Miller Williams + Bukowski

One Hundred and Eighty Nine
11.9.16 (Post Election Trauma)

America and Friends – I am sorry for what happened to us last night. Scroll down for the poems.

what a day – what a sorrow. A day full of tears, despair, sad faces, and awful feeling of hungover caused by excessive drinking to stop the pain. All morning I have sat and looked at a wall in my house, felt scared and sad for brown and black people in predominately Trump supporting areas. Feeling sad and worry for the ones who are not living in my exclusive progressive bubble. I fear for the people who are is small towns whose neighbors have large American flags, guns, and trump signs. I fear for all of us as humans, as messy, dark, ugly we can get we are still the same thing, human and one. The extend of divide right now is heart breaking – divide is ok, it happens, it is what it is, but this election cycle we have gone from two different ideologies to straight hating each other. My feed is blowing up, there’s anger, sorrow, mockery, and hat full of i told you so and all of them are valid. I feel abused, lied to, and ignored.

All day I have been listening to Bob Dylan, reading Bukowski and Ginsberg, sending text message and heart emojis, giving hugs, and swearing and sighing… America we need to talk about what happened last night and what has been going on over the past year and a half. Progressive and liberal America we need to talk about our elitist and blind attitude toward the reality of this country. DNC we need to talk for hard you fucked us up on this (s)election. We need to wake and see why Trump got this far. We need to see who Trump supporters are, we need to talk to them, not to argue, not to change their mind, not to fight or hate – just to see them! I need to talk to myself and the bubble I live in – I don’t know a single trump supporter… so why would they know me or care for me? Let us be careful with jokes, and comments regarding leaving the country – this land is your land! You gotta stay here, fight for it, work for it, and connect with it. But for now let us be sad in our black shirts, bent down heads, and tender voices. Ah my head hurts, I feel numb, and poets are all crying – curled up, drunk, with cuts and bruises on their body.

I have two poems for you today – I have sent these before and feels appropriate to re-send them..

1)

Miller Williams
Have compassion for everyone you meet, even if they don’t want it. What seems conceit, bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen.
You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone.

2)
Bukowski
Dinosauria, We

Born like this
Into this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
We are
Born like this
Into this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Castrated
Debauched
Disinherited
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
Pissed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
Made violent
Made inhuman
By this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The gun
The knife
The bomb
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
The pill
The powder
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.