My advice to fellow geezers?
Just say **** it!
“Roll up to the magical mystery tour!”
Just like John & Yoko!
Smoke a big fat doobie each morning.
Step out the Hogan door, just greet
The East and walk in beauty.
After a few weeks you just won’t
Give a **** anymore; just not give a ****
In general, no longer care about what’s
Not important: The Guv’ment.
Politics. The rate of unemployment.
Inflation. Even radical, freaking
Muslim Jihadist TERROR!
Yes.  Just light up, Babaloo,
Do one’s bit for the Decline &
Fall (dropped you, didn’t I?)
Let’s mourn the dying ***** goddess.
America: that shining city on a hill,
Colombia in all her senility, insolvency &
Not even D or I, just Lusions of grandeur.
Let us contemplate the decrepitude,
The crumbling, up-in-smoke spiritual infrastructure,
The USA: the United ****'s-Creek of America,
Going down, down, down . . . ALERT!
NEWS FLASH! It’s Rome & Great Britain,
It’s the update, the demise of Empire all over again.
I remember those sorry-***, pathetic Brits,
Met them all over while hitchhiking around
Europe, an intensive, closely observed tour of duty
Abroad: a gift to myself, in fact a scholarship,
I rigged for myself back in the early ‘70s.
Going abroad: once a reserved right of passage for certain,
Privileged children of the 1890s, lucky spawn from
Families known as the “Well-to-do.” And why not add:
Dubbed the “Mauve Decade" because William Henry Perkin’s
Aniline dye allowed widespread use of that color in fashion.
The "Gay Nineties,” referring to a time not of buggery, but
Merriment & optimism, & lest we forget, Twain’s “Gilded Age.”
Got the time, spare a dime, got the freaking time-frame, Mack?
It was a dark & stormy total eclipse of Jupiter.
Spiritually speaking, I was free-floating.
And what of those same-self, sad-assed &
Sorry, pathetic Brits?
Well, consider the specific years.
Experience in Europe in my early 20s,
Meant 1972, 1973 & 1974.
Surely, a time for English disillusionment,
What with the sun finally setting,
A vague, prismatic twilight time,
A virtual requiem for His or Her Majesty’s Empire,
“Rule, Britannia ... Britannia rule the waves.”
(Cue ruffles & flourishes, fifes & flugelhorns)
This was pre-North Sea Oil Bonanza days.
This was England before Mrs. Thatcher
Gave her good people a long overdue,
Richly deserved kick in the tuchas.
“The Iron Lady” they called her.
Stopped Orwell’s future, doornail dead, she did.
“Maggie’s Miracle” they called it.

Those Brits I met & knew back then,
Those “Used-to-be-Contender” types:
Self-deprecatory, apologetic & cynical,
Mocking the Union Jack,
Shedding salty tears for Lost Empire.
“This blessed plot, this earth,
This realm, this England.”
Ironic & bitter to a man,
“Gulping gin & bitters later,” observes
Current tenant occupier, 221B Baker Street,
Sherlock finding the word at last,
The definitive literary term,
That one precise mot juste, that says it all.
In a word? Sardonic.
The USA is going down, down down—
“And away goes trouble down the drain!”

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That’s right: $KA-CHING$!
An ad right in the middle of a ******* poem!
Always the sensible poet, I kept my day job.
But now in my 60’s finally figuring out:
HOW TO MAKE POETRY PAY?
Bow down to Adam Smith & Ricardo—
Not the ‘Splaine me, Cuban bandleader
Of that surname, but David, the classical economist,
The “Iron Law of Wages” guy
It’s time to make money.
Call in the Madmen.
Send in the clowns.

Mad Men – AMC - AMC.com www.amc.com/shows/mad-men Official site for AMC's award-winning series Mad Men: Games, making-of videos, plus episode & character guides.

$KA-CHING$! $KA-CHING$!

And Dan Draper: an alcoholic, chain-smoking,
***** magnet & Korean War ****-up, shifty
Name-changer, last seen at that Big Sur ashram,
The Esalen Retreat & Jingle Inspiration Center,
**** Whitman coming clean, at last:
Hovering a foot off the ground
In the lotus position, receiving **** *** from a
Coke bottle incarnation of Vishnu.

Search Results I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony ... https://en.wikipedia.org/I'dLiketoTeachtheWorld . . . Wikipedia "I'd Like to teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony)" is a popular song that originated as the jingle "Buy the World a Coke" in the groundbreaking 1971 ... Writer(s)‎ ‎Jon Hamm AKA Dan Draper; ‎Label‎: Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.

Money: FUNGIBLE GREEN.
$KA-CHING$!

Those once sardonic Brits,
Now have Brooklyn accents.
We’re going down the drain, Babaloo!
The barbarians are at the gates,
A horde of hunger, a ******* rabble,
Green-eyed monsters, envying America’s poor,
Craving what little Uncle Sam’s indigenous poor have left,
Ragtag migrants, short, dark compañeros,
Swarthy Huns & Visigoths,
Whitman's last yawp, the last gasp breath of
Work Ethos, be it Protestant or Papist,
A colossal mélange of famine, hope & prayer,
The usual suspects: “Your tired, your poor,
Your wretched refuse & solid waste,
Your huddled, yearning masses.”
My advice to Emma--Sephardic-Ashkenazi,
Proto-Zionist, years before Herzl:
Get yourself a nightclub act, Ms. Lazarus.

