Refugeehadi - A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

Boots on the ground

The mantra of pitch

The cliche resounds in perception

Let’s ditch all reasonable thoughts

And march to the fear that’s

Grinding us all to a near fever pitch

Jihadists in droves wash in with the tide

Riding the wave of dear Allah’s praise

Raise the kalishnikovs mightily high

The whole lot of them are readying to die

Mosques are replete with

Bomb wearing freaks

Check out those chicas in hajibs

Complete with detonating breasts

Of mass disruption

Our induction into the

Flag waving, face saving, fear making

Production, staged by the MAN

With the shifty eyed glare

Who stares at opportunity

Feigning national unity

We’re stooges, you see,

Heeding the call to blind, lady Liberty

While blinding us all.

Clean Diesel - A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

My clean, green emissions machine

Gone rogue and found toxic

Oh the moxie of those Dicks

With their bottom line tricks

False riches, buried glitches

Cheat the bitches, that’s the credo

The greed oh so thick, their bottom line shtick

Is sick shit

German engineering y’all

Designed to deceive

The believers believed

Relieved that injection of

Turbo perfection was

Eco inflected, the cheat

Undetected ‘till now

Now the chumps with the change

Who got dumped

Can’t exchange

Their TDI lie

And decry mea culpas

By the host of their grief

No relief from the spewing

The lawsuits are brewing

The customers stewing

Screw you, VW.

Being Present

Where I am is where I should be

For if it weren't

Then I wouldn't

Be where I am

I would be somewhere else

Being where I am.

Virginia Woolf

Haunted by blank reflections, she stepped into the netherworld of empty bliss, sinking slowly from the weight of the rocks she fetched from the river’s edge, having filled her pockets with their heft. She entered the wash of her salvation, her single purpose murky with the green filter of life conducting its ebb and flow. Her eyes wide and wondrous called to a welcoming place, her final place.

 

Changing Dimensions

Time to run away?

Where to go and what to say

Ticking gets louder.

A ravaging discontent descended or perhaps ascended or better just landed. It felt heavy, weighty across the shoulders, although not to be measured in pounds. Still, it had heft and I staggered under its embrace. A clashing of me’s ensued. The logical, rational, reasonable me versus the dreamer, the schemer, the romantic. I now realize the battle has been waged for years, not a war, more regular skirmishes with no accord in sight. Enough! Battleground chatter matters not. What does matter is the “same” morphs into new iterations of the “same” and that’s insane. Perhaps change for the sake of change is a good thing, the only thing. Who said that was a bad thing in the first place? Some intransigent malcontent trying to pretend to be content? My mother loves to tell the same jokes all the time, given her limited repertoire, perhaps she hopes that I can’t remember the punch line. A favorite is, “What’s the difference between a rut and a grave?” She takes great delight in delivering the answer, “the dimensions”. It’s true, the dimensions make an impact but change, perhaps changing dimensions makes a bigger impact. I feel crowded, the rooms are closing in on me, the dimensions are painting me into a corner. I need a big sky, an open field, a giant breath of fresh air. Big dimensions, big change.