2067

Shack in the Cornfields
by Martin Tielli

No small spirit, so gone, so brown,
With ashen tongues to clean the dirt.
Take this sad road full of me. Hate me.
I'm no innocent, sweet Carona.
Come on, let's go.

Straw-colored sea.
The cornfield swallowed the children up,
Never to be seen again,
About three fields back.
Blue shell casings and a groundhog skull,
A chipboard shack sits by the woods.
I wonder who lives there. Maybe he's dead,
Or maybe he's just watching us from the edge of the woods.
A soft wind wound up
And the rattlin' of the dead leaves swelled to hiss.
There's gotta be a hole in this
Row upon row...

The mothers went mad
And had the shack-man hung till dead.
He didn't do nothing except for being alone.
There's gotta be a hole in this
Row upon row...

When the rain beats down the last stalk
And the first snow melts from last year's crop,
Will they find the kids when the springtime comes
And realize they just got lost?

Way back yonder where the corn was tall,
Torn up dirty magazines scattered around,
Covered in dirt and rain.

Little Bird, Little Bird
by Dave Bidini

Where did you fly, little bird, little bird?
How long till I might see
The view of the world, little world, little world,
The marching of industry?
Those smokeblack stains,
Red and purple planes,
Blood on a flag unfurled,
A screaming sound when we hit the ground,
To walk with me, walking through the wicked world.

How hard the sun, little bird, little bird?
How deep the winter freeze?
How strong am I--missing words, missing words--
To tell you how scared I feel?
Of an artist's fake,
Or a sadist's rake,
Scars on a teenage girl,
But a slow parade for the price we paid,
To walk with me, walking through the wicked world. Okay.

Through the fire and the flood, I'll staunch the blood.
Put your face to my face. Take her place, it's all right.
We are drunk on our death, bed of arms, bed of ice.
I've never learned how to dance. Is this Poland or France?

How hard the sun, little bird, little bird?
How deep the blood and the bone?
How strong am I--missing words, missing words--
To tell you how scared I feel?
Of a rusted saw
And an iron jaw,
Screams of a dead man's dream,
But my country and my family know
To walk with me, walking through the wicked world.
Come and walk with me, walking through the wicked world.

Marginalized
by Tim Vesely

All rise.
The new king of the world just crowned himself tonight
By the blinding light of cathode lies.
Surprise.
We've been muted. We've been marginalized.

Unleashed.
Delusions of one human head, one tiny beast
Become the very air we breathe.
Surprise.
By the blinding light of cathode lies.

Has this head been denied what inspires love of kind,
And in turn try to turn the world away from love inspired?
All rise.

It's blind
To substitute with laser guides
The eyes, and drown the deafening din of angry cries,
And in turn try to turn the world away from love inspired.
All rise. Yeah.

All rise.
The new king of the world just crowned himself tonight
By the blinding light of cathode lies.
Surprise.
We've been muted. We've been swept aside.

The Tarleks
by Martin Tielli

... And wherever they go,
There is light all around,
And a brilliant sound.
It's a brilliant sound.

The Tarleks came from the west--they grooved.
White belts shining in the pounding sun.
They came from Cincinnati-O,
Fanning out across the central plains.
A car with leather windows,
They drive with arms akimbo
All night long.

He shook my hand under the bathroom stall. ("Hi there. Pleased to meet you.")
He said, "You seem like the poetic kind.
You rarely speak, but when you do it shines.
You seek out the beautiful things.
You think the deeper thoughts.
You choose the times you talk.
We could use a couple of people like you,
Cause there's only so much we can do."

Call me naive. Call me pathetic.
But it's just enough cryptic that the morons won't get it.
See how they groove?

They were everyone's uncles... everyone's friends.
We pulled their fingers all night long...
And when the lamp shades were all trampled and broken,
The eldest one said, "It's time to go to bed."
We couldn't get enough. It's a new kind of love!
All-in-one!

I got a message and it came from up above.
It's just so cryptic that a moron could get it.

... And out of the sky a single raindrop kissed my cheek and hit the ground running.
We'll follow it to the gutters out into the ocean... If we split up, they might not catch us.

The Tarleks came from the west--they grooved.
White belts shining in the pounding sun.

... And wherever they go,
There is light all around.
It's a beautiful sound...
It's a brilliant sound.

Power Ballad for Ozzy Osbourne
by Dave Bidini

Rock band play rock and roll all day.
Rock man say rock and roll will never die.

