Mitski tends to do

She invited me to her concert

It may be in L.A. and I may attend

But, she won’t know me

She once said the Earth would be better

Without people

I guess then just the birds would sing.

March '22

Like Thoreau

 I have

Unlike Thoreau, no whittling skills 

Unlike Thoreau, no beans to till 

Unlike Thoreau, taxes to pay 

Unlike Thoreau, no one night stay

Having no affinity for jail

Unlike Thoreau

I have

Unlike Thoreau, no ruckus raised

Unlike Thoreau, no writings praised

Unlike Thoreau, an ego quelled

Unlike Thoreau, an outrage felled

Having no listeners to my bluster

Unlike Thoreau

I have

Unlike Thoreau, no pond appear

Unlike Thoreau, no toil so dear

Unlike Thoreau, no woodsy nest

Unlike Thoreau, no worldly quest

Yet, my garden’s all abuzz

Feeders flush with finch

My daily bliss, my credo this:

“In wildness is the preservation of the world”

Like Thoreau

The State Of Me

 Desperately seeking a refuge from the mind numbing toxicity of things that are and may always be, she Craiglists her time looking for a place that might need her untrained, naive passion to protect and nurture a piece of land, and in doing so, protect and nurture her own frail psyche. She diligently scans the various sites designed to lure and intrigue dreamers. Hunkered down in her bubble of passivity, she listens to the call of nature, presuming she can Thoreau her way into a more peaceful and serene life, taking on the pretense of healing the land, when in reality, once again, nature is called upon to save another sorry soul. Nonetheless, she feels somewhat content in her endless pursuit, reminded, site after site, of Henry David’s prescient footnote in his powerful essay, “Walking”, that  "in wildness is the preservation of the world". She acknowledges daily her puny presence in the scheme of things but takes solace in the notion that she can and will some day sit under the generous spread of a pine or oak or elm, in some yet to be determined corner of our green earth, with the knowledge that its gift to her will be forever preserved.

A Rant As We Close In On The 2020 Presidential Election

I have nothing left 

The heft of my mother tongue

Once flung hither and yon

Fond of a catchy phrase

Seared and braised with sardonic wit

Fit for the round table of lingual adroitness

Now voiceless

Halted by the bloom of

Seeming apocalyptic doom

What the fucking fuck is

The goon squad up to?

Their blathering free flowing hyperbolic blow holing

A toxic spray aerosolizing our oxygen uptake

with oxymoronic remakes

Of all we hold near and dear

For fuck's sake

Their drip, drip,drip infusion

Mainlines confusion, gaslighting delusion

Their game is clear

Win at all cost

Demonize a government, now lost

Reeling from the wrecking ball

Of greed corruption and sycophantic suck option

Is their end game near? The antics of fear:

Brown shirt thuggery, knee to the throat

The Cheshire gloat of intervention deception

Peppering protest at the behest

Of a sociopath, preening before his narcissistic visage

Dreaming of riches and rubles and lineage,

Bent on autocracy, undermining democracy

And we, The People, take heed

Take note - Take out the garbage

And VOTE!

COVIDITIS- A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

Feeling stir crazy
A dizzying daze of malaise
Makes the days go all hazy
One into the next
On the pretext that all will be well
The curve’s height will quell
As the paranoia swells,
Hard to tell as the clock ticks
If this is the fix or a shot in the dark
But do less and you risk the stark finger pointing
From our Faucian guru, our soothe-sayer
Who knew way before our
Lockdown of downtown that we’d drown
In denial,
The dry cough, the fever, the breathlessness,
The vile recklessness
So, we heed his call and build a wall
Safety first, mask adverse
Yet, we do it all and watch our world
Reverse.

