Post by Tony DeStefanis on Jun 15, 2012 13:31:42 GMT -5
I have been spending some time considering what should be the proper philosophical underpinning of the petition. Should it be based, as was the Declaration of Independence, on the Enlightenment concepts of consent of the governed and the social contract or have times changed so significantly that channelling the ghost of the founding fathers in this endeavor could be considered similar to asking Hamilton for his suggestions on regulating the deriviitives markets. (Has anyone else found it difficult to write about a serious topic with a row of leering smilely faces flashing at the top of your message? I think I am going to have a seizure from the flashing!)
I have been fiddling around with a concept of going back to the social contract in regard to governance and invoking the covenent of good faith and fair dealing. The influence of big money is essentially depriving the majority of Americans of the fruits of the established social contract violating the covenent of good faith and fair dealing. While thinking about this I wrote the following poem it is called Common Sense and is like Thomas Paine meets Allen Ginsberg! More serious proposal to follow soon.
P.S. Could we get rid of the verification feature? It is a pain in the ass and I can see no valid reason for it.
COMMON SENSE
It would be easier to know what to say if I were born in an earlier age
Riding Excalibur shotgun with maniacal Dean Moriority across the American plains, Seeing the world flash by in the rearview mirror
The wounds of war still bleeding their melancholy remembrances thick and stalking through the hearts of gold star mothers.
The sorrow still fixed in orphan’s eyes as one too many caskets
Draped with flags and heavy with the dust of sacrifice
Were planted in the frozen ground of a nation on the precipice of eternal transformation
A world of infinite possibilities achingly blooming like flowers on an April Morning
A rainbow of color and expectation studded across the fields with the poppies and
Plowed under with the ghosts of Versailles
If I had been born in an earlier age,
I could stand here in front of you, brimming with confidence, strength and the collective reassurances of the American people
Washing the blood from their hands and
Patting themselves on the back for a job well done
Banishing Rosie the Riveter back to the kitchen in the name of mom and Apple Pie.
Reveling in glorious accidents of fate,
To not only be on the winning side, but on the side that was right.
Sleeping soundly at night, unsuspicious of press releases from the capital and
Still believing in the good of democracy and the sincerity of the guardsmen in the watchtowers
Extolling the virtues of duty and honor
Safe and contented, satisfied with justice and reassured with victory
That America would always win and would always be in the right and would always be on top.
But for better or for worse those days are gone forever and maybe they were never real, Just a child’s blanket in the attics of our hallowed mythology.
Stowed between the rafters with the rights of man and the dogmas of universal equality
Dragged out to warm and comfort us with memories of safe sterility
A mothballed afghan cherished like an heirloom
Rewoven at our convenience and then left as forgotten and uncelebrated as the other tapestries woven on the looms of promised prosperity and manifest destiny
Some flung over our heads as sirens wailed and we jumped under desks to duck and cover and await Armageddon.
Some bleached white and blue into nuclear flag mutations who could never wave with a stitch of red.
Some lost in freight train boxes somewhere between Manzanar and eternity.
Some burned black smothering flames in Montgomery, Selma and Birmingham jail, leaving only ashes and hatred but never having a dream
Some confiscated at borders and put on trial for obscene displays and inappropriate colors witnessing nothing but their own destruction and exuberance.
Some sent as shawls on the shoulders of military advisers asking what they could do for their God and their country.
Some boxed up and put on display in Smithsonian galleries as eternal talismans protecting our national mythology
Most sold off piece meal at sidewalk sales and auctions, discarded with the rest of our ideologies and certainties, gray with age, their utility exhausted
Stuffed back into Pandora’s box with other fears and the artifacts of our storied march toward oblivion.
Yes the world has moved on and the river still flows and the more things change,
The more they stay the same.
It would be easier to know what to say if I had been born in another age,
In the shadow of the Golden Gate, warm with the glow from City Lights and nothing to block the open roads spread out in our consciousness like the wings of an eagle
Flying down from the mountains, seeking the wine in the Vineyards or the milk of human kindness and everywhere the vibration of creation and soul struck revolution
Twisted talons scribbling blueprints on notepads and awaiting a new rebirth of wonder to rise like a phoenix from a nest of shredded gray flannel and deferred gratification.