Ozzy, dear old Ozzy,
You are rock and roll to me.
Half-deaf, drunk, and drooling
With your nagging, chronic knees.
Miss Cocaine closed her sugar thighs.
All pigeons here are spared.
From what I see, the only thing
That's rocking is your chair.

Oh, Ozzy, dear old Ozzy,
You are every young man's dream,
Holed up in a castle
With your life lived on TV.
But our world desires your spitting fire,
Rebellion, hate, and rage.
You've won the right to live your life
Inside your pretty cage. (Brit rock!)

Oh, Ozzy, dear old Ozzy,
Will we ever see the day
When the Lions of the Fuzztone,
They return to rule and play?
Have they all enlargened prostates?
A testicular self-exam
Is where this crazy train
Lets off this wild and crazy man. Crazy.

I Dig Music (The Jazz Animal)
by Dave Bidini

I dig music.
I dig its sound at every year.
I dig music.
To scream and scream, to shed a tear.

Some say I'm an animal.
I'd say that's probable.
Some think there's something you should fear.

I'd say you need a transplant of the ear.
Let's swing to the top of the top, my atonal peers.

I dig music. Yeah!
I dig the way it sways and swings.
I dig music. Oh!
Its razor teeth, its brittle wing.

Some say music is a fad.
I say, "Too fuckin' bad"
For you, you know not anything.

You hear the seagull cries. The dinnerbell, it rings.
Let's climb to the hill of the heap, my ambivalent sheep. Oh boy!

Martin! ("First day of school...")
And Tim! ("Is it wrong...")
That's Mikey, he likey everything.
He likes Squarepusher to Deep Purple or the Queen. (Yeah.)
I know him well and I know he likes everything.

Hey, some folks like to dream
Of a stardom so obscene,
With rocket cars and caviars and cream.
Others like to dine
Eating out with Seymour Stein,
His bondage-roping, toilet-groping dream.

I dig music.
I dig the way it sways and swings.
I dig music.
Its razored teeth, its brittle wing.

Some say I'm an animal...
Yeah, I say I'm an animal...
(He's an animal...)
I'm an animal... jazz animal!

Here Comes the Image
by Tim Vesely

Busy making preparations for the coming,
Busy passing on down the line.
To such an awesome responsibility,
We most devote our lives.

Look at all the fancy buildings we can visit.
Notice all the fine detail in stone.
Light is also our priority here.
Colors on the glass delight the eye.

There in the desert night, a-glow in the focal eye.
Slow, the computer screen warms until morning rain.

Who foretells the truest story of the coming
Wherein lies the soundest house?
Such has been the bone of much contention.
It's worthy of our lives.

There under polar white, humming by megawatts.
Grains slowly take their place. Here comes the image now.

Busy making calculations of the coming.
Pride is taken on by nerves.
Maybe we weren't meant to solve such mystery.
Light upon the glass horrifies.

There under starry sky, dome takes its rightful pose.
Story's going to get a close. Here comes the image now.

Who Is That Man, and Why Is He Laughing?
Instrumental

The Latest Attempt On Your Life
by Martin Tielli

I tried to sing a simple song
(Everyone hates you, you sing like a woman...),
But the metaphor was teen feet long.
Then the curtains caught on fire
(Sooner or later, everyone hates you...),
And you were there to roast the sausage.

When you're walking through the street,
Beware the step at which we meet.
We'll dance into the beyond light
That shows your skin so lily white.

So many words, so little soul.
Is that the mouth or just a hole?
I slowly cut the smirk out of your face
(Everyone hates you, that's what they told me...),
And bite the tongue off at the base.

How do you feel right now?
Listen deeply as you're falling down...
The purity of sound...

I cannot touch the precious art.
It must be hard to be so smart.
I guess I have a stupid heart.

Sundown in a kiss-ass town.
Meet in the spot we thought breaks down.
Dance into the product light and fly your flag.

Polar Bears and Trees
by Dave Bidini

In a land of nothing
But polar bears and trees,
The inlet and the drumlin,
The lichen and the weeds,
The mighty beaver building,
The otter and the loon,
An eagle on the mountain
Dives and kills and eats a rabid coon.
(Hey hey, ho ho...)

Hear the roaring silence.
You live the missing thrill,
The topographical silence,
The boundless northern will.
I've never killed the moment.
I've never shot a gun.
I've never felt so guilty
For doing things that I've never really done.
(Hey hey, ho ho...)

