propa




	Anti-manifesto Dance and laugh and play. Ignore the message we convey. It seems we're only here to entertain. A rebellion cut-to-fit. I refuse to be the soundtrack to it. While we entertain we're still knee-deep in shit. There's something wrong inside. We've played it safe, enjoyed the ride. You won't like this but I've something to confide. We stand for something more than a faded sticker on a skateboard. Now we've rained on your parade and we're out the door. And I don't even care any fucking more. Witness this pair in accomplice. Witness this pair; lethargic, unconscious. No brows furrowed in question, complacent, completing their tasks (no questions asked) Consider this critic a cretin, Just resting on laurels completely invented. Word acrobatics performed with both harness and net. I am so full of shit. But I will remain until this self-awareness fades Until I defeat the purpose of this soapbox that you made. That you made. Hope, perseverance, a vision (some doubt). Green ink, a 26 oz., a bad case of big-mouth. A sum of our parts and I've never laughed harder. A song in our hearts and I've never laughed harder. It don't really matter cuz nothing's ever felt as right as this. (by the way, I stole this riff) Head? Chest? or Foot? Three choices. One bullet. One trigger. Guess who gets to pull it. One leader. A thousand slaves. For every throne there's a thousand graves. You're all the same. Just part of their machine. Perpetuate their dream. They subsidize your nightclubs and they subsidize your malls. They herd and brand the masses within painted prison walls. 'Til your freedom of assembly becomes the missiles they create. Or just mass delusion dancing to this music that you fucking hate. But I'm not the same. I'm not part of your fucking machine. I'll jeopardize their dream. I'd rather be imprisoned in a George Orwell-ian world Than your pacified society of happy boys and girls. I'd rather know my enemies and let you know the same. Whose windows to smash and whose tires to slash And where to point the fucking blame. One future. Two choices. Oppose them or let them destroy us. Hate, Myth, Muscle, Etiquette Mark your point of failing. It begins where you concede. Hesitate. Procrastinate. Sedating. All configured to impede your path. You need a good kick in the ass. Now take a step back and have a long hard look. Hold it to the light and read it like a book. Analyze the past and present to see what is to come. Now wrap your lips around the barrel of the gun. Mark my point of failing. It began where I gave in. Comfort. Convenience. Placating. Construed to suck me in, to their trap. I need a good kick in the ass. As time passed I realized we don't need rules to survive. Just common sense and means to subsist. So from here on in I will resist. I've finally realized. I've found my way at last. It's finally evident. We all need a kick in the ass. The basis of change: educate! Derived from discussion, not hate, not myth, not muscle, not etiquette. Intellect, not "re-elect!". Status symbols yield to respect between sex, species, environment. Showdown We spoke our minds too clearly. We assumed fundamental rights were inherent not as pawns but humyns. I do not require a gauge for freedom of speech cuz I never asked to be a citizen. I never have and never will pledge allegiance. Waking up each morning with confusion in my eyes. The wind is biting through to wave "hello". Seeing my reflection, an exterior of lies. I hope this shaky feeling doesn't show. As if I had to tell you there was little left to say. Stilted conversations colored blue. You were sitting down and you got up to walk away. I tried to stay but I was right behind you. Tension in the stair, I cannot bear so close to helpless as this song I sing. Inside me ring. Final words are boring, never touch, I know you whispered something in my ear. I couldn't hear you. Girls with the greenest eyes. The first time you have kissed. Our quiet softest sighs. A song for all of those who shot and missed. Welcomed to this world, imputed identity. Born, tagged, tattooed, pacified. Generously bestowed my rights and privileges replete. Arbitrary values ascribed. There's nothing I can tell you. There's nothing I can say. Stunted conversation, censored thought. I'm completely free, at liberty, guaranteed Unless of course you decide I'm not. But I'll not be resigned to, fall in line behind you. Tension in the air I cannot bear So what the fuck am I accomplishing? Absolutely nothing. All these words are boring, it's time for action. But you've taught me to be a pawn. It won't last for long. Those who see through the lies are quickly gagged and bound. Ambition realized, tear the whole fucking thing down. Middle finger response Bowl of cherries in Waskasoo Creek. A sylvan way of life for those who seek none beyond a parkland mall. This land scape oasis now feigns city hall. And they call this peace. Not how it seems to me. Sugar-coated