Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

For the sake of ornament and illumination.

POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:47 am

Elvis Must Die, by Charles Carreon

Elvis ushers in a New Age,
Elvis walks, Elvis talks,
Elvis must die.

Evil manipulators have Elvis' brain
in a jar in a casino basement,
And they're going to use it
to stage a psychic assault
on humanity.

Elvis was seen shopping at a K-Mart;
he bought a polaroid camera, a comb,
and spent a long time looking at
automotive accessories.

Elvis was seen walking
a twelve-year old girl to
the Minute Market on a Sunday afternoon;
they talked about loneliness in the afterlife,
And she said she knew how it must feel.

Elvis was foolish,
leaving psychic traces everywhere;
Now his face is subject
to the voodoo flock.
All those grasping souls--
could you imagine if he had to spend a lifetime
with each one ...?
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:49 am

Engine, by Charles Carreon

Image

Engine --
Look at you, drinking gasoline
in a steady flow,
Purring with the easy shake of the
exhaust,
Turning the fan and circulating water
to cool yourself
Easy as can be ...
 
We use, but rarely admire you,
Your faithfulness, your loyalty,
your rhythm,
Nimble as a dancer's step ...
 
All know the greasy metal,
the stink, the heat, the cracked
and grimy gaskets, the defeated clutch,
the shoeless brakes that have eaten
into their drums, exploded mufflers,
failed tires, dead batteries,
While so few have appreciated with
understanding
the steady beat of all the engineering
ticking fine --
 
It's a miracle, and a homey one at that:
So many things working together to turn
a single shaft.
Valves opening and closing to the
predetermined rhythm
of the ever-turning crank,
Communicated through the simple mechanism
of a chain.
 
Oh spark-plugs, sparking at the command
of the
loquacious rotor
Oh silent coil secretly amplifying
the power of the battery
Oh carburetor, mixing air and gasoline
like an alchemist
Oh oil-pan humbly lying below all things,
filling up with sludge and filings --
Oh engine, we take for granted the burden
you bear --
mutely your cylinders and rings wear away --
your flywheel loses its teeth --
your valves become encrusted --
the intelligence of your steel decays,
is worn away by time -- you fumble,
you falter -- the trim muscles of good
compression waste away -- gravity gets you
down -- you do not make the hills, you
cannot
pull the load anymore.
Oh worn away, oh broken down,
Oh tired and unsteady, you are
passed on to the poor,
To those who gamble on a transmission
And play Russian Roulette
with a recalcitrant starter.
And you will try, you will exert yourself
To uphold their faith,
Drinking watered gasoline, putting up with
Quantities of cheap oil that you
Blow out in a sickly exhaust.
So come away, come away then
There is no heaven for you, to be
earned
By grace or works !
Render them good service --
Three-hundred dollars worth and then,
in the parking lot of the supermarket,
in the carport,
on a long haul over a steep hill,
Give it up --
Burn your bearings,
crack your head,
throw a rod,
Give it up ! Disintegrate the order
that maintains you,
forget the intelligence that makes you
different from scrap,
Annihilate the hot homeostasis that
maintains your monotonous life --
Give it up, like a fevered
illusion,
And submit to the junkman's hook.
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:50 am

Everybody Wants To Be Like Paris Hilton, by Charles Carreon



Image

Who's useless?
And clueless?
An accidental nudist
With a smile perfect for TV?

Who's famous?
Who's gorgeous?
An ego that's enormous
Whose shoes are trimmed with purple mink?

Everybody wants to look like Paris Hilton
So it could be anybody,
Just like you are nobody,
'Cause today is just another day,
and Hey! They're towing your car away
Yeah, they're towing your car away.

On TV, we see them,
Dressed up in crazy clothing
Then we all wanna do the same

We're boring,
we're stupid,
And no one wants to see us--
I hate my stupid name

If only we could all be like Paris Hilton,
Free to charge it and take it away
If only I could be like Paris Hilton
I'd fly to Hollywood and there
I'd permanently stay.
But everybody wants to be like Paris Hilton
Where it's always recess and time to play
Because when your name is Paris Hilton
Every day is a beautiful day.