Floating to a sound track of sacramental jazz blaring from subterranean basements scattered on roadsides between Berkeley and Bleeker
Clutching clandestine manifestos and shedding jewels at the altars in preparation for the resurrection of the dead in the land of eternal slumber.
Evangelical pranksters solemnizing better living though chemistry and clamoring in earnest for a peek at the infinite.
The death knell of Western civilization heralded by a roaring herd of Harleys through the streets of Oakland on the way to Altamont
Stuffing gun barrels full of carnations knowing that the times they were a-changing and that the meek would inherit the earth underneath umbrellas illuminated by red phosphorus and napalm
In the bleak dawn of insurrection chanting Zen riddles through the Haight brain bashed in starlit Chicago alleys and always sure when they said they wanted a revolution until the threat was over
Flinging olive branches, stale commitments, visionary transformations and ideals into the roaring wind in the wake of helicopter blades blowing dust off Saigon rooftops
Contented to shift the scenery and hail a new utopia stuffing cabinets and shelves with organic brown rice, and Native American textiles
Smiling condescensions while chucking out the crystal and the china singing hymns to newfound enlightenment and the triumph of grass root proletariats now forgotten
Polishing the fruits from the upturned apple cart, putting them back in the basket shining brilliant on the surface but remaining rotten to the core
Pardoning the convicted on the gallows, returning them to business as usual, accepting muttered insincere apologies instead of demanding their blood
Safe and contented, satisfied with justice and reassured with victory
Bringing the boys back home once again
Patting themselves on the back for a job well done
Empowered with illusions
Assured that truth and justice can conquer evil and
That if people work together anything is possible.
But for better or for worse those days are gone forever
A tarnished bugle left rusting in the attic of our popular mythology
Encased in a velvet crate with copies of The Liberator and ink wells from the Continental Congress
A bauble of rusty tin shrill and muted blaring strains of “We Shall Overcome”
Dragged out to herald ceremonial charges then cast into insignificance as soon as the whole world is no longer watching
Left to play a solo to a vacant amphitheater drowned out by orchestras blaring tributes to the love of gold and money.
Jeered from the balcony for attempting improvised harmonies or deviating from the programs carved in stone at the lectern
Evicted from the grandeur of the galleries for the petty crimes of insolvency and fiscal irresponsibility
Bankrupted and consigned to serenade street corner pedestrians for spare change and approval into the twilight dawns of neglected vigilance
Confettied with canceled performance subscriptions and murderous reviews as the show times were no longer scheduled for nine to five
Banished to the Library of Congress with nostalgic folkways ballads and comedic tributes to the Age of Aquarius leaving only silence on the dawn of a new millennium
Yes the world has moved on and the river still flows and the more things change,
The more they stay the same.
If it ever existed the past is gone.
Slowly poisoned by ghosts from a past that makes little sense and has even less concern for the future
Drifting through time displaced and disconnected weighing the lesser of the evils but having no real choice but to grieve
With the strangled cry of a soulless time limping feebly into the new millennium.
A debauched diseased cesspool of banality masquerading as culture and reducing the American intellect to lifelines and multiple-choice guesses
Schoolyards littered with corpses killed in angry solitude and all we ask is who wants to be a millionaire
Government by the opinion polls, for the special interests and for sale to the highest bidder.
