Poetry & Songs, by Charles Carreon

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You Got Played, by Charles Carreon

(Sing to "Heart of Stone," by the Rolling Stones)

There’ve been so many
Voters I’ve known
Democrats are so dumb
Just like Republicans

Here comes the little girl,
Pushing her baby down the street
She’s all by herself,
Using food stamps get somethin’ to eat,

And I’ll promise change
Promise change
Promise CHANGE
And then forget…
I’ll go to Washington, but I’ll forget now.

Another election?
A fait acomplit ...
You could vote for that other guy,
Yeah, if you wanna die.
And you know you won’t
Know you won’t
Know you won’t
Know you won’t
Stand alone
You can’t stand alone, baby, need a man beside you.

You keep on hopin’ I’ll remember someday
And I’ll lead you on,
Yes on and on and on,

The bankers are my friends,
But ain’t I good to you?
Didn’t send you to Guantanamo,
Didn’t beat you black and blue,

So you’ll never leave,
Never leave,
Never leave,
You gotta come home,
You gotta come home to poppa babe.

You think you are different?
That you’ll “occupy”
But you just sat in your tent
Tryin’ to avoid the rent.
Couldn’t come up with no demands,
Playin’ your little anarchist games,
Hate to tell you baby,
You’re all pretty lame,
And some day you’ll see
Day you’ll see
Day you’ll see
Day you’ll see,
You just got played,
Played by me, yeah, I was the player
Played by me,
Yeah baby you just got played,
Played by me.

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Zombies Don't Come, by Charles Carreon

It all happened right here, in me.
The whole thing
everything
right here
peter frampton was right
i'm in you
You're in me
probably not how he meant it
but anyway
saw him once at the Ventura County Fair by the beach
poor bastard
me, I mean
stuck in a motel with wife and daughter
the daughter and I
decided to see the show
Actually, he was pretty good
And then I remembered
He was the guitarist in Humble Pie
Who fried my brain
At the celebrity theatre
on a full hit of orange sunshine
Came on after Loggins & Messina had me all blissed out and
electrocuted my ass
Goddamn singer talking cockney smack about a run-in with a London whore
Uuuuuuugghh
Dragged my mind through the fuck'n gutter
Then ground me through a brutal version of I don't need no doctor
Killer tune
Killed me about a dozen times
Then, when I was dead,
Turned me into a zombie
With everyone else
And moshed us psychically
with his fuzztone
Including the bit where the
bass player goes real quiet
Then cranks it up to eleven
So the whole floor falls out from under you and everyone else
And the whole room has an orgasm
sorta
except for me
cause I'm a zombie
and I know it
unlike the rest of them
and zombies don't come

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The Ballad of Javier Solis
by Charles Carreon

The DEA came into town,
One dark and slimy day,
Dressed like punker-hippie-
military-tattooed scum,
With consecutively numbered stacks
of Treasury-issued cash
To do some deals and add
some meth to Uncle Sammy's stash.

They haunted bars and strip joints
Like real tattooed scum,
They hung around, talked shit
And told pornographic jokes,
Treated Mexes at the bar
Like ordinary folks,
And at suspicious intervals
Got up to take a whiz,
Made faces like they'd copped a buzz,
And were always up for biz.

Well soon they'd rounded up
A nice young man from Nayarit
Who swore his uncle knew a man
Whose crank was pure and sweet,
He tossed off his tequila,
The cops poured him one more,
They set the deal to go down
In a chicken coop at four.
Those doughty DEA guys thought
They'd hatched a nice surprise.

At three o’clock, the backup team
Arrived at their spot on a ridge above
The chicken coop described.
In the dry and dusty valley
The snipers cleaned their sights.

At four o’clock, the narcs rolled up
All bad in their Mustang 5.
With their bag of funny-money,
And swaggering gangster panache,
With their visible guns and hidden badges,
They were ready for anything,
Hoping for action.

Behind a counter in the heat
Sat a man with a poundscale,
A scoop, and some bags,
A heap of some whitish substance,
And a smile as warm as the sun.
The scum looked at each other,
And jerked their guns real fast.
But the Mexican started laughing,
And waved his hands at last.

He wasn't frightened, didn't cry,
And explained in perfect Spanish,
The fertilizer was not that dear,
And there was no need to steal it.
Besides the boss had always said
The police were all their friends.
“What's that guys name?”
A Spanish-speaking cop was quick to ask.
"Oh, he's well known around these parts.
He's called Javier Solis."

Then the man was very helpful,
And showed the DEA
How he mixed the powders and liquids
In a manner he'd well-memorized:
"Two scoops of this, one scoop of that,
Mix well and cook with this.
Decant, then strain, and filter again.
We made several pounds each day,
And at the end of every week,
Solis took it all away,
Bringing beans, tortillas, chile,
Bacon, chicken, cabbage too.
A very good man Solis was,
Kind and honest, just like you.
I'm sure he'd want you to have it,
So take a pound or two."

They took him into custody
But hell, it was no fun.
He knew it was a mixup
And didn't try to run,
Besides, they'd got the name now
Of a local drug kingpin.
They decided they should go back
Undercover for a spin.

Back in town, they quietly whispered
To the guys in the strip-bar toilet
That they sought Javier Solis.
Like a charm, the name
Drew forth laughs and knowing nods.
"Sure," said a dapper fellow
Slicking his hair in the mirror,
"He goes to that one place all the time ...
You remember ese," he says,
Turning to his comrade,
Whose head bobs in agreement,
"It's in that town where the mill gone closed,
A little bar, where I think he owns a share,
Cause him and his homies,
They're always drinkin there."