Who's useless?
And clueless?
An accidental nudist
With a smile perfect for TV?
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:50 am

Evolution, by Charles Carreon



Click here to play "Evolution," sung by Charles Carreon

You don’t believe in evolution
You think it messes with your soul
You want a spiritual solution
That gives the President control
And as for stuff like Revolution
Better keep that shit down in the hole

Yeah, old Jehovah drives a Caddy
He keeps the Devil in the trunk
They drive all over hell and Vegas
Playing shows and getting drunk
They do some massive entertaining
No time for scientific junk.

The Holy Spirit’s like Big Pharma
Creating custom DNA
So an immaculate conception
Was nothing more than child’s play
As for the vaunted resurrection
That was a clone we packed away

Now science fiction makes it easy
Mix truth and fantasy and luck
Combining television shaker
With ice and soda shake it up.
Serve to an ignorant population
They’ll drink it down and then shut up.

You don’t believe in evolution
You think it messes with your soul
You want a spiritual solution
That gives the President control
And as for stuff like Revolution
Better keep that shit down in the hole
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:51 am

Explode on the Border, by Charles Carreon



I’m the man in the taco stand
With the detonator in my hand
Please don’t come one step closer
Unless you want more cilantro

Explode on the border
In a tarpaper shack
Explode on the border
Cause they’re never gonna take me back

I got a dark nefarious plan
To make this place like Afghanistan
Make everyone speak Spanish
They’ll all be beaners when I’m finished

Explode on the border
It’s a culture war
Explode on the border
I’ll show you what this burrito’s for

You gotta hate the people you exploit
Demonize them, make the crawl
Never show a speck of thanks
Now you wanna roll out the tanks

So we’ll explode on the border
Won’t that be fun
Explode on the border
Golf carts burning in the sun

They ask me for my papers
I got the detonator in my hand
They’ll never take me alive
‘Cause I’m the suicide taco man

Explode on the border
Gimme my desert back
Explode on the border
And enjoy your a heart attack
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:54 am

Eye For Eye, by Charles Carreon



Image

The sun comes up on another day
People in a land they call holy
Droppin' bombs and burnin' families
Looks like it's just another stage
In our planetary nightmare

It's the human condition
It's the human condition
Tooth for tooth
Eye for eye
That's why the whole world
Has gone blind
We waste the fruit
And eat the rind
Makin' hell on earth
In search of Paradise
It's the human condition
It's the human condition

Long ago in a desert land
A tribe of herders got a bit too wise
They said, we’ll claim we are a special people
And all the men will get circumcised

We’ll make a deal with God Almighty
Claim he gave us lands of milk and honey,
We’ll write a book of fantasy
And claim impressive ancestry.

And each successive generation
Bought a slice of their deception
Claiming God was on their side.

From Constantine to Martin Luther
Witchhunts to the Inquisition
Good had nowhere left to hide.

It's the human condition
It's the human condition
Tooth for tooth
Eye for eye
That's why the whole world
Has gone blind
We waste the fruit
And eat the rind
Makin' hell on earth
In search of Paradise
'Cause it's the human condition
It's the human condition

Long ago, but they wrote it down
He was born in a little town
Visited by three wise men
I wonder if they knew how it would end.

The chosen people said he wasn’t theirs
The Roman ruler washed his hands of it
They hung him up where people could see
What happens to a revolutionary.

Skip ahead a thousand years
His sacrifice provided cause,
For murder, theft and roguery.

Religious teachers spread confusion
Creating madness and delusion
For they know not of the thing they speak

They promise us eternal life
Deliver us to endless strife
And advocate a strong defence.

The years advance
But we regress
Humanity cannot progress
Until we get up off our knees.