disease. Buckle at the knees. Your members of parliament lining their garments With hides of the masses (their heads stuck up their asses). Bald little soldiers, flags sewn to their shoulders. This insight spawns despair. Why am I not part of this? Pine cone wealth and cedar fence bliss? All your novel themes that keep you amused on your way to The Canadian, flag-waving-aryan, mother fucking, cock sucking dream. Oh yeah! Nobody cares about the state of affairs. You can turn blue in the face, but you cannot erase. Oblivious to the obvious. I'm making perfect sense but I'm not getting through. Progress overdue. But don't expect to find me with a note left to be read. Pistol in my hand and a bullet in my head. Because this census indicates and this atlas has related 3 billion humyns I haven't irritated. I've got a lot of work to do. 3 billion people. That's 3 billion snotty Fuck you's Fuck you, fuck all of you. Stick the fucking flag up your goddam ass, you sonofabitch My father told me "son, it's futile to resist, You can topple ideology but not the armies they enlist." I questioned the intentions of the boy scouts chanting war. "Well that's the sound of freedom, son" he said. (Free to say no more.) But wait a minute dad, did you actually say freedom? Well, if you're dumb enough to vote, You're fuckin dumb enough to believe him. Cuz if this country is so goddam free, Then I can burn your fucking flag wherever I damn well please. I carried their anthem, convinces it was mine. Rhymeless, unreasoned conjecture kept me in line. But then I stood back and wondered what the fuck had they done to me. Made accomplice to all that I'd promised I would never fucking be. Never be. You carry their anthem convinces that it's yours. Invitation to honor. Invitation to war. Bette Midler now assumes sainthood. Romanticize murder for moral. Tie a yellow ribbon round the oak tree my friend, And "Gee Wally, that's swell!" Fuck the troops to hell! Haillie Sellasse, up your ass You speak of Rastafari, but how can you justify belief In a god that's left you behind? You've simply filled the gap between the upper and lower class And your faith merely keeps you in line. An amalgamation of jewish scripture and christian thought. What will that get you? Not a fuck of a lot. Take a look at your promised land. Your deed is that gun in your hand. Mt. Zion's a minefield. The West Bank. The Gaza Strip. Soon to be parking lots for American tourists and fascist cops. Fuck zionism. Fuck militarism. Fuck americanism. Fuck nationalism. Fuck religion. This might be satire I wanna chew my bubble gum with you. And I wanna walk you home from school. And I wanna carry your books to every class. And I wanna fuck you up the ass. Girl, don't you know it's true, how much I love you. I wanna sing it 'cross the land, oh won't you hold my hand? She tells me that she loves me, Now I'm gonna tell her that I love her. She tells me that she loves me, Now I'm gonna try and fuck her. But where the hell are my priorities? Left in the hands of the authorities. Who will help me bake this bread? I speak my mind. I question theirs. It seems to me like no one really cares. Peripherally blind. Intellectually numb. Ignorance by choice? Or just plain fucking dumb? You're threatened by my mind. You want everything the same. But my questions still remain. You boycott your brain. You answer with fists. But my questions still persist. You can rearrange my face but you can't rearrange my mind. You can beat this shell about me, but you can't touch what's inside. So now who will help me bake this bread? Who will be the first to speak and leave complacency for dead? I've done all that I can on my own. But stagnant minds persist to squeeze blood from this stone. But I won't bleed for you. I have no need for you. Death will be the day I concede to you. I want you to want me I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'm begging you to beg me. And I want you now. Yeah, I want you to want me. I need you to need me. I'm begging you to beg me. I'd love you to love me. I'd buy brand new shed And put on brand new shoes I would do anything if you say that you love me. Didn't I didn't I didn't I see ya crying? Didn't I didn't I didn't I see ya crying? Sittin all alone I know you felt like dying. And I want you now! Megan. She don't eat bacon. She'd never kill a sweet little innocent piggy to get bacon. She's one of them vegans. She's so sweet loving sweet talking loverboy vegan. And that's alright. Pigs Will Pay Thought, word & deed once sloganeered: a reaction undefined. The battle-hymn, the mantra of a once unfocused mind. But as logic tempered anger, (still inspired, but now informed), the "pigs" we'd turned to caricature became far worse that we'd warned. Morality enforcement based on the interest of a state. Coerced into concordance and threatened into place. It's not just isolated incidents of cop-jocks kicking ass. It's a fucking war machine protecting