Vicarious living elevated to an art form
A masochistic sacrifice to a god of static stagnation
I will not participate, I am not infected, I have been vaccinated
I will not worship your culture or your idols
I will not surrender my freedom at your altars
I will not have my opinions decided by focus groups
I will not feel bad about not keeping up with the Joneses
I will not be convinced that I can’t be creative without a graduate degree
I will not let the scripts of my dreams for the future be written by Hollywood
I resent the destruction of my soul in the name of conformity
I resent seeing poverty in the midst of a land of plenty
I resent petty tyrants with their unending cruelty
stamping out beautiful flowers before they bloom to justify their lack of creativity
The only laws I respect are those that make old people warmer in the winter,
children happier and beer stronger
I am immortal, unstuck in time slowing losing what is left of my sanity
Yet I am certain it is better to be an inmate in the asylum than a voyeur in the living room
Give me liberty or give me death
e
I have been fiddling around with a concept of going back to the social contract in regard to governance and invoking the covenent of good faith and fair dealing. The influence of big money is essentially depriving the majority of Americans of the fruits of the established social contract violating the covenent of good faith and fair dealing. While thinking about this I wrote the following poem it is called Common Sense and is like Thomas Paine meets Allen Ginsberg! More serious proposal to follow soon.
P.S. Could we get rid of the verification feature? It is a pain in the ass and I can see no valid reason for it.
COMMON SENSE
It would be easier to know what to say if I were born in an earlier age
Riding Excalibur shotgun with maniacal Dean Moriority across the American plains, Seeing the world flash by in the rearview mirror
The wounds of war still bleeding their melancholy remembrances thick and stalking through the hearts of gold star mothers.
The sorrow still fixed in orphan’s eyes as one too many caskets
Draped with flags and heavy with the dust of sacrifice
Were planted in the frozen ground of a nation on the precipice of eternal transformation
A world of infinite possibilities achingly blooming like flowers on an April Morning
A rainbow of color and expectation studded across the fields with the poppies and
Plowed under with the ghosts of Versailles
If I had been born in an earlier age,
I could stand here in front of you, brimming with confidence, strength and the collective reassurances of the American people
Washing the blood from their hands and
Patting themselves on the back for a job well done
Banishing Rosie the Riveter back to the kitchen in the name of mom and Apple Pie.
Reveling in glorious accidents of fate,
To not only be on the winning side, but on the side that was right.
Sleeping soundly at night, unsuspicious of press releases from the capital and
Still believing in the good of democracy and the sincerity of the guardsmen in the watchtowers
Extolling the virtues of duty and honor
Safe and contented, satisfied with justice and reassured with victory
That America would always win and would always be in the right and would always be on top.
But for better or for worse those days are gone forever and maybe they were never real, Just a child’s blanket in the attics of our hallowed mythology.
Stowed between the rafters with the rights of man and the dogmas of universal equality
Dragged out to warm and comfort us with memories of safe sterility
A mothballed afghan cherished like an heirloom
Rewoven at our convenience and then left as forgotten and uncelebrated as the other tapestries woven on the looms of promised prosperity and manifest destiny
Some flung over our heads as sirens wailed and we jumped under desks to duck and cover and await Armageddon.
Some bleached white and blue into nuclear flag mutations who could never wave with a stitch of red.
Some lost in freight train boxes somewhere between Manzanar and eternity.
Some burned black smothering flames in Montgomery, Selma and Birmingham jail, leaving only ashes and hatred but never having a dream
Some confiscated at borders and put on trial for obscene displays and inappropriate colors witnessing nothing but their own destruction and exuberance.
Some sent as shawls on the shoulders of military advisers asking what they could do for their God and their country.
Some boxed up and put on display in Smithsonian galleries as eternal talismans protecting our national mythology
Most sold off piece meal at sidewalk sales and auctions, discarded with the rest of our ideologies and certainties, gray with age, their utility exhausted
Stuffed back into Pandora’s box with other fears and the artifacts of our storied march toward oblivion.
Yes the world has moved on and the river still flows and the more things change,
The more they stay the same.
It would be easier to know what to say if I had been born in another age,
In the shadow of the Golden Gate, warm with the glow from City Lights and nothing to block the open roads spread out in our consciousness like the wings of an eagle
Flying down from the mountains, seeking the wine in the Vineyards or the milk of human kindness and everywhere the vibration of creation and soul struck revolution
Twisted talons scribbling blueprints on notepads and awaiting a new rebirth of wonder to rise like a phoenix from a nest of shredded gray flannel and deferred gratification.