It's the human condition
It's the human condition
Tooth for tooth
Eye for eye
That's why the whole world
Has gone blind
We waste the fruit
And eat the rind
Makin' hell on earth
In search of Paradise
'Cause it's the human condition
It's the human condition

So stop your worshiping of other gods
And bow your heads to each other
Take the gold from the priestly class
Give it to our children and mothers

Stop contributing to our destruction
Let’s save the world for our children
Say no to the priest’s seduction
And put the Pope on welfare

Let’s try to build a human future
Get rid of the mental cancer --
Life could have a fighting chance

A warning at the vital hour
Could save us from the worst disaster
Change the course of history

Let’s change the human condition
Let’s change the human condition
No more tooth for tooth
No more eye for eye
No more killing
In the land of the blind
We’ll eat the fruit and
Compost the rind
Make Heaven on earth
To hell with
Paradise
Let’s change the human condition
Let’s change the human condition
Let’s change the human condition
Now!
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:55 am

Factors, by Charles Carreon

> WORK VERY BUSY
> Lama in town
> Weather cold & windy
> Coffee
> Grass
> Cognac
> Christmas food
> War-weariness re work
> Stunted creativity re lawpoets
> Hardcore rock and roll
> Eating pastas and pastries
> Wall outside my office window
> Pizza
> Cops <off-duty>
> Wall Street Journal
> Debt
> Revising one document until it's a psychic shred
> Dreaming of lying at the bottom of a pool
> Grasping at something uncertain
> Beautiful sky and light <can't grasp sky or light or beautifulness ... anxiety>
> Speed ... from one event to another
> Suffering of others ...
my business,
not my business
> Good boy
Bad boy
(repeat)
> Smart-aleck LA Weekly (Weakly?)
> Topic of discussion ... discourse on relative concepts ... clever talkers shut up!
> Muscular efforts to "make it"
> It only works for a while
> All breaks down eventually
(then you build it up again)
> Nihilism
(I made my mind up about nihilism the other day but now I can't remember what I decided)
> Reinvent the wheel
(Why not? Get back to basics.)
> Clever ... doesn't matter if I'm clever, I don't need to hustle girls anymore; nobody listens or cares (or if they do, what does it matter?)
> The boring that folks do stays after they leave; the cleverness is oft forgotten with the slamming of their departure
> Impute, impute, impute
meaning to things ...
oh yes ... this makes a
Difference ... a big, big Difference.
> What makes a difference?
Lying down in a warm bed
Having peaceful vibes in your heart
Treating other people decently
Being able to bear sorrow
Without inflicting it on others.

12/26/88, Los Angeles, California
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SONG

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 2:58 am

Four Stars, by Charles Carreon



Image

In an hour of darkness
In an hour of grief
When we look to the news
And find no relief

A clown in the White House
Rules a vampire ball
Where the blood flows freely
Right through the halls

A front man is needed
For the main freak show
So out to the barracks
They presently go

They find a pliable man
With shoulders like stone
Who says what he means
And does what he’s told

And he’s got FOUR STARS
That General Petraeus
He’s got FOUR STARS
That’s four more than you
He’s got FOUR STARS
That’s enough to betray us
He’s got FOUR STARS
So what you gonna do?

When the refugees are in millions
And the prison’s filled with innocents
When car bombs detonate routinely
Still criticism’s unseemly

When a man with a multi-colored map
Sits down and tells you where it’s at
And answers every question
In just the perfect way
You gotta say

That’s why he’s got
FOUR STARS
Good ole General Petraeus
He’s got FOUR STARS
What’s that mean to you?
He’s got FOUR STARS
That’s enough to betray us
He’s got FOUR STARS
Just enough to pull us through

When history judges men
It does so with a mighty pen
A name may be forgotten
Or forever engraved in stone

For villainy, for virtue
For loyalty or treason,
For General Petraeus
They won’t have to find a reason

They’ll say he had
FOUR STARS
That he used to betray us
FOUR STARS
And a shell game on the news
FOUR STARS
Yeah that General Petraeus
He has FOUR STARS
That’s four more than you
_______________
New York Times, September 10, 2007

Cooking the Books for the White House

Image

General Petraeus is a military man constantly at war with the facts. In 2004, just before the election, he said there was "tangible progress" in Iraq and that "Iraqi leaders are stepping forward." And last week Petraeus, the architect of the escalation of troops in Iraq, said, "We say we have achieved progress, and we are obviously going to do everything we can to build on that progress."