Here I sit on this cold mountain face
Where I'll go, and to what kind of place?
Lands of soda and chocolate and bread.
(Take a picture of me.)
But your voice coming over the phone
Makes me feel that I'm twice as alone,
Warm as skin ripping over the bone.
(Take a picture of me...)

I can't do it. I can't do it.
I can't get no dream.
I can't do it. I'm talking through it.
I'm sick and tired of this scene.
You're safe and narrow.
You're tractor, you're snow.
You'd let me sway in the trees.
I can't do it. I can't get no dream.
(Take a picture of me.) I can't get no dream...
End all transmission!

In a land of nothing
But polar bears and trees,
The inlet and the drumlin,
The lichen and the weeds.
I've never killed the moment.
I've never shot a gun,
Never felt so guilty
For doing things that I wished I'd done...
For doing things that I've never really done.
(Hey hey, ho ho...)

Making Progress
by Tim Vesely

Right now,
We are making progress.
We are making dreams come true,
Just like we discussed
In our most recent letters,
Communiques, and measures
Of memories and treasures,
Kept in bricks and mortar.
And I won't last forever.
I won't even try to.
I'm just making progress.
I don't know what else to do.

It's just that this could be work for you and me.

Right now,
We are making progress.
Just listen to the bugs
Exploding on the windshield,
Or is it just the crackling
Aurora borealis?
Or is it just the tip-toe
Of small things through the tall grass?

Or is it just that this could be work for you and me?

Right now,
We are making progress.
We are hanging upside down
Inside a vacuum.
We are taking round trips,
And we don't even know it.
Our hammers fall in silence,
Knocking down forest,
Exploding all around us.
And I'm committing treason,
Cause I'm in love with reason.
And humans are the nicest
When they fall silent,
Reflecting what lies deepest.
Aw, you can hear the sea shore.
You can see forever
If you keep it all together
And don't let up the pressure.
What good's a revolution?
A rising and a setting sun,
A trip around the bright one
Lets you off where you started from.
Following a straight line,
Going through a tight wind.
I'm in love with sunshine.
I'm in love with human kind.
Right now...

Try To Praise This Mutilated World
by Dave Bidini

Now, try to praise this mutilated world,
Remembering June's long day.
Wild berries grow, sucked through the teeth of a girl.
Just try to praise this mutilated world.

Now, try to praise the recalcitrant sun
When you're riding the pavemented wave,
The golden breeze, the cement seized in a swirl.
Just try to praise this mutilated world.

Blaze the star. Shake the bar for you.
A sunlit room, I'll go there soon, I know.
But the flashing of the light...
(Yeah,) and the salt that stings the eye...
If it's not over by then...

Now try to praise this anorexic sky
And the soft, sagging blue of its eyes,
The poisoned seas, the ice-cracked trees fail the bird.
Just try to praise this mutilated world.

"The Expected": The sky looks afflicted, a sallow, hairless skull where rain worries itself to exhaustion and falls. The clouds are old codgers, belts cinched, bent at the spine, musing benign to shadow the town. These barren street lights, like crooked fingers--their tendons too tight to point or their skin doesn't fit--drool electric wax into the snow. By this glow, we charge through brittle eyelid cold even the dogs won't brave and convince ourselves home, or at least the front door and mail slot. The underhedges, cats growing thumbs, wind the wind into a tight growl. The county's only radio tower has snapped its bolts, never to hit them. It's transmitting them at cost. Winter has lost its brittle. It stumbles off, lying into axe. All westbound railroads are calling us. Choking on place names. The expected has finally gone wrong.

Record Body Count 2067
by Martin Tielli

Joey pulled himself to his feet,
Hauled his body back up the bank
And looked back down there.
He said the water was not that deep,
"But I almost drowned there."
You can drown in a bathtub so they say...
"Someone in class called me a loser,
So I decided to skip the day...

I tried to look casual sneaking round the back,
Past the shotput across the track
And to the gate beside the portables.
But a red tie and school gray slacks
Doesn't blend in with the grass
As the teacher was changing class.

He chased me halfway through the park,
Till I ran into the woods,
And I'm very good in the woods.

So I was an Indian.
I built a fire by the creek
And dried my eyes there."

There's a record body count this year...

Joey stepped up on a block of ice,
Put a rope around his neck,
And fell asleep before he died.