Floating to a sound track of sacramental jazz blaring from subterranean basements scattered on roadsides between Berkeley and Bleeker
Clutching clandestine manifestos and shedding jewels at the altars in preparation for the resurrection of the dead in the land of eternal slumber.
Evangelical pranksters solemnizing better living though chemistry and clamoring in earnest for a peek at the infinite.
The death knell of Western civilization heralded by a roaring herd of Harleys through the streets of Oakland on the way to Altamont
Stuffing gun barrels full of carnations knowing that the times they were a-changing and that the meek would inherit the earth underneath umbrellas illuminated by red phosphorus and napalm
In the bleak dawn of insurrection chanting Zen riddles through the Haight brain bashed in starlit Chicago alleys and always sure when they said they wanted a revolution until the threat was over
Flinging olive branches, stale commitments, visionary transformations and ideals into the roaring wind in the wake of helicopter blades blowing dust off Saigon rooftops
Contented to shift the scenery and hail a new utopia stuffing cabinets and shelves with organic brown rice, and Native American textiles
Smiling condescensions while chucking out the crystal and the china singing hymns to newfound enlightenment and the triumph of grass root proletariats now forgotten
Polishing the fruits from the upturned apple cart, putting them back in the basket shining brilliant on the surface but remaining rotten to the core
Pardoning the convicted on the gallows, returning them to business as usual, accepting muttered insincere apologies instead of demanding their blood
Safe and contented, satisfied with justice and reassured with victory
Bringing the boys back home once again
Patting themselves on the back for a job well done
Empowered with illusions
Assured that truth and justice can conquer evil and
That if people work together anything is possible.
But for better or for worse those days are gone forever
A tarnished bugle left rusting in the attic of our popular mythology
Encased in a velvet crate with copies of The Liberator and ink wells from the Continental Congress
A bauble of rusty tin shrill and muted blaring strains of “We Shall Overcome”
Dragged out to herald ceremonial charges then cast into insignificance as soon as the whole world is no longer watching
Left to play a solo to a vacant amphitheater drowned out by orchestras blaring tributes to the love of gold and money.
Jeered from the balcony for attempting improvised harmonies or deviating from the programs carved in stone at the lectern
Evicted from the grandeur of the galleries for the petty crimes of insolvency and fiscal irresponsibility
Bankrupted and consigned to serenade street corner pedestrians for spare change and approval into the twilight dawns of neglected vigilance
Confettied with canceled performance subscriptions and murderous reviews as the show times were no longer scheduled for nine to five
Banished to the Library of Congress with nostalgic folkways ballads and comedic tributes to the Age of Aquarius leaving only silence on the dawn of a new millennium
Yes the world has moved on and the river still flows and the more things change,
The more they stay the same.
If it ever existed the past is gone.
Slowly poisoned by ghosts from a past that makes little sense and has even less concern for the future
Drifting through time displaced and disconnected weighing the lesser of the evils but having no real choice but to grieve
With the strangled cry of a soulless time limping feebly into the new millennium.
A debauched diseased cesspool of banality masquerading as culture and reducing the American intellect to lifelines and multiple-choice guesses
Schoolyards littered with corpses killed in angry solitude and all we ask is who wants to be a millionaire
Government by the opinion polls, for the special interests and for sale to the highest bidder.
Vicarious living elevated to an art form
A masochistic sacrifice to a god of static stagnation
I will not participate, I am not infected, I have been vaccinated
I will not worship your culture or your idols
I will not surrender my freedom at your altars
I will not have my opinions decided by focus groups
I will not feel bad about not keeping up with the Joneses
I will not be convinced that I can’t be creative without a graduate degree
I will not let the scripts of my dreams for the future be written by Hollywood
I resent the destruction of my soul in the name of conformity
I resent seeing poverty in the midst of a land of plenty
I resent petty tyrants with their unending cruelty
stamping out beautiful flowers before they bloom to justify their lack of creativity
The only laws I respect are those that make old people warmer in the winter,
children happier and beer stronger
I am immortal, unstuck in time slowing losing what is left of my sanity
Yet I am certain it is better to be an inmate in the asylum than a voyeur in the living room
Give me liberty or give me death
e