Every independent report on the ground situation in Iraq shows that the surge strategy has failed. Yet the General claims a reduction in violence. That's because, according to the New York Times, the Pentagon has adopted a bizarre formula for keeping tabls on violence. For example, deaths by car bombs don't count. The Washington Post reported that assassinations only count if you're shot in the back of the head -- not the front. According to the Associated Press, there have been more civilian deaths and more American soldier deaths in the past three months than in any other summer we've been there. We'll hear of neighborhoods where violence has decreased. But we won't hear that those neighborhoods have been ethnically cleansed.

Most importantly, General Petraeus will not admit what everyone knows: Iraq is mired in an unwinnable religious civil war. We may hear of a plan to withdraw a few thousand American troops. But we won't hear what Americans are desperate to hear, a timetable for withdrawing all our troops. General Petraeus has actually said American troops will need to stay in Iraq for as long as ten years.

Today, before Congress and before the American people, General Petraeus is likely to become General Betray Us.

MoveOn.org. POLITICAL ACTION

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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:02 am

Freak, by Charles Carreon

My ass is wrapped in plastic ...
This nipple's plastic, too,
And all the food they feed me is
mushy, pasty goo.
My parents don't seem to talk a lot,
They sit and watch a glowing box;
I'm stuck inside this plastic cage,
The only one who acts his age.
I don't know why it is so stupid here;
There's dullness everywhere --
It seeps inside me day by day
And though I scream won't go away.
I haven't really learned
to form these questions in my head,
But like something out of focus,
Coming nearer every day,
I get this nasty feeling
That things won't go my way.
 
Now years have passed
and I have learned to speak
 and wipe my butt;
So now it's time to go to school --
An ugly place -- so what?
Mom works and works and now she's
getting wrinkles in her face --
Dad seems so tired when he comes home --
He sits in just one place.
And now it's growing louder
All this racket in my skull --
Please get in line, don't touch those things,
Please try to think; it's time to sing.
I'm a schoolboy, and I'm really thinking
'bout Nancy's underwear; I'm a schoolboy,
but they treat me like a convict everywhere.
 
Now nailed inside this TV coffin,
I'd like to die; I'm seventeen.
She turned me down one too often,
And I've been smoking too much weed.
The world outside my window's glum,
I won't get a job because I'm too dumb
The shoes aren't hip,
My face has zits
And my whole life is in the pits.
I'm a teenage nervous breakdown,
My karma is givin' me the shakedown;
If I had two horns I couldn't be weirder;
I hate that face in the mirror --
Don't know how I got hooked up with it
Between me and him, we're a losing pair --
Even schoolchildren stop and stare
And say "Freak, he's a weirdo;"
They aren't afraid of me --
Please let me out oh god if you are there;
Since I was a child I've looked
for you everywhere --
The nuns were fronts for a hollow scam,
And the Pope doesn't yell about Vietnam;
The whole damn earth just holds me down
And businessmen scare me with their frowns.
I'm a freak -- a weirdo --
A loser at the starting gate --
Freak -- a weirdo -- Don't worry
'bout me, I'm always late, Don't worry 'bout
me, I can't get a date; Don't worry 'bout
me, Don't worry, Don't worry 'bout me.
 
(Winter, 1986 at ML&B office)
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POETRY

Postby admin » Sat Sep 21, 2013 3:03 am

From a Dream, by Charles Carreon

I dreamt of one of my ancestors, an Ainsa from the colonial era, that he was writing this --

"I have been pictured in reports wearing arms and carrying a musket, but I must clarify that I was never one of those valientes who fought for the King with weapons, and should not be so honored. All of my service has been with my quill pen, keeping records of the stocks of material and other properties of the King, which I did to the best of my ability.

And as for the meteorites that have been in our keeping, though it is said they fell from the stars, we do not know this to be their origin, for we did not see them fall, and if they did, we cannot explain how they came to be in the sky, so it is only conjecture from their molten appearance. As for those who say they fell from the buckets of angels sent to stoke the fire of the stars, we cannot know, but the notion seems far-fetched."
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