Happy Plastic Planet

We worthy worms of wonderland are weary of weird words.  We want to weep.  Where were we?  Our eyes went wee-wee when Mother Earth died (just because we murdered her–the nerve of that gal!)  Suddenly she went away and left the kids behind.  On her generous remains the rest of us now dine.  Come on in–the weather’s fine.  The thermostat’s adjusted, as are our straitjackets.  We obey our misleader’s every command.  It speaks in gibberish that we all understand.  We’re happy to be here in outer space in the same place where the planet once sat and spun.  We have so many things to do–everyone has a gun.  So much money to be made pursuing deadly fun, shoring up treacherous treasures, songs and movies and television shows referenced by title.  Who knows?  Maybe we’ll even find time to read a tall tale or two from the Bible with eyes rented from our favorite corporation, proud sponsor of the smiling-skulled flag of our neo-uber-nation.  The world’s a concrete girdle wrapped around a ball of bones.  The most important thing to do is take care of your face.  As long as you look young and glad you’ll have no lack of friends.  There’s no need for a day planner; the story never ends.  Those creatures doomed to time limits are happily extinct.  Thank God now we can all survive–everyone is a sphinx.

Happily happily the madwoman cuts the carrots.  

Crappily crappily the baby mocks the parrots.

Two lovebirds sing about the chainsaw that cut down their tree.

Oh, wonderful!  A Christmas card!  The Manson family!

And Santa Claus has killed Jesus–he slew him with his sleigh.

The only thing that you can do is have a darned nice day.

A triumph it is, yes indeed, to drive your car to work.

For every day’s an adventure, with coffee as a perk.

You can’t go wrong if you are right.

You’re fated to succeed.  Earthquakes, whirlwinds–fly a kite–

tornado gives it speed.  The best thing 

about forgetting everything that goes

on every day is knowing that time works

like that–brains have a way of getting fat.

The ones you love will go away, and they

will lose you too.  A sniper has you in his sights:

he won’t say, “Peekaboo!”

I’m proud to be a plastic person, divorced from all remorse.  A smile winds right around my head, delightfully, of course.  My chipper mood’s around the clock–no time to piss and moan.  I know which voice I must employ when I am on the phone.  The key to having self-esteem is being likable.  That means do not say anything offensive, crude, or cruel.  And it’s okay if this repression makes you feel you’re muzzled.  At night there’s always beer and wine and whiskey to be guzzled.  Relationships are bodies’ ways, exchanging information.  We touch too much, then not at all, succumb to desolation.  It’s only our biology, reminding us to mate.  Or else it’s criminology, trying to plumb our hate.  For something that takes goddamned long, life feels like nothing much.  Do not dismay if you fall hard when you give up your crutch.  While lying on your back you’ll see the sky’s a mighty place.  There’s nowhere else you have to go–just never-ending space.


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