America: I am hidden in a high grass savannah,
I watch the hyenas pick your carcass clean.
Adam Smith: he displaced the term greed--
Smacking as it does of deadly sin baggage—
Replaced the term Greed with Self-Interest.
And the only invisible hand I know of is
Down my pants, jerking me off,
Mesmerized by slogans, divine metaphors, like:
“A rising tide lifts all boats,” a Big Lie, for example.
Today’s economists call it “The Multiplier Effect.”
You pay me and I pay him & he pays he or she,
Merry Goes Round, Goes Round & Round the Merry-Ground.
All is just so cool & groovy,
Life is just a copacetic bowl of copacetic until
Some self-interested ****-*** decides to export
Your ******* job right out of the country:
Casus belli? Most certainly. Class warfare,
Always our hitherto history.
It’s not like that fat slob Michael Moore never warned us.

**Roger & Me (1989) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0098213/ Internet Movie Database  Rating: 7.5/10 - ‎22,470 votes Director Michael Moore pursues GM CEO Roger Smith to confront him about the harm ... Roger & Me -- Michael Moore's controversial but popular film is a highly ... Plot Summary - ‎Quotes - ‎Trivia - ‎Awards

Stand up. Give me your full ******* attention.

Don't pretend you can effortlessly, carelessly produce a "real work", seated, with one eye on self-awareness, a tongue wedged in a cheek with one foot in the grave of perceive- opinion, not yet received, with a cool smirk on a proud chin sat atop a cool fist on a hard wrist on an indifferent arm held up by numb tendons leading down to a self-deprecatory elbow, the joints forming a fierce coalition of empty strength, that separates you from the hellish fire of embarrassment, the horrifying depths on mediocrity, that tempers the hot heart with a cool head.

Cast asunder the filthy cancer stick who pours its stinking grey ash upon the clacking, laughing keys. Throw that glass of water (for tomorrow) on the floor, step on its shards and dance, embracing them in soft padded flesh. Castrate the ***** of the feet and bleed out the last vestiges of your projected third person that stalks you like a shadow.

Ignore the clock that tocks and ticks towards tomorrow, towards a real life of bills and rent, distill your repent and drink deep brother. Sense the too-familiar scent of childhood fear borne out of decades of internalised guilt and tell me that it isn't sweet tonight, if this isn’t worth staying up for then I dare you to present me with a life worth going to bed for.

So strip yourself in front of this mirror, off each layer of potential, pretension, self-satisfied introspection, flawed, self-assured contentment that whispers that if only you applied yourself once in a while the confused mess of thoughts, regrets murmered under-breath, and little deaths that never escape the abstract place might one day add up to something of concrete beauty. Shatter the sardonic prism through which you view each new offering from those whose cardinal-sin was actually trying -that affords your cackling Medusa that the caustic chorus of “I could do better if I wanted to”.

Well don't you?

Tear down the veil between you and what you can't put off any longer; inspect the flabby mess of sores, leaving the limp **** to shrivel against the chill. Let the goose-bumps cluster like tumours. Like it or not this is you. Better live in bitter disappointment than forever bear the dead weight of mendacious expectation.

Cast poisonous complacency aside and hurl yourself against smirking canvas. You cannot win. You will die in a fluid florid flourish of movement; you will look this creeping inertia in the eye and just hope.

Give me black despair any day over this living death.

Give me the truth, without distractions.

To be a woman is hard enough to be ''challenged'' is grinding
when oppositions run rife.

However, I,
woman challenged have overcome
trepidation and opposing forces, subtle prejudices,
deprecatory show downs all disabilities, a million
shards now beneath my feet as i stand tall through
it  all, a bastion now revealed, an extension of my
inner resolve.

Supreme Court justices,
Smiling at autocracy,
Have pounded one more nail into
The coffin of democracy.

Immunity! That is what
They decided Trump should get.
Of course, Trump and his Court lackeys
Are in one another's debt.

Receiving immunity for actions
While serving a term as president
Is dangerous for a person like Trump
Who has an egomaniacal bent.

Giving so much power to him
While he's in office unfairly slights
The rest of us, for such a move
Diminishes the people's rights.

Yes, the rights of the rest of us,
For we have seen how he abuses
The power of the executive branch
To do whatsoever he chooses.

Our founding fathers emphasized
That no one is above the law.
The Court regards our Constitution
With a deprecatory "Pshaw!"

There were dissenters--only three--
Who criticized the Court's decision.
But sadly it is not enough
For three to have a clearer vision.

Treating the president of the country
As though he were a powerful king
Makes me sick, especially when
People sing "let freedom ring."

-by Bob B (7-4-24)