Immigration Recipe

The perfect box of imperfect produce lands on my doorstep every other Tuesday. It contains the familiar avocados, potatoes, swiss chard, reliable building blocks of my culinary dexterity, apples, carrots, even a turnip or two, now and then. Yet, an occasional outlier huddles amongst the familiar. The unfamiliar, scary exotica of unidentified roots, dark-skinned scruffy knobs. Looks and flavors unknown that might require recipes, new ways of preparation, palette adjustments. Yet, here I sit sipping Ginger Tea, conjured from that same gnarled thing that snuck into my kitchen retinue. Thinly sliced, let steep in a mug of hot water for 10 minutes, add lemon and honey to taste. The gentle bite, the soothing spice, an anti-oxidant accident I now welcome into my kitchen.

Darwinian Comeuppance

Just desserts when justice hurts
A certain fate of payback
Late in the game, by the game
Gaming them, maiming them
And by slaying them, delaying one more
Dastardly deed of diabolic greed
That brought their targets to the brink of extinction
Their mystical distinction of horns that cure cancer
Horns that give hard-ons
Horns that when snorted
Give distorted reasons to party on
This time the rhinos’ reprieve was a gift
From the pryde that found poachers
Adrift on their side of the rift
Strayed into the jaws of the king and his court
Escorted to their demise
Their reprise:
Three pairs of gloves
Three pairs of boots
Three bleeding hearts
A rifle or two
And the rhinos
They never knew.

#Why I Didn’t Report

Because i was a baby
Because it started before i was three
Because i was four and he said he’d kill me
Because i was a child and didn’t know
Because i was 13, he was the father of the kids i babysat and
He told me i’d get arrested for prostitution
Because i was 14 and he was my surgeon
Assaulting me in the ER before my appendectomy
Because i was 15 and he was my teacher and a member of the
Mormon Tabernacle Choir and no one would believe me
Because i loved him and i thought he would kill himself
Because he was my uncle, my mother’s brother
Because he was my hero
My priest
My brother
My father
Because he worked at the FBI
Because i didn’t want to break my mother’s heart
Because i couldn’t break my parents’ hearts
Because i didn’t want my father to commit murder
Because he threatened me if i ever told
Because i was drunk and drugged and passed around
Like a fuckin’ bong
Because i’m still scared now that telling will be worse than keeping silent
Because i knew what i would face:  A justice system that wouldn’t protect me and
A society that wouldn’t believe me
I still remember his smell

Possible Side Effects

I read the side effects
Suggesting what I might feel,
Or not.
That slight sense of dizziness,
Pehaps a coincidence,
Or not.
In which case I might be experiencing
A side effect
“This medication could increase a state of anxiety”,
Well, how would one know
Already anxious from the state of
Possible dizziness?
Certainly, the “loose stool” is real
Not conjured from a anxious state,
Either real or not,
Yet, I have heard anxiety could promote
A heart attack,
Certainly a real event.
I might be sensing a rash coming on,
My skin feels warm, rather clammy.
Is this what is meant by “flush”?
Well, why wouldn’t my heartbeat increase?
Certainly less common, but not if
Anticipating a rash that may or may not
Be presenting itself.
The Z-pac I took for what may or may not have been bronchitis
Expired two years ago.
Maybe that means something foreboding,
Or not.

Over Winter: A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

Monarch migration, a round-trip sensation
Criss-crossing the nation
Through heartland waystations
Bound for salvation, down Mexico way
A sway, a flutter, a lift
A shimmering cloud adrift
Headed south in the fall
The primordial call of recalling
Those mountains, those trees
Collective memories of the Oyamel canopy
A panoply of autumn hues
Cues them to muster their strength
To cluster in windblown flanks
Their aposematic ranks repel the predatory blackbirds, bluebirds
The shrewd birds, hip to the trick
Of the Monarch schtick
Their toxic wings of sunset glory
Bring no gastronomical delight
No reason to employ the beak for a bite
So, on they go
Slow and sailing
Never a flail, never flailing
To their mountain top backdrop
The clock is set
At nature’s behest, comes the months-long rest
Barely a shudder, nary a stir
They settle in
Over winter.

