Or heaven… your smilage may vary.
Hell’s Jukebox
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WHEN in the course of human Events, it becomes necessary….
Welcome to the New American Digest: 2001-2022
After scanning its face again and again,
I began to scale it, picking my holds
With intense caution. About half-way
To the top, I was suddenly brought to
A dead stop, with arms outspread
Clinging close to the face of the rock
Unable to move hand or foot
Either up or down. My doom
Appeared fixed. I MUST fall.
There would be a moment of
Bewilderment, and then,
A lifeless rumble down the cliff
To the glacier below.
My mind seemed to fill with a
Stifling smoke. This terrible eclipse
Lasted only a moment, when life blazed
Forth again with preternatural clearness.
I seemed suddenly to become possessed
Of a new sense. My trembling muscles
Became firm again, every rift and flaw in
The rock was seen as through a microscope,
My limbs moved with a positiveness and precision
With which I seemed to have
Nothing at all to do.
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
in the universe.
Comments on this entry are closed.
I got nuthin’.
Wut?
Hahahahahahaha! Funny stuff.
Except for Hattie & Billy, which is obviously a “Chitlin Circuit” double-entendre comedy-songs LP, I’m curious as to what they *sound* like. Could the music *possibly* be as insufferable, ugly, or grotesque, as the sleeves are?
Hey Svetlana, can you air up my bassitball again?
Once you’ve tasted Dick Black you’ll never go back.
Saggy udder day at the dairy farm.
Sandwiching sweet Mrs Mills between the Tit for Tat naked Vampirina chick? That’s just naughty,Gerard. And funny.
The Malden album is disturbing. He looks like he’s channeling a clean-shaven John Wayne Gacy, and the young lady looks like a Happy Juggalo.
Put Clooney’s face for Malden’s,reading the speeches of BHO,with a transgender Bullwhip Griffin to his right, and it’s just another day at Disney, 2018. The more it changes, the more it stays the same.
Gerard-
Do you still have the one I sent you a couple of years ago?
I was disappointed not to see “Keep It Gay” in that collection.
Everything about that Karl Malden record is wrong.
Maya Angelou, whore dancing around an african camp fire while softly cooing black, feminist, MauMau love poetry is a pure picture of that old mammy.
“Do you still have the one I sent you a couple of years ago?
I was disappointed not to see “Keep It Gay” in that collection.”
Sorry. Must have missed that. I’ll look.
… Nope. Didn’t see it under the comcast or yahoo addresses.
Wait…wait, no, no…wait.
“Uncle Jemima Soap”?
I have that Anna Russel album. An interesting relic. It is comedy and music that at the time would have been decidedly middle-brow but to get it you really had to have some underlying knowledge. Unlike the most of the “comedy” today.
Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Diceman, but it’s a nice change of pace to hear comedy that requires a brain.