the wealth of the employing class. The About-as-close-to-emo-as-we'll-ever-get Song I hid inside my room like a fucking coward and the past 18 months flashed before me in the last eight long hours. A little less than amazing: you finally got a rise out of me. So I laughed, I cried (well, I tried, but i laughed again). See? Who the fuck needs a caricature to be their friend? It's so fucking stupid. I'm just as scared and insecure as you (maybe even X2) and i wonder what you really thought of me. An intimate friend? A loud-mouthed jerk? Or just a novelty? (and, hey, do you think i could sing this a little more out of key?) This is not an apology. It's just therapy. Because as we all know (and apparently), I don't need anybody. No Exchange I never promised you nothing, never said I'd be your perfect shackled slave. If success to you is measured in dollars and cents then I decline. That's nothing. That's not my dream. It comes between everything. Someday we'll divide because for so much effort some people starve. They've got everybody working for something they could care less about. That's nothing. That's not my dream. It comes between everything. Someday we'll divide. Would somebody here fill my soul with purpose? There's something here, my friend. Don't step on me on your quest for millions. Nailing Descartes to the Wall/ (Liquid)Meat is Still Murder I speak outside what is recognized as the border between "reason" and "insanity". But I consider it a measure of my humanity to be written off by the living graves of a billion murdered lives. And I'm not ashamed of my recurring dreams about me and a gun and a different species (hint: starts with "h" and rhymes with "Neuman's") of carnage strewn about the stockyards, the factories and farms. Still I know as well as anyone that it does less good than harm to be this honest with a conscience eased by lies. But you cannot deny that meat is still murder. Dairy is still rape. And I'm still as stupid as anyone, but I know my mistakes. I have recognized one form of oppression, now I recognize the rest. And life's too short to make another's shorter- (animal liberation now!). Less Talk, More Rock I'd like to actively encourage the toughest man to dance as hard as he can to this, my song. And bring your stupidest friends along. We wrote this song because it's fucking boring to keep spelling out the words that you keep ignoring. And your macho shit won't phase me now. It just makes us laugh, we got your cash, court-jester take a bow. Because did you know that when I was nine, I tried to fuck a friend of mine? HE was 8, then I turned 10. 14 years later it happened again (with another friend). This time me on the receiving end. And all the fists in the world can't save you now. Cuz if you dance to this, then you drink to me and my sexuality. With your hands down my pants by transitive property. ...And We Thought That Nation-States Were a Bad Idea "Publicly subsidized! Privately profitable!" That's the anthem of the upper-tier (the puppeteer untouchable). We focus a moment, nod in approval and bury our head back in the bar-codes of these neo-colonials while our former nemesis (ah, the romance!): the nation-state, now plays fund-raiser for a new brand of power-concentrate. Try again, but now we're confused- what is "class-war"? Is this class war? Yes, this is class war. And I'm just a kid- I can't believe that I gotta worry about this kind of shit! What a stupid world! Yeah, this is just beautiful... absolutely no regard for principle. What a stupid world. (We're): 1) born 2) hired 3) disposed! Where that job lands, everybody knows and you can tell by the smile on the CEO's that the environmental restraints are about to go. You can bet that laws will be set to ensure the benefit of unrestricted labor-laws (all kept in place by displaced government death squads). They own us. They produce us. They consume us. Can you fucking believe this? What a stupid world. Fuck this bullshit display of class-loyalties. The media and "our" leaders wrap it all up in a flag- their fucking shit-rag. hooray! I Was a Pre-teen McCarthyist At Harold Edward's Elementary you pay respect to Our God, Our Flag, Our Military. In grade 3 I had a written composition about the global threat of communism. And I was the luckiest 8-year old McCarthyist of 1979: I spent spring break on the flight line of a base in the Carolinas- the U.S. version of my dad had signed us in. And 12 years later, the Gatling I'd touched that was strapped to the nose of a U.S.A.