Identified as a trouble maker by the authorities since childhood, and resolved to live up to the description, Charles Carreon soon discovered that mischief is most effectively fomented through speech. Having mastered the art of flinging verbal pipe-bombs and molotov cocktails at an early age, he refined his skills by writing legal briefs and journalistic exposes, while developing a poetic style that meandered from the lyrical to the political. Journey with him into the dark caves of the human experience, illuminated by the torch of an outraged sense of injustice.
(dedicated to Gary Webb, Judy Barry, Danny Casolaro, and all the other victims of dirty wars against not only human freedom, but basic dignity)
Multiple gunshot suicides, Too many goddamn of them. Multiple gunshot suicides, What do you think about them?
Two bullets to the head, That muthafucka’s dead. You can tuck him in one last time He obviously wasn’t fine, He’s a multiple gunshot suicide When the sirens roll, He’ll take his long, last ride To the undertaker’s vault, Well it’s nobody’s fault. He got mixed up in somethin’ I don’t know nothin’, But it ain’t nobody’s fault Anymore.
He’s a multiple gunshot suicide Time to take him for his long, last ride, You can write his name in the record books, But look away now friend, No long last looks. He’s a multiple gunshot suicide Time to bury his name with his shame He knew he was playin’ a dangerous game, So when the sirens roll, He’ll take his long last ride To the undertaker’s vault, Well it’s nobody’s fault. He got mixed up in somethin’. I don’t know nothin’ But it ain’t nobody’s fault Anymore.
Well life can put some boulders In a young man’s way, No sex, no money, no nothin’ funny, That’s what they seem to say.
When all roads lead to Paradise And a credit card for a key There’s Playboy bunnies and Christmas money, And nothin’ left to see.
Well a young man craves some action, Can’t find none on the streets, And when you’re out of high school There’s no place to park your feet.
“Till one day on the streets There comes by in a pimpin’ ride A man with a plan And a gun in his hand, Says boy, won’t ya’ come with me.
He's a military man He's extending his hand He wants to take you for a ride In his long black car. He's the murder czar.
His path is always secret, ‘Cause need-to-know’s the game. He’s got your DNA code, And won't give you his name.
If you serve some time on the pipeline All this could be yours, son, With a wink and a clink And a flash of pink, It’s all he needs to say.
He's a military man He's extending his hand He wants to take you for a ride In his long black car. He's the murder czar.
“Just give me the pen,” You say with a grin, You think you’ve got some play. If you’d watched real close You’d a seen like a ghost As your freedom slipped away.
Now the bombs are falling And the devil’s calling And he’s got your number today. You’re sure it’s over Then you live to suffer One more fucking day.
You’re a military man You took that fucker’s hand You let him take you for a ride In his long black car. You knew damn well He was the murder czar.
My red clouds in my red sky Deepen red mountains with red light. I play my zither And red tones sound -- Carnelian, carmine, Crimson and rust -- Alizarine smooth as a red moth's dust
Big, burly guys Seize and immobilize you, And start workin' on your arms to see if they'll break. When they call you asshole, yell it into your ear, you get the point: "Don't fuck with us."
FREE ADVICE: Shortly after you meet a cop you will have an opportunity to kiss his ass. Take that opportunity; it may not present itself again.
It's very simple, really, National roulette. Pick a country, any country, Spin the dial, and wait. Aha, you see it's not the same Today as yesterday. A different flag and credo Rides a wind of change. The Shah is cooked, Somozo split Afghanistan's been blitzed. It's national roulette, And no one's got it sewed up yet So step right up and place your bets It's national roulette.
It's a new season, a break in the weather -- I look through a window And breathe in the blue.
One dead end behind me, A mind that can't find me, An old bag of bones on a bench.
Saints get the run-around With their ears close to the ground, And their noses to the grindstones, They're flunkies, Hustling for a buck in a company town, Where the demons flock like shadows When the sun goes down.
Outside the window There's a cool moon rising
Outside the window There's a lone cloud drifting. Stars come out, one by one.
Nice-- The word is so often slighted As if nothing could really be nice. But it is nice when the trees Planted in the middle of the road Rise up into the blue sky. It is very nice. As we go motoring down the road The deep blue of the sky Anticipates the approach of the sea, And this is also very nice.
It is nice when the child Plays with the colored ball in the sunshine, And it is nice when the mother Pushes the infant in the stroller-- The infant is very pretty, And this is also very nice. Oh yes, from here to infinity, Stretching out through all the extent of the clear, permitting sky-- Nice, nice, very nice, Like a child's game Of me discovering myself, Which is, in fact, nicest of all.
We are on a journey Crossing many lands dry lands with salty lake beds rocky lands with toothy crags windy lands with twisted shapes forested lands with dark groves gouged lands with crashing torrents impassable lands with gaping clefts
We have made a pact This journey will not end We will never turn back though paradise beckon a thousand times though the ghost of suicide whines though the elders threaten and malign We will press onward Regardless
We sleep in the open we feast on the sky If the stars could eat our brains our skulls would be hollow as the night but we have the power of fire in our hearts to give us light
The trees murmur in the dark the wind stirs their leaves and they say things to each other to the clouds the mountains the meadows the creeks and we listen intently as if we could understand but we do not
The moon stays on course unfurling its sail a little more every night Traveling farther across the sky waxing to its own sort of silvery day Lighting the path we must follow Charmed, all our lives
This is no simple game but the rules are unwritten, so you learn by losing, and win by learning.
It would be nice of course if someone knew the way but if they do they never say.
Come along then, to the place where eternity can catch us up and bear us along on its dark waves.
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No Karma Karma, by Charles Carreon 11/19/14
Most often, your idea of who you're dealing with Is just a notion redolent with anxiety, So lighten up on the personalities, Especially your own. And do what needs doing.
There's no place different from this, So stop leaning into the hamster wheel, And work in the timeless presence Where beings appear In the splendor of unfettered creativity.
Breathing forth a stream of benefit From the heart that pervades all space, Radiate liberating awareness To every living being, And be washed pure in the rain of joy.
A small fire Can touch off a blaze That burns a million trees. It can smolder In the dried needles Inviting the latent flame in every thing To join with it In releasing the hidden power. Once fire catches Up with matter There's no stopping it. Chernobyl and Nagasaki and Watts Taught that. Fire one, Fire two, Fire three. Phosphorus Victim, Molotov Martyr, Subatomic Sacrificial Guernica Beast Terrified Howls "I DO!" Forced to wed, shotgun in the face, Flesh with flame, which, Once it catches, There's no stopping it.