Four piano keys wide for each recipe with several different styles lined up horizontally across forming a couple octaves of rich entree’s. Where does it all come from, this need for fancy cuisine? The adage that the more extravagant the meal the more likely the imminent fall of empires. That signature trace of pyramids of lies replacing reality subsuming belief with plastic rationality that bends much further than plausibility. Whole generations have fallen in love with dead outmoded myths cheer led by facile idiots who dress like clowns and call it iconic. Suckers milling about their daily routine like lifeboats pretending to enjoy that which will further enslave them in chains of mounting debt. Tabs that an anonymous elite run up into astronomical levels outside their control. Little are they aware that they and their lineage are owned, bought and paid for out of their own sweat and indenture. This melody plays on while vandals stealthily gather within the invisible walls that should have been in fact rather than in fiction. Someone tell them all that a perfect world does not and will never exist! There is only so much room on Route One along the Pacific Ocean for driver-less shiny cars to speed along at impossible speeds to taunt one’s ego. The California desert contains more slowly rusting carcasses of dead war machines than consumer bytes of the latest air conditioned cabin based amenities for the family. Television, lies, lies lies! Who can afford that bygone Utopia of ideal retirement transitioned into a gracefully aging Barbie and Ken arm in arm with the ideal partner taking long walks to the corporate rap of side effects to be suffered by the imbibe of synthetic potions that inspire more diseases than they cure? Question after question leading to the inevitable fact that this land is in dire trouble. There are at this point no apparent saviors to rescue it. Only a solitary few good well-intentioned outsiders and the well-positioned teams of those engaged in active demolition of anything of more than five minutes in the past vouchsafing the possibility or more ‘shake and bake’ instantaneously evaporating futures. Iconic puppets posing as reality player crisis actors driving their Judas goat politicians further into the moral slaughter house of home grown hubris. What’s the difference? No one pays attention for more than five minutes anymore. The melody from the urban ghetto in the mutter of eight bar blues in tribute to former versions of same where the tincture of poisonous venom drips unabated into the outside world of have down causeways prepared over recent years for that very purpose. Have it on your sundaes! And enjoy!
A Beat Poem for Those Unaware And Thoroughly Beaten