Sucking Air: A Rap By DJ TazzieDog

Am I simply taking up air
Nothing more
Just a breath
Nothing less?
If the test of worthiness
Is to be more like a tree
I have failed utterly, miserably
Sequestering nothing, no vapid toxins
No CO2
Rather, I chew
The dogbone of fossil fuel pretties
Spewing banal, inconsequential ditties
A whorehound for plastic do-dads
I can do without fads
Take, for instance, a straw
500 million a day gnaw away
Eating up landfills, drifting through sewer grills
Their pesky swill joins the gyre’s
Detritus of excessive stuff
Mired in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch
Hatched by plastics and chemical mush
Trapped by currents, debris that won’t budge
Soon to displace our Pelagic mates
With a wasteland of outlier sludge and a tragic fate

The disorder of the day
Vanquishes the carefree takeaway
High stakes at play
Backdropping to a tick tocking, tick tocking
The meter is running, the time is dear
Steer clear of the foot dragging barkers
Their miasmic drivel darkens
The hallowed way, detours, delay
Swaying opinion
Complete dominion
Snuffing out insight, rebuffing the bright light
A vampire’s delight
Yet, despite the frantic antics of those bellicose banshees
Before us we can see,
The infinite wisdom of the tree
And that makes all the difference.

Body Politic 2017- A Rap by DJTazzieDog

The mopping of life
To a pristine glint of shine
Holds no godliness, nothing divine
The odd finesse of once deemed “woman’s work”
The cooking, the cleaning, the preening,
The meaning of it all
The demeaning, the gall
To gauge progress by the pace of the crawl
To an equal place, for an equal wage, an equal chance
On an open stage
Mucking through the blamegaming, shame blaming
Feigned respect from the mansplaining intellect
Is fucking slow at best.
I know, I get it,
The reins held tight, hard to change to what’s right
And engage the click clacking bright light
Of feminine insight.
Nothing more, nothing less required for redress

The amygdala when undressed
Shows no sexy sashay
No tight tops, no vee drops
No licking of the predatorial chops
By an ass grabbing fop
No sidelong glances with a wink and a nod
To the left prefrontal cortex
Where intelligence lurks
No matter the length of her skirt.
This Pandora world, swirls, whirls with evil intent
Mankind bent on a relentless pursuit of power
The time grows short,
The breathing grows shallow
With women grows hope,
This is the hour

Not All Smiles Are The Same

If ordering "1984", George Orwell's dystopic masterpiece of newspeak, sold out in the few bookstores left in town, consider a non-order from Amazon, even if you've paid $99 to be prime and gain free shipping, not to mention a two-day delivery. Still, consider the real costs to our marketplace's buy-o-diversity. This single micro-organizationism, an e-commerce suck-up and transactor of transactions, making an art out of the financial loss in order to gain the world, has gamed us. We went for the bargain, the convenience, following that smile that now lurks behind canned goods, pasta and potatoes and, well, just about everything. Are we not the drones?

Reflecting

Excuses
The ruse is deflect, project, the better
The best, the hyperbolic test
Lest the curtain rise
And pantomime disguise belies
A fear, a deer in the headlights
Kind of blind fright
"What am I doing here?
Fuck the size of the crowd,
The chanting, the feckless ranting of
'Lock her up'
Jesus God, these are Christians?
I don't wish them on anyone."

In quieter moments
When alone with his ego, call him Frank
"Heck of a guy",
He asks,
"Am I the bastard they say I am?"
The nod in the mirror, solemn, devout
Without a smile or pernicious grin
Ginned up for his so-called "base",
Frank, who never lies, for obvious reasons,
Turns away from him,
From himself.

