Nov 2011
We are surrounded by silliness.
Don't make it obvious, but look over your left shoulder.
Slowly.
There, not feet from your face sits silliness.
Something silly breeding and FedExing its brood
to the best and brightest corners of the earth,
ensuring equal part shadow for every ray of shine.
If you find yourself disbelieving, please turn on your Television set
and flip (at your own risk) through the charmless channels
hovering enigmatically inside Mr. Pixel the “Babysitter.”
“Reality” shows, as if we weren't neck deep in enough reality
for a thousand years worth of open bars,
lamenting on how seriously, serious this soiree of sorts seems to be,
neighbored by celebrity rehab shows,
housewives from all over the country
desperately seeking attention
and augmentation
or attention to their various augmentations,
divorce courts with quirky judges,
pawn shops in the ghetto with true grit, or is it true **** …
hard to say but they have attitude!
The endless scripts pour into HollyWeird from somewhere far, far away
from anything vaguely resembling reality …
a little place called – the Jersey Shore.
(Wait did he say scripts?) But ...
Ah, hell, it needs no description or justification,
in the land of the Super Silly,
it is the trophy wife of King Silly Bo Billy himself.
And no more time to waste on silliness wrapped neatly in a magic tube.
No, no, silliness is loose, running amok through the streets,
jumping with it's eyes closed on your neighbor Ricky's industrial size trampoline.
(Ricky only lost one of his nine children last year to “roof to trampoline” diving)
tragic, yet the other eight get a little more tuna casserole on Wednesdays.
Silliness is fearless. It charges helmet-less into oncoming traffic
singing Christmas jingles in Latin,
mid-February with no regard to Lincoln
or the people he is said to have helped liberate.
It defies logic, gravity, good intention or worst (best) of all – common sense.
You will find it in every church no matter the dogma.
Every court room, police station, financial institution, school, university,
tall building with more glass than steel …
yes, silliness grows there like mold in a dingy basement
overpopulated with sprickets.
Silliness is a disease.
Not to be confused with silly smiles and clowns at the circus.
This is not the silliness of your youth, but the silliness of adults
who have sold their love of the moment
and lust for life for the deadly elixir of conformity.
Conditioned by an unrelenting tidal wave of negative energy
and condemnation, they sign their death certificates long before they die.
Dreams and happiness are replaced with life insurance policies,
401k's and 403b's. In this lies the silliness.
As the masses line up one by one at the top of the cliff
and follow in suit as the jumping begins.
Into the abyss they leap, medical and dental plan in one hand
and neatly mowed lawn in the other.
As the happy children play to their parents dismay,
the merry-go-round spins blissfully around
as daddy slowly drowns.
Don't make it obvious, but look over your left shoulder.
Slowly.
There, not feet from your face sits silliness.
Something silly breeding and FedExing its brood
to the best and brightest corners of the earth,
ensuring equal part shadow for every ray of shine.
If you find yourself disbelieving, please turn on your Television set
and flip (at your own risk) through the charmless channels
hovering enigmatically inside Mr. Pixel the “Babysitter.”
“Reality” shows, as if we weren't neck deep in enough reality
for a thousand years worth of open bars,
lamenting on how seriously, serious this soiree of sorts seems to be,
neighbored by celebrity rehab shows,
housewives from all over the country
desperately seeking attention
and augmentation
or attention to their various augmentations,
divorce courts with quirky judges,
pawn shops in the ghetto with true grit, or is it true **** …
hard to say but they have attitude!
The endless scripts pour into HollyWeird from somewhere far, far away
from anything vaguely resembling reality …
a little place called – the Jersey Shore.
(Wait did he say scripts?) But ...
Ah, hell, it needs no description or justification,
in the land of the Super Silly,
it is the trophy wife of King Silly Bo Billy himself.
And no more time to waste on silliness wrapped neatly in a magic tube.
No, no, silliness is loose, running amok through the streets,
jumping with it's eyes closed on your neighbor Ricky's industrial size trampoline.
(Ricky only lost one of his nine children last year to “roof to trampoline” diving)
tragic, yet the other eight get a little more tuna casserole on Wednesdays.
Silliness is fearless. It charges helmet-less into oncoming traffic
singing Christmas jingles in Latin,
mid-February with no regard to Lincoln
or the people he is said to have helped liberate.
It defies logic, gravity, good intention or worst (best) of all – common sense.
You will find it in every church no matter the dogma.
Every court room, police station, financial institution, school, university,
tall building with more glass than steel …
yes, silliness grows there like mold in a dingy basement
overpopulated with sprickets.
Silliness is a disease.
Not to be confused with silly smiles and clowns at the circus.
This is not the silliness of your youth, but the silliness of adults
who have sold their love of the moment
and lust for life for the deadly elixir of conformity.
Conditioned by an unrelenting tidal wave of negative energy
and condemnation, they sign their death certificates long before they die.
Dreams and happiness are replaced with life insurance policies,
401k's and 403b's. In this lies the silliness.
As the masses line up one by one at the top of the cliff
and follow in suit as the jumping begins.
Into the abyss they leap, medical and dental plan in one hand
and neatly mowed lawn in the other.
As the happy children play to their parents dismay,
the merry-go-round spins blissfully around
as daddy slowly drowns.