So they went to the bar in
the town up the road,
And asked if Solis was there.
A helpful fellow answered
"Dude, you missed him,
He was here,
But I know where he's going,
And if you hurry
You might catch him there."

And so they went from town to town,
Chasing old Solis on down,
Till at last their Mustang lights
Revealed a motel by a lettuce field,
Where an old Marine smokin' Chesterfields,
Was watchin’ TV at the manager's desk.

They told him, whispering closely,
They were looking for Javier Solis.
The manager squinted, and twisted his head
And answered “Say that again?”
They repeated themselves,
And when he was sure that they’d said
What he thought they had said,
He started to laugh,
And turned to the screen
Where a charro with a guitar on horseback
Serenaded a girl with long, black hair.
As he smiled with satisfaction, he said,
“That’s the man, right there.”

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You Can’t Defeat an Avocado
by Charles Carreon





(It’s like a wind that blows a thousand miles an hour.
You will be like -- “All my shit has been blown away…”)

Yeah many man's tried
And many man's died
Because you can’t defeat
An avocado
An avocado may look small
But inside, it’s ten feet tall,
That’s why you can’t defeat an avocado
You may learn some lessons in your life
From your husband or your wife
But until you see the light
You don’t know wrong from right
But you need never fear
The avocado’s here
And you can’t defeat an avocado
We’re takin’ bets here every night
The smart money’s always right
And you bet
That it’s on
The avocado
Because you can’t
No you can’t
You just can’t
No you can’t
You just can’t
Defeat
An avocado
Like Napoleon at Waterloo
My friend that will be you
If you attempt to overthrow
An avocado
Yeah, like Hitler at Stalingrad
It will be that bad
If you try to defeat
An avocado
Now wine comes from grapes
And people came from apes
But an avocado has a pit
And that’s just the heart of it!
So you can’t
No you can’t
No you can’t
No you can’t
You just can’t defeat an avocado

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Freedom From Fear
by Charles Carreon
7/12/13

I'm looking for a savage purity,
An individual turn of mind,
Something to bequeath futurity
That everyone would like to find.

Freedom from fear!
How about that?
Freedom from death
By heart attack
Or lack of money
How about that?
That's as real
as a heart attack.

An inner revolution is
What we've got to stage
The Devil's in charge
A complete outrage
We lick his boots
And polish his silver
We stack it up
And hope that some will stick to us
But it never does,
We're always behind,
Fighting to keep up
Till we fall over in the race
You got your heart attack
And your place in the graveyard
For all the good it did
You might have never been born

So you see we're in prison
We gotta break out
Well actually
We gotta break in,
Because the key's inside
If we all just grab it,
Things'll be all right.

You gotta break in
To where you're locked in
Watching television
And drinkin' gin,
With your worries stacked up
And your fears in charge
This is your life.
You're livin' large.

Mean -- while
Your limousine awaits
At the gate
Anytime you want to come
To the party
You won't be late
Too bad
You're lost inside
an illusion.
The truth is a place
You can be
Where things will clear up
Eventually
You just need a little patience
It does take a little time,
But you see it can be done
You can learn to have fun
Being good

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Untitled
by Charles Carreon

Don't rush
Don't tarry
With the flow
You go
Serving all beings
Without second thought
Harvesting the fruit
of Buddhahood
without effort or care
Awaking on the cradle
of true self-love.

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Persona
by Charles Carreon

He was the son of a
man named Jim,
And though it may
seem strange,
It wasn't easy for him.
You see, he was thin and pale,
a cheek like a sail
an eye as black
as a hole in a sail.
His mouth was like a smear
of plum juice on a page.
And he was born in what
would come to be regarded as
a darkling age.
A time when the craven practices
of numbreless generations
had taken wing, as it were,
Across the face of the nations.

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Day One of Last Day Diary
by Charles Carreon

If today were the last day
of my life, what would I say?
If I had only this page to
express it.
Well, of course, to answer that question,
I'll need to assume the circumstances
of my death, which would tend
to color the content of my speech. Ha ha.
But if it just was going to end in a
very ordinary way, I'd say, today,

I have had a heckuva ride
I almost don't want to spoil it
by going on about it
But I must go speedily to the nub
of it and say
Blessed was the day
A fair young maiden
looked my way
and blessed has been
every day I've spent with her
and the darkest day with her
I would abide again
For the sake of the lifetime
We've had together.
You are the sun
I wait for in the morning
The voice I long to hear
In the deepest chamber
of my heart.
I know you have always
wanted to know that I love
you enough to want to stay
with you forever,
to the exclusion of all others.
I have it figured out now
You and I shall be
Together forever
And there will be
No others.

[admin]

On the Origin of Clouds
by Charles Carreon

Tantric entanglement
The weaving of essences.
Vibrations that create the
illusion of solidity.
Space that accommodates
gradations of density.
Abstraction between and among
illusory chunks of this and that.
The tendency of things to
assume a spherical form.
The emergence of local gravity.
The interplay of fluctuating temperatures.
The arising of cyclic alternations.
The emergence of rhythms.
The shuffle begins its movement,
The weaving begins.

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Burning Man Journal
by Charles Carreon



Soul music and white
people for breakfast
Keepin' your own bottle
of pee
All your garbage is yours
I toss a small knot of
string out the tent door,
knowing someone will remark
upon it.
I wait less than an hour
before a Burner throws it
back in the door, casually,
as if it had caught her
eye a minute before, and she'd
just decided on the
course of action
for dealing with a nikulturni
virgin.
I make instant Chai
not very good
Make real tea
Eat plum pie
Share plum pie w/
Cliff & Atira.
Fix my bike tire.
See Scotto
Finally -- clarity
Bike Rock City
4:15 & G
I'm there-bound.