Vocalise - A rap by DJ TazzieDog

When you pull away their bully veil
Of moral superiority, blazing gun authority
Derail their goose-stepping blood and soil follies
Peel away the skin-drenched, whitened, frightened
Stench of failure, icon loaded malware
Little remains but their sorry state of
Scapegoating, hate-toting, race baiting, face saving
Jingoist chasing fantasies
Of a super race,
Their taste for the glory days, never theirs, remains
In their hooded dunce cap raps
"Jews will not replace us"
Propeller heads roiling through seesaw seas
Need a reason, an illusion
For their calamitous confusion of cowardice

Run rabbits run
Take your vile filled shout outs, bile spewing crowd pouts
Leave our first amendment right to those
Deserving souls, not your self-serving pabulum
Drumming the dumb-down babblin' of days gone by
Crawl back into your dead end-of-the-night holes
Your underbelly stench perfumes the fright trolls
No light at the end of this tunnel
Caught in a swirling funnel, a vortex of your vexatious
Tasteless

hate fest.

Run rabbits run
The end is coming
Your vampire antics with blood sucking tactics
Will find the stake,
Your own petard
Awaits.

Cawcawphony: A rap by DJ TazzieDog

The constant caw of collaborative crows
Does a gross violation to the sonorous throes
Of dawn's early slumber
Dreams plundered, run asunder
From such a cawcawphony, no wonder
The Cooper's Hawk, patrolling air stream tundra
Its heat seeking pierce, rolling surely and fierce
Sweeps and dips and drops to stop
The tick tock of squawk
Runs the lot of them from their lofty perches
Through intimidation, causing hesitation
Of the reverberations of such sound vibrations
Clearly a violation of canyon solitude
The rude amplitude is felled
The quiver is quelled, the critters that dwell
In their Eden-like shell can rest for a spell
Knowing full well this murder of crows
This marauding band of benign bullies
Fully intend to return, the canyon resigned to endure
The lure of their beautiful annoyance
Dutiful dance of nature's rejoyance
Another dawn, another day
Another Revelle'

For Jim

Speak to me truth
In that subjective way
Some say you have
The fact is, you aren't one
A fact, that is
Your high and mighty bearing
Your axiomatic strut
Just a starting point
A premise, no promise
To further reasoning
Yet, so dear
So near to heart and soul
A paradox, you know
And I, the "liar"

Caught in your tease
I could say, "This statement is false"
If true, it would be
False, that is
Or conversely, if false
It would be true
The delicious rub of
Truth or untruth
As if you and yours
Exist at all.

Generation Gap

The roll of the eye, the sigh
Whether overt or veiled
Is regularly dispatched
For no good reason save that
Which is understandable

Her glance, a cringed meander
Through missed steps, slow comebacks
Stumbling antics of one seemingly frantic
To be seen as relevant,
May reflect disappointment.

Imperfections, newly discovered,
Erode her grip on girlhood innocence
Witnessing the stain of middle age
Detachment pervades from the one
Who answers every call.

In Humanity : A Rap By DJ TazzieDog

The case of homelessness
Continues to hound, confound
Resounds across towns
Found criss-crossing this dear nation
Vacant thresholds hold
Untold stories of hard luck
Fucked up tattered souls
Bi-polarized, forgotten lives
Out on the lam
Slammed by sad confusion
Delusion, whirling dervish world
Swirls in careless glances
Chances are you've paused and wondered
What to do with the cardboard sign
The god bless design
Everytime you're stopped at a light
Averting your eyes
To the blight blinding all empathy
Blinker turns you away from the sight
Of such ravaged souls
This savage state cold, inside and out
A toxic spout of deceitful invective
Selective in kindness and jurisprudence
I sense more nonsense, mere pretense
A vicious core that scores
Winners, losers, you choose your
Poison, mate, your fate's in your hands
Bootstrap crap sapping our humanity
Capitalized vanity an insanity of
Clap trap backed by fat cats
Content to caste aspersions, convenient diversions
Downstreaming reality to a dead pool of banality.
New Colosus, now a collasal farce,
A sonnet of grace with lines to chafe Lady Liberty's lamp
Dimmed, tarnished, barely a glow:
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled
Masses yearning to breathe", a throwback to

ignore
Abhor, deplore the reminder
Of our own inhumanity.