A sometimes-friend/sometimes-more and I were out on the town a couple nights ago at some trendy place with some stupid Nazi name like "The Stock Exchange Club" or some capatalistic shit like that and as luck would have it, it was experimental jazz fusion night. So this band of guys were all like making the music up as they go and shit. I was like, wow, that is funky shit. Except it was actually jazzy shit and stuff (der). Those guys were really jamming, like tonight would be the big break they've been looking for, like some big record company executive would happen to be in town (in fucking Reno, of all places, as if!) and hear them and sign a big contract and then they'd get to tour and make big bucks and have stupid girls lined up outside there dressing rooms to suck there dicks and stuff and they could demand M&M's with all the brown ones removed and all that crazy rock star stuff that people think the music business is like, even though I mean are there even record company executives anymore? Aren't there just like MP3 managers who try really really hard to get you featured in the next iPod ad and that's about all they do and then every college kid steals your mp3 and emails it to every other college kid he ever met, and you end up making like 99 cents?
But, anyways, the bass player had really big hands. I've heard you have to have big hands to play the bass, but this was almost like obscene. My sometimes-friend was just staring at them all night. We were apprently not sometimes-more at the time.
I got to thinking how I had done some experimental improvisational theatre for a few years on and off around college (which was also on and off - IRONY ALERT!! IRONY ALERT!!!), but I hadn't done any in a while because nobody will actually pay you to do improvisational thatre, and I got tired of eating nothing but on-sale-expires-tomorrow tofu and ramen noodles. Theatre where someone actually spends time writing the script and changing it until it is right (righting the writing!!! IRONY ALERT!!! AGAIN!!!!!!!!!) and then professionals spend time rehersing it until they do it right (no, CherkyB, not like prom night all over again - very much the exact opposite of prom night all over again. Fucking dickhead.) is the theatre where you get paid enough to be able to afford veggie burgers and fressh greens.
I can say "greens" now, cuz Obama is President! Greens isn't racist anymore. Greens is da bomb.
And I was thinking about how I really do need a better creative outlet, cuz all whenever I try to imrpvise some lines in the middle of a show, the director gets all "As ifffff!!!" on me. But he's just jealous cuz I think of better lines than he ever did. And listening to the experimental jazz fusion band play for a couple hours really inspired me to try a new creative outlet. (And maybe, maybe, all the X helped with that thought process. I'm just sayin.)
Given that I'm trying to make the world a better place with this blog, I've decided to do experimental political poetry. I've also always liked stream-of-consciousness sicen I heard about it in junior high school, so I'll try to work that in in places. So here it goes.
The One
They said you could not do it
I told them you could
They said you would change nothing
I told them that you would
They tried to bitchslap you
But you bitchslapped them back
Only waaaay harder
Like a man hits his wife to enforce the patriarchy
Only in a good way
Not like in a man hitting his wife way
But like the way a wife cuts off her cheating lying bastard husband's dick
then shoves it in his mouth so it's the last thing he tastes
before the lead
from the shotgun blast
Die patriarchy
Die
The polar bears
Are smiling
not crying
or drowning
Because you brought back the ice
Like Ice T
only not as gangsta
but still totally hot and badass
The heat. The heat of the desert. In Iraq
In Iran
In Nevada
We are all sisters
and brothers too
And Bush can kill us no longer
his time of unjust rule has ended
because of you
Here is a cigar
You know what to do
Thank you
for being you
and not her
OK, now you all snap your fingers.