-10,(USAtan?) separated flesh from bone and honed its skills on "lesser humans". And thus confirmed the suspicions earned in the 7 years preceding about the lies I was told and if the truth be known, I'm probably better off believing (well, they said I'm better off believing... somehowbetter off believing). But how could they do this to me? Born head first and brought up ankle deep. And maybe you're a lot like me- identified for 14 years without a choice. Terrified the morning you woke up and realized that if and when you jump ship, you either swim for shore or drown. Don't let the fuckers drag you down. Gifts Wake up, coughing, tired, with my face in my hands, staring at the window as the sunlight demands action. All the energy it takes to close these bedroom blinds. Wrote this selfish sadness on a bathroom wall, spent half the span of some lost culture's rise and fall, but I'm as clueless as a drooling four year old. Still hoping I might find the capacity to let you know I know you're lonely. So here's the last call for regrets, a final slow dance through the days that we all hold on to. Here's the promises I've made, tied too tight to undo. An unwrapped gift from me to you. All the slightly insane on the 18 North Main, reaching for a small-town downtown, night rain, nothing I could say could be worth saying anyway today. Like "Hey, whatever happened to what's that guys' name?", we get a little older and it looks the same: askance. Excuse my failing sense of humour. Here's the promises I've made; a razor blade and this broken piece of chain. A history left to rust out in the rain. The Only Good Fascist is a Very Dead Fascist Swastikas and Klan-robes. Sexist, racist, homophobes. Aryan-Nations and Hammerskins: you can wear my nuts on your nazi chins! God, I love a man in uniform! (But, uh, before we get too intimate here, big fella): what exactly are the great historical accomplishments of "your" race that make you proud to be white? Capitalism? Slavery? Genocide? Sitcoms? Guns? War? Pollution? Addiction? NAFTA? Thigh-Master? This is your fucking white-history, my "friend". So why don't we start making a history worth being proud of and start fighting the real fucking enemy: the white male capitalist supremacist. Swastikas and Klan-robes. Sexist, racist, homophobes. This one's for the "Master Race": my brown-power ass in your white-power face! Kill them all and let a Norse God sort 'em out! A People's History of the World At some turning point in history, some fuckface recognized that knowledge tends to democratize cultures and societies so the only thing to do was monopolize and confine it to priests, clerics and elites (the rest resigned to serve), cuz if the rabble heard the truth they'd organize against the power, privilege and wealth hoarded by the few- for no one else. And did it occur to you that it's almost exactly the same today? And so if our schools won't teach us, we'll have to teach ourselves to analyze and understand the systems of thought-control. And share it with each other, never sayed by brass rings or the threat of penalty. I'll promise you- you promise me- not to sell each other out to murderers, to thieves... who've manufactured our delusion that you and me participate meaningfully in the process of running our own lives. Yeah, you can vote however the fuck you want, but power still calls all the shots. And believe it or not, even if (real) democracy broke loose, power could/would just "make the economy scream" until we vote responsibly. Haillie Does Hebron you speak of rastafari, but how can you justify belief in a dog that's left you behind? you've simply filled the gap between the upper and lower class and your faith merely keeps you in line. an amalgamation of jewish scripture and christian thought. what will that get you? not a fuck of a lot. take a look at your promised land. your deed is that gun in your hand. mt. zion's a minefield. the west bank. the gaza strip. soon to be parking lots for american tourists and fascist cops. fuck zionism. fuck militarism. fuck americanism. fuck nationalism. fuck religion Resisting Tyrannical Government why don't we all strap bombs to our chests and ride our bikes to the next g-7 picnic? it seems easier with every clock tick. but whose will would that represent? mine? yours? the rank-and-file's? or better yet: the government's? but i don't want to catalyze or synthesize the second final solution. i don't want to be the steve smith of the revolution. do you see the analogy? we're the oilers. the world bank- the flames! and just 2 minutes remain in the 7th game of the best of 7 series! yeah, jesus saves! gretzky scores! the workers slave. the rich get more. one wrong move and we risk the cup. so play the man, not the puck. why don't we plant a mechanic virus and erase the memory of the machines that maintain this capitalist dynasty? and yes, i recognize the irony that the very system i oppose affords me the luxury of biting the hand that feeds. but that's exactly why priviledged fucks like me should feel obliged to whine and kick and scream- until everyone has everything they need. Ska Sucks ska sucks. ska revival isn't cool you stupid fuck. the bands are only in it for the bucks. and if you don't believe me you're a schmuck. but the trend will die out with any luck. yo ho. yo ho. rudy, a message to you rudy, a message to you rudy. fuck you rudy!